#r'pahfu tia
Text
To Embody and Preserve
(A clean version of this story can be found here.)
“…Ah, he iš finally awakening.”
R’thipra felt like a drop in a bucket of water. Ephemeral, a single unit among the mass, barely aware of its own existence.
It was a familiar sensation. Waking up from having passed out, eerily similar to when he would awaken stained in blood and surrounded by cross-sections of what were once people. Feeling the scratch and itch of something in the back of his mind.
The only difference was that, when the Inner Beast took ahold of him, he was usually alone. Alone in the Shroud, with simultaneously more and less time to grab ahold of that droplet of consciousness and climb the ladder to true awakeness.
But now, it felt as though there was even less of himself than usual. Why?
He could hear the voice of someone speaking beneath the water, voice choppy and odd.
Was he in the care of someone?
Who?
The more he strained to awaken, the more sensation he felt. A blanket covering his body, another blanket with gritty sand below him, the musty smell of old boxes around him…
And the all-too-familiar feeling of his lifeblood, his aether, being wrenched from his very being. His dim consciousness was awake enough to recognize the danger, but not awake enough to do little more than whimper and tense up.
“R…R’pahfu…”
“I am šorry. Juš† a momen†.”
He heard the sounds of footsteps displacing sand retreating. In tandem, the tearing, pulling sensation melted away, and he could breathe easier.
R’thipra was ready to open his eyes, but he knew one more thing must be done.
“…Glasses?”
“†here iš none here, R’†hiþra. You did no† own any when I found you, and I do no† know if you ©ould have dreššed in †hem…©onšidering your š†a†e.”
Ah. So he hadn’t been rid of his predicament after all. It would help explain why he felt especially odd.
R’thipra slowly opened his eyes. He was in a red tent of some sort. The rugs and blankets on the ground did little to ward off the sand scratching at his clothes, but at least it was cool. R’pahfu sat among the blankets in the opposite side of the tent, watching him with a little smile.
He didn’t need to ask where he was. Everything bad happened to him in Thanalan, of course.
“I have þa†©hed uþ your woundš. Why were you figh†ing †he beeš? You do no† šeem †ha† dešþera†e for work.”
Because maybe, just maybe, breaking his glamour would rid him of this curse?
“I was helping someone…being attacked. It seems they left me for dead.”
R’pahfu smiled a bit more. “Your ©oin iš š†ill wi†h you. I know †heše þeoþle, †he oneš near †he beeš. You are for†una†e †hey lef† i† on your þeršon.”
His tone was so light, R’thipra couldn’t tell if his lie was bought or called out. But before he could respond, the Warden’s Word spoke once more.
“Wha† haš haþþened †o you, R’†hiþra?”
What indeed. He could almost laugh at how his accident was simultaneously a boon and unfortunate. Cosplay was meant to have you embody a character.
He had gone a step further, apparently.
“…What do I look like, first of all…?”
“I have been able †o ©leanše †he helme† on your fa©e. †he laš† †ime we me†, you had þurþle hair and þurþle brandš under your eyeš. Now, you have brown hair and red brandš.”
“Brown…and red?” Yet another thing he didn’t dictate when making this glamour.
Wait. Was it pulling from…?
“Are you sure it’s red? Not…pink?”
In the corner, R’pahfu squinted at him and canted his head. “I would need †o ©ome †here †o make šure.”
“T-Then, it’s okay-“
“I† iš fine, R’†hiþra. I know how my body iš. †ru†hfully, I muš† ©ome †here †o š†ar† healing you anyway.”
R’thipra held back a whine that was building in his throat. He could feel himself tensing up all over again. “Is it necessary…?”
The look that the Word gave him was as apologetic as it was sweet. “I† iš how I ©leanšed †he helme†, R’†hiþra. Would you like me †o þu† you †o šleeþ aš I work? I know I am…un©omfor†able, ešþe©ially †o šomeone of fire aš you.”
No. No, no, no. The mere idea of the forced helplessness sent a shiver down his spine.
R’pahfu must’ve read his thoughts on his face. “…Šome find †ha† diš†ra©†ion helþš. I ©an šþeak of your ©ondi†ion while I work, if you þrefer.”
Was this the only option he’d be allowed? He knew that the other only had the intention to help, but…
“Rhylbryn and Rhylšoemr have šeen †he benefi† of my ©are. I will no† in†rude on your ©omfor†, R’†hiþra, bu†-”
“A…Alright. Just…go as fast as you can, okay?” The memories of after his surgery were foggy and faint at best, but he did remember how careful R’pahfu was with Rhylsoemr.
There would be no better medic to help him. Such was who he was.
R’pahfu dipped his head, once again giving him a smile. “†hank you. You are brea†hing qui†e hard, †hough. Þleaše, fo©uš on youršelf aš I ga†her my šuþþlieš.”
His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as well. R’thipra forced himself to breathe in, out. In, out.
“†o begin…” He couldn’t see much of the Word moving around, lying down as he was, but he heard the soft clinking and clacking of gemstones being gathered. “Do you know †he quali†y of your baše energy?”
“It’s…earth, right? But you’ve…mentioned fire before.”
“Mhm. I† iš fain†, bu† i† iš †here. Þeoþle are rarely exa©†ly one elemen†al alignmen†, šo i† iš no† ©auše for ©on©ern. Šu©h iš †he rešul† of ex©hanging your energy wi†h †he world.”
Was it, though? He felt the echo of the itch in the back of his mind.
“Your energy iš very šimilar †o †ha† of Rhylšoemr,” he continued. “†he differen©e iš †ha†, while hiš’ iš ©lear, yourš iš dulled. He iš þrešen†, you are šea†ed behind a window.”
R’thipra squinted. “What…does that mean?”
“I† iš †he rešul† of glamouring. I† will alwayš aþþear and feel duller †han †hoše who do no† ©loak †hemšelveš.”
R’thipra froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. Shit.
R’pahfu came into view, arms full of crystals of various sizes and colors, then stopped to look at him. “Iš šome†hing wrong, R’†hiþra?”
R’thipra swallowed thickly. “Can…other people see that I’m glamoured?”
The Word shook his head. “I þoššešš šenši†ivi†y †ha† moš† o†herš do no†. If †hey do no† know †o šear©h for i†, †hey may no† know.”
Was there anyone with similar sensitivity that he knew? He racked his brain.
“…I† iš imþor†an† †o you, †hen?”
R’thipra mutely nodded.
“†hen I will main†ain i† aš I un†angle wha† iš affe©†ing you,” R’pahfu replied with an easy-going smile. “And I will no† šþeak i† †o anyone. †he þriva©y of my þa†ien†š iš of u†moš† imþor†an©e.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. That was uncomfortably close to becoming something worse. “…Thank you.”
“Of ©ourše. Are you ready for me?”
In, out. In, out. He slowly nodded, trying to force himself to relax. “…Yeah.”
R’pahfu took a step closer, then another. With each step, he could feel the Word’s aether tug at his own, attempting to feed the vortex within his pallid body.
In, out. In, out.
“I had no ©on©ernš wi†h you when we firš† me†.” R’pahfu stood over him now, handling a small translucent green gemstone carefully. He gently set it atop R’thipra’s chest. “Now, i† iš…odd. You are blindingly brigh†.”
“…Bright?”
“Brigh†,” he nodded. As he set a red gemstone down above his head, the Word closed his eyes. “When I firš† šee you, I šee ear†h and fire…bu† †he longer I look, †he more fa©e†š glow, brigh†er and brigh†er, un†il…”
His teeth grit together then, and he opened his eyes, cringing as if from a migraine. “I ©an no longer bear †o look. Like ligh† refle©†ing off þolišhed mirror šurfa©eš. You aþþear aš a whi†e šun, an in†angible ligh† šhell mixed wi†h šedimen†. ©old ligh† wi†h warm ligh† mixed †hroughou†. †wo for©eš no† mean† †o be †oge†her, for©ed anyway.”
It was impossible to tell how much of the dread spreading thick through his veins was because of R’pahfu himself, and how much was because of that description. “Wh…What does that even mean? What does that mean for me? You’re talking like my aether is…corrupted.”
“I† iš, in defini†ion. I† iš no† na†ural þhenomenon.”
This shouldn’t have happened. His method of glamouring was meant to be safe, tailored specifically to his magical capabilities. How could his low capacity for spellwork and glamour lead to corruption? Was it his fault, or was it the tools he was using?
What had gone so, so wrong?
In, out. In, out.
“I† iš for†una†e †ha† my †ime in Eorzea haš le† me exþerien©e ©orruþ†ion in o†herš. Your ©orruþ†ion…i† iš no† unfixable.”
Wait. “It…it isn’t? How do you…?”
R’pahfu had been standing still for quite some time, looking ahead at the tent wall. For a moment, the only sounds that came from him were the gentle clicks of the rocks in his hands rubbing together.
“Will you †ell me how †hiš š†ar†ed, R’†hiþra?”
Of course. It was only natural to start from the beginning in a medical situation. But there was so much to say, so much background information and technicalities that needed to be explained. So long ago, Ezeane had explained it all to him over the course of sennights, due to the intricacies and his inexperience. How was he to explain it thoroughly enough to be of help?
It was all R’thipra could do to try.
“…My glamour works different than usual glamour,” he began with a slow sigh. “My teacher said that I had trouble sensing aether and spells, and for me to try to cast my own magic without being able to feel it would be…hard. Instead of teaching me normal glamour, she gave me a modified glamour dresser that would handle all the spellwork for me. I just had to direct it.
“I…don’t really want to get into why I glamour.” It was hard, suddenly, to look R’pahfu in the eyes. The care and attention coming from him weighed heavy, almost sour. “But my teacher described it as…similar to transformation magic. The glamour dresser, under my instructions, modifies a piece of my aether and molds it into what I want. Once the ‘mold’ is done, more layers of glamour are laid on top of it, until I get my desired look. Most of the time, the layers are related to clothing – I just need to reduce the clothing into glamour prisms, then layer their images on top of the ‘mold’. When my glamour is finished, all I have to do is extract my aether from the glamour plate I bound it to. My aether returns to me modified, and it sort of ‘spreads’ the instructions I made for it all over my body.
“But, um…no matter how many layers of glamour I add, it’s all supported by that ‘mold’ of my own aether. When I apply my glamour and the instructions ‘spread’ over me, all of my personal aether is its foundation, not just that original piece of my aether. It makes it…very fragile. Anything that affects the ‘mold’ affects the rest of the glamour, and if the ‘mold’ – my body - is damaged, it…can’t support the layers on top of it. So, it all crumbles, and I can’t put it back on until I’m not hurt anymore.
“Does…any of that make sense?”
R’pahfu was quiet, wordlessly placing a purpleish-yellow stone on R’thipra’s neck. Though small, it was easy to feel the chill permeating it.
“Your exþlana†ion iš †hankful. Bu†, why do you ©rea†e layerš?”
“It makes it so I don’t have to keep creating infinite glamour plates. I have two copies of plates with the ‘mold’, and to make a new outfit or look, I don’t have to erase them. I just add layers on top of them to customize them, rather than changing them entirely. It’s just simpler that way.”
A reddish stone was set on his shoulder. “You have been doing †hiš for a long †ime, †hen. †hiš iš †he firš† ©orruþ†ion you’ve had?”
He knew exactly how long he’d been doing this, down to the number of days, in fact. But he dared not tell him that.
In, out. In, out.
“…Yes. This is the first time I attempted to modify the ‘mold’, and…I guess I messed up. I…should���ve started from scratch and made a new one, I know that. I just didn’t have the time to.”
“’†ime’?”
“Mhm. It was a last-minute decision, spur of the moment…If I knew I’d be risking corruption just to make some silly event, I wouldn’t have even considered it.”
R’pahfu chuckled lightly, placing a yellowish-green stone on his other shoulder. “If you were †o rea©h aš far aš modifying †he baše of your glamour, would i† really be a ‘šilly even†’?”
R’thipra grunted, turning his head away. He hoped desperately that the other didn’t see the warmth he felt on his cheeks.
“Won’† you †ell me wha† i† waš?”
“It…doesn’t really matter. All you need to know is that I was stupid and modified the ‘mold’ because of it,” he grunted.
“†ha† iš †rue. Bu† I would š†ill like †o hear.”
R’thipra cracked an eye open to stare at him. The Word was still smiling his warm, kind smile, though there was a hint of levity in it as well.
“I don’t even know if you’d understand it. You haven’t been in Eorzea for long, right? This was all new to me, and I’ve been here all my life.”
“Your Fa†her haš †old me you were a hermi† for moš† of your life, you know.” There was a twinkle in the older man’s eye, the smile slipping into a grin. “Our underš†anding šhould be þarallel †hen, yeš?”
He groaned, covering his face with his hands. The embarrassment was stronger than the tingling feeling of faux-claws phasing through his forehead. Stupid stuck-in-place glamour. “Why did he have to say it like that?”
“Oh, he did no†. †ha† waš my addi†ion. Forgivenešš.”
R’thipra spread his fingers just enough to glare up at R’pahfu through them. The other man simply laughed. “I am š†ill wai†ing †o hear wha† i† waš!”
He grumbled. He wasn’t getting out of this, was he? “…Fine. But you’d better not laugh, alright?”
R’pahfu huffed, reaching up to unwrap the long necklace chain from around his neck. It and its three stone pendants were soon placed above R’thipra’s head. “I have heard and šeen many †hingš in my šhor† †ime here in Eorzea, R’†hiþra. Šome wonderful, šome š†range, and šome I ©ould no† grab. I will no† laugh, bu† þleaše know you do no† have †o worry in †he firš† þla©e.”
R’thipra heaved a long sigh, letting his eyes close. “…I want you to imagine a large building. Loud and high-energy music is blaring from every corner in a language you half-understand at the best of times, and there’s people packed in everywhere. They’re all shouting over said music to buy yaoi and other odd things you normally wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public.”
“Yaoi?”
No, no, no. He was not going to go into that. He wasn’t going to explain to his older cousin what yaoi was. “N-nevermind that. The important thing is, it’s a…chaotic environment I could hardly understand. It was…similar to a party, but everyone in all of Eorzea was invited to dress up in strange outfits. It was…very weird.”
R’pahfu’s hands clapped together. “I† waš a ©elebra†ion and a marke† †oge†her, †hen? †ha† šoundš deligh†ful!”
“It was weird,” R’thipra mumbled. “Maybe it’s because I’m not ‘into’ the things they were celebrating. I went mostly to support my friends who were working the event.”
“…Ah. And in order †o a††end †he even†, you had †o make a ©oš†ume, yeš?”
“It wasn’t strictly required, but…it was a cultural thing.” He hesitated. “…I made one at the last moment, using prisms I’d already been collecting. My outfit was turning out well, and I could’ve just left it at that and have avoided all of…this.”
The Word hummed something under his breath. “In †he language you were ušing before…you made a layer over your glamour šafely. †ha† iš wha† you have †riumþhed in doing for šo long. Bu†, you šaid you had al†ered †he ‘mold’ aš well.”
R’thipra swallowed. “I…did, yes. I thought it would make the costume better, and wanted to confuse my friends. As part of a joke, of course. Nothing more.”
“Wha† did you al†er abou† i†, †hen?”
In, out. In, out.
“I, um…removed my tail.”
R’pahfu stared. “You…©u† off your †ail?”
“No, no! Twelve above, no.” R’thipra nearly bolted up from the blanket as a horrified expression dawned on the man. “I-I’d never hurt myself like that. I’m still perfectly intact, I swear.”
“B-Bu†…you šaid you removed your †ail. Wha†-”
“I removed the tail from my glamour,” he spoke quickly. “It was a part of the ‘mold’. What I add or remove from the ‘mold’ doesn’t reflect on my actu- well, um…’unglamoured’ body. Only the ‘mold’ of the glamour that got stuck on me has no tail. It’s just a…”
Well, no. He can’t just say ‘it’s just an illusion’ now that he’s explained how his glamour works. Saying that would only lead to more worried questions.
R’pahfu took his quiet as an opportunity to speak. “…Bu† why would you have your †ail aš a þar† of †he ‘mold’? You have never al†ered i† before. †here iš no need †o have i† †here.”
That was precisely the question he didn’t want to answer. Quick, R’thipra, think of a lie.
“It’s…Well, I’ve never modified the ‘mold’ before this, but I have modified a layer that sits on top of it. With the layer, I can, um…easily change my hair and fur color for a little while, instead of having to dye it and wait for it to fade ou…”
R’thipra fell silent.
Even if he meant it as a way to avoid telling R’pahfu the complete truth, it wasn’t a complete lie. A simple hair color change automatically applied the color to his tail with how he programmed that part of the glamour.
But, he was sure he modified the ‘mold’ correctly. He built it from the ground up – he knew how to add and remove features properly. Right?
Right…?
“…R’pahfu. Are you able to look at where my tail would be?”
The Word lifted his head. Had he been thinking the same thing? “Roll over and I will, yeš.”
As pallid fingers plucked the stones resting on his shoulders and neck, he rolled over onto his stomach. As he turned his head to watch the other man, he caught him right as he closed his eyes.
He was quiet for a long, long time, even as his brow furrowed and his hands clenched around the stones. He watched for several ticks longer than he had before, past the point of headache and the start of shaking. Only when he exhaled a loud hiss did he open his eyes, a free hand coming up to massage his forehead.
R’thipra reached for the waterflask on his hip, offering it over to him. R’pahfu snatched it out of his hands and greedily sucked it dry.
“Hey, um…are you alright?”
Slowly, R’pahfu lowered his hand. “I…believe I may be underš†anding wha† iš going on. You šaid you uše ‘þrišmš’ and ‘þla†eš’, yeš? Do you have †hem?”
With a nod, R’thipra sat up, digging into the pockets hidden by the corrupted glamour. It only took him a moment to unhook the two plates from their belt chain and set them on the least sandy portion of the blanket, along with an unused prism. “Here. The one on the left is the one that caused all of…this.”
Gently, the Word picked up the prism and the corrupted plate, turning them over in his hands. Once with eyes open, then again with eyes closed. He hummed low. “…Yeš. †heše are ©onfirma†ion.”
“Confirmation of…?”
R’pahfu carefully set the objects down, then reached for the stones he’d picked out earlier. “†urn over and I will †ell you. I† iš imþor†an† †o ge† š†ar†ed fixing you, yeš? I† iš no† a qui©k anšwer.”
R’thipra furrowed his brow, but complied.
Once more, the Word began placing the stones in their original places, the cold seeping through his skin and the material of his clothes. “Where †he †ail waš iš a…drain, of šor†š. Hungry, emþ†y, wan†ing †o be ©omþle†e. I† iš †he only þla©e where your energy behaveš †ha† way, oþen like a wound. †he škin haš been †orn off and i† wan†š †o heal.”
So, he hadn’t removed the tail properly, it seemed.
In, out. In, out.
“But…I feel fine, for the most part. If I was leaking aether, I’d feel like something was horribly wrong, right? Ever since this happened, I’ve sometimes felt a bit…tingly, but that’s it.”
He tried not to think about how odd it’d felt to wake up in R’pahfu’s care. Clinging to the ladder rungs, trying to reach consciousness, feeling just that little bit less of himself.
“You are no† leaking, no,” R’pahfu shook his head. He gave a small, wry smile. “Elše I would be be©oming like you. †ha† iš my ©ondi†ion.”
“Then…it’s feeding off something.”
“You šaid †ha† you þla©ed a þar† of youršelf in †he þla†e when ©rea†ing i†, yeš?” Even if he couldn’t turn his head, R’thipra heard the light tap of the Word’s fingernail on the glamour plate. “Your šelf re©ognizeš your šelf aš šafe. †herefore, i† †ried †o reþair i†šelf ušing wha† you š†ored in †here, bu† i† †ook every†hing.”
He stepped away for a moment, returning with an unlit candle.
“W-Wait, I…don’t do well with fire magic.”
“You don’†? You aþþear like you would have a škill for i†.”
R’thipra wanted to shake his head, but dared not risk dislodging the stone on his forehead. His neck twitched regardless. “Just…don’t. Please.”
R’pahfu’s head tilted slightly, watching him for a moment through closed eyes. Eventually, however, he nodded. “†hen I will no†. You are good wi†h fire from flin†, hoþefully?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Ignored the phantom sensation of claws resting against his jugular. “…Yeah. Flint is fine.”
“†hen, a momen†.”
The unlit candle returned to wherever he’d gotten it from. To his left, R’thipra heard the sound of metal striking on metal. Soon, the Word returned with a lit lantern, flames swaying comfortably in glass.
“†heše þrišmš and þla†eš you uše look like glašš, magi©ked †o š†ore šmall amoun†š of energy,” R’pahfu began. One hand held the lantern above R’thipra’s chest, and the other reached for the prism. “†he energy i† š†oreš iš ei†her your own, for †he þla†e, or †ha† of ©lo†heš, jewelry, and ©oloring, for †he þrišm, yeš?”
Though the gentle flame in the lantern appeared harmless, he didn’t take his eyes off of it. “Yes?”
Then, suddenly, his view of the flame fractaled as the prism blocked his line of sight. Gentle light became harsh and bright, bouncing off the polished planes of glass. R’thipra flinched back with a grimace.
R’pahfu’s Seeker pupils had shrunk dramatically as he stared through the prism, thin black lines against blue-green. “†he wound you made †ook every†hing. †he šelf you þla©ed in †he þla†e, na†urally drawn ba©k †o i†šelf, šþread †he ‘mold’ over you. †he wound wan†ed more, šo i† a†e †he þrišmš whole, ©on†en†š and all. †he ©on†en†š be©ame a þar† of †he ‘mold’, dreššing you in forever armor and drowning your energy in ©old ligh†. If you did no† remove †he abili†y of †he hair ©olor †o þain† your †ail, i† would have been ea†en aš well, †hough i†š effe©†š on †he ‘mold’, I ©anno† šay. No o†her þar† †han your hair iš brown.”
There was another part of him that was brown, though.
In, out. In, out.
“…Did you ever say if the markings under my eyes were red or pink, R’pahfu?”
“†hey are more red, bu† †here iš þink, †oo.”
Fuck.
R’thipra took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The magnified, fractaled flame still burned against the backs of his eyelids. “…So…what do I do, then? How do I…’unfuse’ myself?”
“†he anšwer iš šimþle, †he †e©hnique iš no†.” Suddenly, the harsh light in front of his face disappeared, replaced by gentle warmth again. Then, it was all dark, and he heard the soft ‘clink!’ of the lantern being set on the ground to his left. “We muš† un†angle †he ©orruþ† ae†her from your šelf, †hen šeal †he wound.”
R’thipra peeled his eyes open. The tent was too dark for his liking, too dark to see R’pahfu properly. Hopefully his pupils would adjust soon. “…The difficulty comes from actually separating the aether, I’m guessing.”
“And, main†aining †he glamour you þla©ed on before.” Though he couldn’t see the whole thing, he could see the corners of the other man’s smile.
He’d remembered that? Something pulled at his heart, rendering him silent.
R’pahfu seemed to not notice, reaching for the other glamour plate. “†hiš one iš in†a©†, yeš? I will iden†ify †he edgeš of your original glamour †hrough †hiš. Any energy †ha† iš no† ear†h and fire or in †hiš šhaþe, I will ©leanše from you. I† will †ake †ime, þa†ien©e…”
The Word had trailed off, but R’thipra knew what he meant to say. He was too kind.
In, out. In, out.
“If…if for some reason, you need to strip all of the glamour…you can.”
R’pahfu’s eyebrows raised. “I will no† rišk your ©omfor†.”
R’thipra leveled a hard stare at him. “It’s a health concern. It’s…more important that I get uncorrupted, right?”
The Word glanced away, fingers knotting into the lapel of his robes.
In, out. In, out.
“R’pahfu, please. I…give you permission to do whatever you need.”
Silence.
It lasted worringly long, long enough for him to ready another argument. But then, R’pahfu sighed long, turning back to him. “…Alrigh†. I will do my beš† no† †o do i†, bu†…†hank you.”
Even as his heart thundered in his chest, R’thipra smiled warm and kind to him. “I should be the one thanking you for this.”
Once again, the man’s head ducked away, this time trying to hide a chuckle. “I† iš my job, R’†hiþra. You are family, bešideš!”
R’thipra prayed to Azeyma that stayed the case, if push came to shove.
Then, he paused as he withdrew a gleaming blue crystal from his robes. Even with the dulled senses he apparently had, R’thipra could feel energy spike in the air from it. It was cool, cleansing, refreshing, soothing.
Powerful, yet not something to fear.
The twinkle in R’pahfu’s eye, however, was something to be feared. “If you hoþe †o †hank me, †ell me wha† yaoi iš.”
R’thipra grimaced. “Not a chance.”
“You will agree even†ually!”
Even as a low grumble built in his throat, as the Word set the crystal beside his head, he could feel the tension in his face fade. The stones placed across his upper body basked in the energy, beginning to spread it down the rest of his body.
“…We’ll talk about repayment after this is all done.”
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To Embody and Preserve (Clean)
(The original version of this story can be found here.)
“…Ah, he is finally awakening.”
R’thipra felt like a drop in a bucket of water. Ephemeral, a single unit among the mass, barely aware of its own existence.
It was a familiar sensation. Waking up from having passed out, eerily similar to when he would awaken stained in blood and surrounded by cross-sections of what were once people. Feeling the scratch and itch of something in the back of his mind.
The only difference was that, when the Inner Beast took ahold of him, he was usually alone. Alone in the Shroud, with simultaneously more and less time to grab ahold of that droplet of consciousness and climb the ladder to true awakeness.
But now, it felt as though there was even less of himself than usual. Why?
He could hear the voice of someone speaking beneath the water, voice choppy and odd.
Was he in the care of someone?
Who?
The more he strained to awaken, the more sensation he felt. A blanket covering his body, another blanket with gritty sand below him, the musty smell of old boxes around him…
And the all-too-familiar feeling of his lifeblood, his aether, being wrenched from his very being. His dim consciousness was awake enough to recognize the danger, but not awake enough to do little more than whimper and tense up.
“R…R’pahfu…”
“I am sorry. Just a moment.”
He heard the sounds of footsteps displacing sand retreating. In tandem, the tearing, pulling sensation melted away, and he could breathe easier.
R’thipra was ready to open his eyes, but he knew one more thing must be done.
“…Glasses?”
“There is none here, R’thipra. You did not own any when I found you, and I do not know if you could have dressed in them…considering your state.”
Ah. So he hadn’t been rid of his predicament after all. It would help explain why he felt especially odd.
R’thipra slowly opened his eyes. He was in a red tent of some sort. The rugs and blankets on the ground did little to ward off the sand scratching at his clothes, but at least it was cool. R’pahfu sat among the blankets in the opposite side of the tent, watching him with a little smile.
He didn’t need to ask where he was. Everything bad happened to him in Thanalan, of course.
“I have patched up your wounds. Why were you fighting the bees? You do not seem that desperate for work.”
Because maybe, just maybe, breaking his glamour would rid him of this curse?
“I was helping someone…being attacked. It seems they left me for dead.”
R’pahfu smiled a bit more. “Your coin is still with you. I know these people, the ones near the bees. You are fortunate they left it on your person.”
His tone was so light, R’thipra couldn’t tell if his lie was bought or called out. But before he could respond, the Warden’s Word spoke once more.
“What has happened to you, R’thipra?”
What indeed. He could almost laugh at how his accident was simultaneously a boon and unfortunate. Cosplay was meant to have you embody a character.
He had gone a step further, apparently.
“…What do I look like, first of all…?”
“I have been able to cleanse the helmet on your face. The last time we met, you had purple hair and purple brands under your eyes. Now, you have brown hair and red brands.”
“Brown…and red?” Yet another thing he didn’t dictate when making this glamour.
Wait. Was it pulling from…?
“Are you sure it’s red? Not…pink?”
In the corner, R’pahfu squinted at him and canted his head. “I would need to come there to make sure.”
“T-Then, it’s okay-“
“It is fine, R’thipra. I know how my body is. Truthfully, I must come there to start healing you anyway.”
R’thipra held back a whine that was building in his throat. He could feel himself tensing up all over again. “Is it necessary…?”
The look that the Word gave him was as apologetic as it was sweet. “It is how I cleansed the helmet, R’thipra. Would you like me to put you to sleep as I work? I know I am…uncomfortable, especially to someone of fire as you.”
No. No, no, no. The mere idea of the forced helplessness sent a shiver down his spine.
R’pahfu must’ve read his thoughts on his face. “…Some find that distraction helps. I can speak of your condition while I work, if you prefer.”
Was this the only option he’d be allowed? He knew that the other only had the intention to help, but…
“Rhylbryn and Rhylsoemr have seen the benefit of my care. I will not intrude on your comfort, R’thipra, but-”
“A…Alright. Just…go as fast as you can, okay?” The memories of after his surgery were foggy and faint at best, but he did remember how careful R’pahfu was with Rhylsoemr.
There would be no better medic to help him. Such was who he was.
R’pahfu dipped his head, once again giving him a smile. “Thank you. You are breathing quite hard, though. Please, focus on yourself as I gather my supplies.”
His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as well. R’thipra forced himself to breathe in, out. In, out.
“To begin…” He couldn’t see much of the Word moving around, lying down as he was, but he heard the soft clinking and clacking of gemstones being gathered. “Do you know the quality of your base energy?”
“It’s…earth, right? But you’ve…mentioned fire before.”
“Mhm. It is faint, but it is there. People are rarely exactly one elemental alignment, so it is not cause for concern. Such is the result of exchanging your energy with the world.”
Was it, though? He felt the echo of the itch in the back of his mind.
“Your energy is very similar to that of Rhylsoemr,” he continued. “The difference is that, while his’ is clear, yours is dulled. He is present, you are seated behind a window.”
R’thipra squinted. “What…does that mean?”
“It is the result of glamouring. It will always appear and feel duller than those who do not cloak themselves.”
R’thipra froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. Shit.
R’pahfu came into view, arms full of crystals of various sizes and colors, then stopped to look at him. “Is something wrong, R’thipra?”
R’thipra swallowed thickly. “Can…other people see that I’m glamoured?”
The Word shook his head. “I possess sensitivity that most others do not. If they do not know to search for it, they may not know.”
Was there anyone with similar sensitivity that he knew? He racked his brain.
“…It is important to you, then?”
R’thipra mutely nodded.
“Then I will maintain it as I untangle what is affecting you,” R’pahfu replied with an easy-going smile. “And I will not speak it to anyone. The privacy of my patients is of utmost importance.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. That was uncomfortably close to becoming something worse. “…Thank you.”
“Of course. Are you ready for me?”
In, out. In, out. He slowly nodded, trying to force himself to relax. “…Yeah.”
R’pahfu took a step closer, then another. With each step, he could feel the Word’s aether tug at his own, attempting to feed the vortex within his pallid body.
In, out. In, out.
“I had no concerns with you when we first met.” R’pahfu stood over him now, handling a small translucent green gemstone carefully. He gently set it atop R’thipra’s chest. “Now, it is…odd. You are blindingly bright.”
“…Bright?”
“Bright,” he nodded. As he set a red gemstone down above his head, the Word closed his eyes. “When I first see you, I see earth and fire…but the longer I look, the more facets glow, brighter and brighter, until…”
His teeth grit together then, and he opened his eyes, cringing as if from a migraine. “I can no longer bear to look. Like light reflecting off polished mirror surfaces. You appear as a white sun, an intangible light shell mixed with sediment. Cold light with warm light mixed throughout. Two forces not meant to be together, forced anyway.”
It was impossible to tell how much of the dread spreading thick through his veins was because of R’pahfu himself, and how much was because of that description. “Wh…What does that even mean? What does that mean for me? You’re talking like my aether is…corrupted.”
“It is, in definition. It is not natural phenomenon.”
This shouldn’t have happened. His method of glamouring was meant to be safe, tailored specifically to his magical capabilities. How could his low capacity for spellwork and glamour lead to corruption? Was it his fault, or was it the tools he was using?
What had gone so, so wrong?
In, out. In, out.
“It is fortunate that my time in Eorzea has let me experience corruption in others. Your corruption…it is not unfixable.”
Wait. “It…it isn’t? How do you…?”
R’pahfu had been standing still for quite some time, looking ahead at the tent wall. For a moment, the only sounds that came from him were the gentle clicks of the rocks in his hands rubbing together.
“Will you tell me how this started, R’thipra?”
Of course. It was only natural to start from the beginning in a medical situation. But there was so much to say, so much background information and technicalities that needed to be explained. So long ago, Ezeane had explained it all to him over the course of sennights, due to the intricacies and his inexperience. How was he to explain it thoroughly enough to be of help?
It was all R’thipra could do to try.
“…My glamour works different than usual glamour,” he began with a slow sigh. “My teacher said that I had trouble sensing aether and spells, and for me to try to cast my own magic without being able to feel it would be…hard. Instead of teaching me normal glamour, she gave me a modified glamour dresser that would handle all the spellwork for me. I just had to direct it.
“I…don’t really want to get into why I glamour.” It was hard, suddenly, to look R’pahfu in the eyes. The care and attention coming from him weighed heavy, almost sour. “But my teacher described it as…similar to transformation magic. The glamour dresser, under my instructions, modifies a piece of my aether and molds it into what I want. Once the ‘mold’ is done, more layers of glamour are laid on top of it, until I get my desired look. Most of the time, the layers are related to clothing – I just need to reduce the clothing into glamour prisms, then layer their images on top of the ‘mold’. When my glamour is finished, all I have to do is extract my aether from the glamour plate I bound it to. My aether returns to me modified, and it sort of ‘spreads’ the instructions I made for it all over my body.
“But, um…no matter how many layers of glamour I add, it’s all supported by that ‘mold’ of my own aether. When I apply my glamour and the instructions ‘spread’ over me, all of my personal aether is its foundation, not just that original piece of my aether. It makes it…very fragile. Anything that affects the ‘mold’ affects the rest of the glamour, and if the ‘mold’ – my body - is damaged, it…can’t support the layers on top of it. So, it all crumbles, and I can’t put it back on until I’m not hurt anymore.
“Does…any of that make sense?”
R’pahfu was quiet, wordlessly placing a purpleish-yellow stone on R’thipra’s neck. Though small, it was easy to feel the chill permeating it.
“Your explanation is thankful. But, why do you create layers?”
“It makes it so I don’t have to keep creating infinite glamour plates. I have two copies of plates with the ‘mold’, and to make a new outfit or look, I don’t have to erase them. I just add layers on top of them to customize them, rather than changing them entirely. It’s just simpler that way.”
A reddish stone was set on his shoulder. “You have been doing this for a long time, then. This is the first corruption you’ve had?”
He knew exactly how long he’d been doing this, down to the number of days, in fact. But he dared not tell him that.
In, out. In, out.
“…Yes. This is the first time I attempted to modify the ‘mold’, and…I guess I messed up. I…should’ve started from scratch and made a new one, I know that. I just didn’t have the time to.”
“’Time’?”
“Mhm. It was a last-minute decision, spur of the moment…If I knew I’d be risking corruption just to make some silly event, I wouldn’t have even considered it.”
R’pahfu chuckled lightly, placing a yellowish-green stone on his other shoulder. “If you were to reach as far as modifying the base of your glamour, would it really be a ‘silly event’?”
R’thipra grunted, turning his head away. He hoped desperately that the other didn’t see the warmth he felt on his cheeks.
“Won’t you tell me what it was?”
“It…doesn’t really matter. All you need to know is that I was stupid and modified the ‘mold’ because of it,” he grunted.
“That is true. But I would still like to hear.”
R’thipra cracked an eye open to stare at him. The Word was still smiling his warm, kind smile, though there was a hint of levity in it as well.
“I don’t even know if you’d understand it. You haven’t been in Eorzea for long, right? This was all new to me, and I’ve been here all my life.”
“Your Father has told me you were a hermit for most of your life, you know.” There was a twinkle in the older man’s eye, the smile slipping into a grin. “Our understanding should be parallel then, yes?”
He groaned, covering his face with his hands. The embarrassment was stronger than the tingling feeling of faux-claws phasing through his forehead. Stupid stuck-in-place glamour. “Why did he have to say it like that?”
“Oh, he did not. That was my addition, apologies.”
R’thipra spread his fingers just enough to glare up at R’pahfu through them. The other man simply laughed. “I am still waiting to hear what it was!”
He grumbled. He wasn’t getting out of this, was he? “…Fine. But you’d better not laugh, alright?”
R’pahfu huffed, reaching up to unwrap the long necklace chain from around his neck. It and its three stone pendants were soon placed above R’thipra’s head. “I have heard and seen many things in my short time here in Eorzea, R’thipra. Some wonderful, some strange, and some I could not grab. I will not laugh, but please know you do not have to worry in the first place.”
R’thipra heaved a long sigh, letting his eyes close. “…I want you to imagine a large building. Loud and high-energy music is blaring from every corner in a language you half-understand at the best of times, and there’s people packed in everywhere. They’re all shouting over said music to buy yaoi and other odd things you normally wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public.”
“Yaoi?”
No, no, no. He was not going to go into that. He wasn’t going to explain to his older cousin what yaoi was. “N-nevermind that. The important thing is, it’s a…chaotic environment I could hardly understand. It was…similar to a party, but everyone in all of Eorzea was invited to dress up in strange outfits. It was…very weird.”
R’pahfu’s hands clapped together. “It was a celebration and a market together, then? That sounds delightful!”
“It was weird,” R’thipra mumbled. “Maybe it’s because I’m not ‘into’ the things they were celebrating. I went mostly to support my friends who were working the event.”
“…Ah. And in order to attend the event, you had to make a costume, yes?”
“It wasn’t strictly required, but…it was a cultural thing.” He hesitated. “…I made one at the last moment, using prisms I’d already been collecting. My outfit was turning out well, and I could’ve just left it at that and have avoided all of…this.”
The Word hummed something under his breath. “In the language you were using before…you made a layer over your glamour safely. That is what you have triumphed in doing for so long. But, you said you had altered the ‘mold’ as well.”
R’thipra swallowed. “I…did, yes. I thought it would make the costume better, and wanted to confuse my friends. As part of a joke, of course. Nothing more.”
“What did you alter about it, then?”
In, out. In, out.
“I, um…removed my tail.”
R’pahfu stared. “You…cut off your tail?”
“No, no! Twelve above, no.” R’thipra nearly bolted up from the blanket as a horrified expression dawned on the man. “I-I’d never hurt myself like that. I’m still perfectly intact, I swear.”
“B-But…you said you removed your tail. What-”
“I removed the tail from my glamour,” he spoke quickly. “It was a part of the ‘mold’. What I add or remove from the ‘mold’ doesn’t reflect on my actu- well, um…’unglamoured’ body. Only the ‘mold’ of the glamour that got stuck on me has no tail. It’s just a…”
Well, no. He can’t just say ‘it’s just an illusion’ now that he’s explained how his glamour works. Saying that would only lead to more worried questions.
R’pahfu took his quiet as an opportunity to speak. “…But why would you have your tail as a part of the ‘mold’? You have never altered it before. There is no need to have it there.”
That was precisely the question he didn’t want to answer. Quick, R’thipra, think of a lie.
“It’s…Well, I’ve never modified the ‘mold’ before this, but I have modified a layer that sits on top of it. With the layer, I can, um…easily change my hair and fur color for a little while, instead of having to dye it and wait for it to fade ou…”
R’thipra fell silent.
Even if he meant it as a way to avoid telling R’pahfu the complete truth, it wasn’t a complete lie. A simple hair color change automatically applied the color to his tail with how he programmed that part of the glamour.
But, he was sure he modified the ‘mold’ correctly. He built it from the ground up – he knew how to add and remove features properly. Right?
Right…?
“…R’pahfu. Are you able to look at where my tail would be?”
The Word lifted his head. Had he been thinking the same thing? “Roll over and I will, yes.”
As pallid fingers plucked the stones resting on his shoulders and neck, he rolled over onto his stomach. As he turned his head to watch the other man, he caught him right as he closed his eyes.
He was quiet for a long, long time, even as his brow furrowed and his hands clenched around the stones. He watched for several ticks longer than he had before, past the point of headache and the start of shaking. Only when he exhaled a loud hiss did he open his eyes, a free hand coming up to massage his forehead.
R’thipra reached for the waterflask on his hip, offering it over to him. R’pahfu snatched it out of his hands and greedily sucked it dry.
“Hey, um…are you alright?”
Slowly, R’pahfu lowered his hand. “I…believe I may be understanding what is going on. You said you use ‘prisms’ and ‘plates’, yes? Do you have them?”
With a nod, R’thipra sat up, digging into the pockets hidden by the corrupted glamour. It only took him a moment to unhook the two plates from their belt chain and set them on the least sandy portion of the blanket, along with an unused prism. “Here. The one on the left is the one that caused all of…this.”
Gently, the Word picked up the prism and the corrupted plate, turning them over in his hands. Once with eyes open, then again with eyes closed. He hummed low. “…Yes. These are confirmation.”
“Confirmation of…?”
R’pahfu carefully set the objects down, then reached for the stones he’d picked out earlier. “Turn over and I will tell you. It is important to get started fixing you, yes? It is not a quick answer.”
R’thipra furrowed his brow, but complied.
Once more, the Word began placing the stones in their original places, the cold seeping through his skin and the material of his clothes. “Where the tail was is a…drain, of sorts. Hungry, empty, wanting to be complete. It is the only place where your energy behaves that way, open like a wound. The skin has been torn off and it wants to heal.”
So, he hadn’t removed the tail properly, it seemed.
In, out. In, out.
“But…I feel fine, for the most part. If I was leaking aether, I’d feel like something was horribly wrong, right? Ever since this happened, I’ve sometimes felt a bit…tingly, but that’s it.”
He tried not to think about how odd it’d felt to wake up in R’pahfu’s care. Clinging to the ladder rungs, trying to reach consciousness, feeling just that little bit less of himself.
“You are not leaking, no,” R’pahfu shook his head. He gave a small, wry smile. “Else I would be becoming like you. That is my condition.”
“Then…it’s feeding off something.”
“You said that you placed a part of yourself in the plate when creating it, yes?” Even if he couldn’t turn his head, R’thipra heard the light tap of the Word’s fingernail on the glamour plate. “Your self recognizes your self as safe. Therefore, it tried to repair itself using what you stored in there, but it took everything.”
He stepped away for a moment, returning with an unlit candle.
“W-Wait, I…don’t do well with fire magic.”
“You don’t? You appear like you would have a skill for it.”
R’thipra wanted to shake his head, but dared not risk dislodging the stone on his forehead. His neck twitched regardless. “Just…don’t. Please.”
R’pahfu’s head tilted slightly, watching him for a moment through closed eyes. Eventually, however, he nodded. “Then I will not. You are good with fire from flint, hopefully?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Ignored the phantom sensation of claws resting against his jugular. “…Yeah. Flint is fine.”
“Then, a moment.”
The unlit candle returned to wherever he’d gotten it from. To his left, R’thipra heard the sound of metal striking on metal. Soon, the Word returned with a lit lantern, flames swaying comfortably in glass.
“These prisms and plates you use look like glass, magicked to store small amounts of energy,” R’pahfu began. One hand held the lantern above R’thipra’s chest, and the other reached for the prism. “The energy it stores is either your own, for the plate, or that of clothes, jewelry, and coloring, for the prism, yes?”
Though the gentle flame in the lantern appeared harmless, he didn’t take his eyes off of it. “Yes?”
Then, suddenly, his view of the flame fractaled as the prism blocked his line of sight. Gentle light became harsh and bright, bouncing off the polished planes of glass. R’thipra flinched back with a grimace.
R’pahfu’s Seeker pupils had shrunk dramatically as he stared through the prism, thin black lines against blue-green. “The wound you made took everything. The self you placed in the plate, naturally drawn back to itself, spread the ‘mold’ over you. The wound wanted more, so it ate the prisms whole, contents and all. The contents became a part of the ‘mold’, dressing you in forever armor and drowning your energy in cold light. If you did not remove the ability of the hair color to paint your tail, it would have been eaten as well, though its effects on the ‘mold’, I cannot say. No other part than your hair is brown.”
There was another part of him that was brown, though.
In, out. In, out.
“…Did you ever say if the markings under my eyes were red or pink, R’pahfu?”
“They are more red, but there is pink, too.”
Fuck.
R’thipra took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The magnified, fractaled flame still burned against the backs of his eyelids. “…So…what do I do, then? How do I…’unfuse’ myself?”
“The answer is simple, the technique is not.” Suddenly, the harsh light in front of his face disappeared, replaced by gentle warmth again. Then, it was all dark, and he heard the soft ‘clink!’ of the lantern being set on the ground to his left. “We must untangle the corrupt aether from your self, then seal the wound.”
R’thipra peeled his eyes open. The tent was too dark for his liking, too dark to see R’pahfu properly. Hopefully his pupils would adjust soon. “…The difficulty comes from actually separating the aether, I’m guessing.”
“And, maintaining the glamour you placed on before.” Though he couldn’t see the whole thing, he could see the corners of the other man’s smile.
He’d remembered that? Something pulled at his heart, rendering him silent.
R’pahfu seemed to not notice, reaching for the other glamour plate. “This one is intact, yes? I will identify the edges of your original glamour through this. Any energy that is not earth and fire or in this shape, I will cleanse from you. It will take time, patience…”
The Word had trailed off, but R’thipra knew what he meant to say. He was too kind.
In, out. In, out.
“If…if for some reason, you need to strip all of the glamour…you can.”
R’pahfu’s eyebrows raised. “I will not risk your comfort.”
R’thipra leveled a hard stare at him. “It’s a health concern. It’s…more important that I get uncorrupted, right?”
The Word glanced away, fingers knotting into the lapel of his robes.
In, out. In, out.
“R’pahfu, please. I…give you permission to do whatever you need.”
Silence.
It lasted worringly long, long enough for him to ready another argument. But then, R’pahfu sighed long, turning back to him. “…Alright. I will do my best not to do it, but…thank you.”
Even as his heart thundered in his chest, R’thipra smiled warm and kind to him. “I should be the one thanking you for this.”
Once again, the man’s head ducked away, this time trying to hide a chuckle. “It is my job, R’thipra. You are family, besides!”
R’thipra prayed to Azeyma that stayed the case, if push came to shove.
Then, he paused as he withdrew a gleaming blue crystal from his robes. Even with the dulled senses he apparently had, R’thipra could feel energy spike in the air from it. It was cool, cleansing, refreshing, soothing.
Powerful, yet not something to fear.
The twinkle in R’pahfu’s eye, however, was something to be feared. “If you hope to thank me, tell me what yaoi is.”
R’thipra grimaced. “Not a chance.”
“You will agree eventually!”
Even as a low grumble built in his throat, as the Word set the crystal beside his head, he could feel the tension in his face fade. The stones placed across his upper body basked in the energy, beginning to spread it down the rest of his body.
“…We’ll talk about repayment after this is all done.”
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The Reforging of Summer Halusyn
((WARNING for body horror-esque writing in the beginning of this story. Please skip to the dark line below if you’re sensitive to uncanny body descriptions!
A clean version of this story can be found here.))
25th Sun of the Third Umbral Moon
For the first time in six years, ‘Summer’ Halusyn couldn’t stop staring at his chest.
It was odd; the skin was still the same, even worse in some respects. Sickeningly pale, a shade of off-white that spoke of how it’d been hidden from light for so long, and heavily mottled by the crush injury he’d sustained all those years ago. In some areas, the mottling was light enough to show the old surgical scars that came after the injury, when the resource-starved chirurgeons of Little Ala Mhigo did all they could to save his life. And save his life, they did – but in return, they gave him a fatal weakness, a flaw that left him wondering every day for six years if that would be the day he died. He had become painfully fragile despite the appearance he put on: a musclebound Roegadyn who always wore dark armor, who never showed his eyes, and who was as stoic and stoic came.
Now, however, a new set of scars were joining the old constellation on his chest. The cuts made by Seras’ skillful hand were straight and precise, and only as big as they needed to be for the operation. Even only a few days later, they were healing so well that may eventually lose sight of them.
But even if he ever lost track of them, the proof of Seras’ and Sanura’s work lived with him. The feeling was unsettling: something hard under his skin that felt like it was constricting him from the inside, something that moved with him as he breathed, something that felt so foreign and not him. His mind wanted to interpret it as cold and covered in slime and liquid, even though he couldn’t feel chill radiating off of it and freezing him from the inside out; nor did it feel like his organs were slipping and sliding around it. When he put his hand on his chest, where the damaged skin was taut and learning to stretch over it, he felt the pain of distant impact.
Was this something everyone with ribs felt, but their minds forced them to ignore? It was so much different than the corset-like brace he’d been wearing for the past six years, the poor substitute for the ribs he’d lost. Sanura said that the prosthetic ribcage she’d made would feel different at first, but that it would eventually become just another part of him. Would he eventually grow blind to this alien feeling?
He hoped so. If he did, he could forget that his trip to Thanalan ever happened, and could forget the fear of death he’d lived through every day since. Maybe he’d even grow used to seeing his chest, seeing it as something normal instead of something to detest or, currently, be marveled at. But that was something for another day: right now, his job was to relax, recover, and gradually rebuild his strength and energy.
________________________________________________________________
For the duration of his recovery, he’d been shipped back to his childhood home in Aleport. As much as he detested the city, Summer couldn’t think of a better place to be. Surrounded by family that helped him fulfil his daily needs, in a private space where he wasn’t exposed to outside people. Best of all, it was near the ocean; the orchestrion roll of ambient wave sounds he’d gotten for his house in Hyrstmill did its best to mimic the sound he fell asleep to best, but nothing could compare to the real deal. It was a combination of everything that helped him relax and let the drugs Seras had prescribed him help him heal.
It was one such afternoon when there was a disturbance in this perfection. Basking in the warmth radiating from the wooden window covers, Summer lay in his bed, staring at his bare chest and listening to some show that was being broadcast over a public linkpearl. He knew that his pain medication and the sound of the waves would soon pull him back into slumber; in fact, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy, his mind fogging up and slowing down.
And just when he was on the edge of sleep, the voice over the linkpearl suddenly distorted, and a chill descended over his room.
There was someone – or something – in the room.
Despite his ineptitude at anything related to aether, Summer could feel it – what seemed like a dearth of energy just a few yalms away from his bed. Whatever was in its place was something stagnant and empty, suffocating even. For perhaps the first time ‘awakening’ in the basement of the Onsen, he could feel the currents of aether shifting, dragging, pulling, cycling around him: the natural aether inside his bedroom was being pulled into that void of air, and something…slightly off was flowing out of it. With every breath he took, he could almost feel the changed aether entering his lungs, bypassing the protection of his newly-installed ribs.
He was in no position to defend himself from whatever that hungry stagnation was. Where was Bryn? He surely wouldn’t have let this thing in, and if it’d naturally generated in his room, surely, he would’ve sensed it? He was the more aether-sensitive of the two of them, owing to his training at the Arcanist’s Guild. But yet he heard no pounding footsteps indicating his arrival, no voices that would show him to be nearby…Nothing but the birdsong outside his bolted-shut window and the chatter of sailors drinking after dark.
He tried to shout, but all that came out was a feeble whimper. As if in response, the void drew nearer and nearer, drawing in more and more ambient aether and spitting it back out changed. Was he just being paranoid, or was he feeling his own aether draining from him as well?
Summer could feel himself trembling. His too big, too blocky hands gripped at his sheets, as if he’d be able to pull himself up, defend himself, run away. The rational part of his brain that told him it was futile, dangerous even, to try it at all was shoved into the back of his mind as he struggled to form words with his dry mouth.
“S…Stop…”
To his surprise, the stagnation ceased its advance. And then, to his even bigger surprise, someone spoke:
“Oh! I am šorry. Did I rouše you? Þleaše, re†urn †o šleeþ.”
Whatever that void was, it turned familiar words unfamiliar. Wait, no, they weren’t entirely unfamiliar – as his sluggish mind turned over the words, it took a few moments to connect, but…those clicks and pops interspersed in his words sounded like huntspeak. He hardly had any practice with speaking huntspeak, let along hearing it, but his few sessions with Father taught him to recognize those sounds.
Which meant…
Fighting back against that urge to defend or flee from the suffocation, he willed his drug-heavy eyelids open.
Slowly, his childhood bedroom came into view, and through squinted eyes he could see the form of a Miqo’te standing near his desk chair. Standing was a generous term, however: the man looked frail enough to collapse if he wasn’t leaning on his oaken cane, and even then, his legs were shaking fiercely. Despite the man’s small stature and stunted tail, he got the distinct feeling that he was older than him. White-pink hair and pallid skin blended in the with white stone walls and brown wood flooring, the only differentiator being his vivid bright green eyes and turquoise robes. In his free hand was a small bag made of simple undyed cloth.
But where was the void that was still draining the aether around him? There were no sprites, no elemental anomalies he could see. The man was, in fact, standing right where he could feel the void.
What is going on…?
His confusion must have been written all over his face, because the Miqo’te man gave him a thin smile. “I did no† mean †o diš†urb you. Your bro†her, Rhylbryn, †old me †ha† you were šleeþing, and I believed i† would be †he beš† †ime †o gif† you šome†hing.” The longer he spoke, the weaker, the airier the man’s voice became, as if speaking were taxing to him.
“…Gift…?” Summer managed with his hoarse throat. He needed water. Briefly, his eyes left the man to look at the small cup of water placed on his bedside table sometime during his sleep. The man seemed to get the idea, stepping away to retrieve the cup. But as soon as he drew near once more, the stagnation pulled at him further, and the bedbound man grimaced. His fingers twitched for a few moments before he mustered the strength to raise his arm an ilm above the bed.
“…You šhould no† be moving your armš. †ha† would þull on your ©heš†, yeš? I† needš †o mend, and you would no† be able †o hold †hiš ©uþ’š weigh†,” the man advised. “Þleaše, le† me helþ you.”
Summer could tell he was right. Already, he could feel the chest muscles attached to his shoulder burning, already in anguish from the surgery and not tolerating the additional strain. But, if the man came closer, his own aether would…
“…A…aether…” he forced out. “Y-You…”
The Miqo’te frowned, glancing away from him for a moment. “I am aware of my þrešen©e and †he diš©omfor† i† ©an ©auše, yeš. However, I am only here briefly. I will enšure you are no† ruined.”
Summer’s brows furrowed. “…W-Why…?”
“†o exþlain why in de†ail would †ake more †ime †han we ©an afford, given your heal†h. Þleaše, †ruš† me. Rhylbryn aþþroved me †o viši†you, and he iš a grea† judge of heal†h.”
He did…? Then Bryn felt this man’s seeping stagnation and felt it was okay? It was true that his twin was strangely good at perceiving the health of someone, everything from if they were about to come down with sickness to if they’d recently suffered a scratch. It was something that would be a great boon to him when he’d go on to learn at the Conjurer’s Guild eventually. The Miqo’te’s words implied that even though he was feeling strange when he drew near, no warm would come to him yet. Yet there was an innate sense of wrongness to the man, his mind screaming at him that his presence was unnatural and he needed to flee. Bryn was a cautious man when it came to others’ health. Was there something he was missing?
“Þleaše, Rhylšoemr. I know wha† my body iš, and have learned how beš† †o avoid ruining o†herš. I† iš imþor†an† †ha† you drink, and I am here †o helþ you,” the sickly Miqo’te implored.
The muscles holding Summer’s too wide arm gave out, and his hand hardly made a sound when it hit the sheets. Sucking in a breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded slowly.
Now blind, all he could feel was that sickening void drawing closer and closer to him. And as the distance between them decreased, he forced himself to breathe in the unnatural aether, forced himself to not think about how it felt like his own aether was being drained into the black hole of the man…
He couldn’t breathe.
It’s going to be okay.
He was getting lightheaded.
It’s going to be okay. Bryn trusts him.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
It’s going to be okay. Bryn trusts him. It’ll be over soon-
The rim of the cup touched his lips, and soon after, lukewarm water wet his parched lips. All thoughts of paranoia were swept away as he greedily sucked down the water, the Miqo’te aiding him by adjusting the tilt of the cup. Much sooner than he would’ve liked, the flow went dry, and before the man left-
“Glasses,” Summer rasped. “…On the table.”
The Miqo’te made a hum of affirmation, and soon, he felt the cool frame of his blackout sunglasses rest on his face. And then, the stagnation made a hasty retreat back to the desk chair.
This time, it wasn’t as hard to open his eyes. Now shaded in gray, the bedroom’s bright white walls were easier on his light-sensitive eyes, and the man stood out somewhat better against them now. He was seated on the desk chair, watching him carefully. His cane was laid out across the desk. “I am šorry for †he diš©omfor†. How iš your head? Are you feeling ši©k?”
Summer slowly nodded, opting to save his voice for more important things. The pallid Miqo’te returned the nod with a sad look. “I† šhall fade šoon. My þrešen©e iš diš†reššing †o moš† Eorzeanš, bu† ešþe©ially †o †hoše no† in well heal†h. Your life energy iš adjuš†ing and re©overing af†er your þro©edure, and wind uþše†š fire o†herwiše.”
He could understand that his aether was in disarray following the surgery, but…wind and fire? What is he talking about…? This was a man who seemed to talk vaguely and oddly, but he spoke with so much familiarity about Bryn and his own current condition…
Until he could learn more, he was going to play it safe. It took him a moment to bring remember how to speak with his old accent. “Who are ye…?” Summer asked.
“I am Þahfu, Warden’s Word and †ia of R †ribe,” the Miqo’te answered easily, seemingly unaware of how the bedbound man’s heart skipped a beat. “Your þeoþle named uš ©liffwalker, and we have adoþ†ed †ha† name for eaše.”
This was R’pahfu? The last child born on Cliffwalker land, and their only Warden’s Word? Summer had heard of him before, had wanted to meet him for two years now, yet their lives took two different paths. Summer’s took him to the Twelveswood, where R’pahfu reportedly couldn’t go, and R’pahfu traveled to Thanalan, which, well…Maybe he’d be able to visit now, once he was recovered. Not that it mattered much, because apparently R’pahfu’s mere presence was poisonous to him, somehow.
Amidst Summer’s stunned silence, R’pahfu continued to speak. “I heard from your bro†her †ha† you had šome šor† šurgery done, and wišhed †o helþ your re©overy. I knew I would no† be able †o š†ay for long, bu†…” He sighed softly. “I will only be able †o leave your gif† wi†h you. †o enhan©e i†š þower ©ould be dangerouš †o your þoši†ion.”
Summer watched as R’pahfu set his little bag on the desk and undid the knot at the top. With delicacy and near-reverence, the pallid man’s shaking hands withdrew a few gemstones one-by-one, placing them in a matrix on the table.
Summer squinted, fighting to keep his eyes open. The pain medication was doing its job, but he didn’t want to fall asleep now. One of the gemstones looked familiar. “Is that…malachite?”
R’pahfu looked up from organizing the gemstones in the matrix, giving him a sunny smile. “I† is. Do you know of our healing þra©†i©eš, Rhylšoemr?”
Summer thought back to his childhood, when he continuously pestered Father for information and stories from his sept. He remembered quite a few stories where those afflicted by pain and disease were attended to Words like R’pahfu, who would combine traditional medicines, aetheric power drawn from the land, and a variety of gemstones to aid in their recovery. Traditional medicines and aetheric healing were familiar to him by now, but gemstones…Well, they were set out around the house, and Father always carried them with him in his pockets, but he knew nothing else. “I know that each gemstone has its own unique effects on people, and ye use them t’ ‘eal people,” is what he eventually answered.
“†ha† iš †rue, yeš,” R’pahfu replied, turning back to the gemstones. Carefully, he picked up the small piece of tumbled green gemstone, holding it up to ceiling light to let it glimmer. “Bu† i† iš more ©omþli©a†ed †han †ha†, aš you may imagine. †o be a Word, you muš† know ea©h gemš†one in†ima†ely – o†herwiše, you may rišk your þa†ien†’š heal†h. Mala©hi†e, for inš†an©e, helþš a þa†ien†’š boneš heal, bu† i† muš† never be þla©ed on †he þa†ien†’š body wi†hou† a medium be†ween i† and †he škin. If i† iš þla©ed dire©†ly on †he škin, or drank aš a þo†ion, i† will þoišon †hem.”
Summer looked to the closet in the corner of his room with a wince, where his malachite earrings rested in a small jewelry box. Hopefully the silver earring loop was a suitable medium.
“†herefore, I have †old Halu and your family †ha† when †hey †rea† you wi†h †hiš, †hey †o ei†her keeþ i† away from your škin, or are †o þla©e i† a†oþ a þie©e of ©lo†h firš†. In addi†ion †o remedying your boneš, i† will invi†e †he energy of †he land †o aid you, guard againš† ex©eššive noiše †ha† will harm you –“ his eyes briefly stray to the bolted-shut window, “– and will helþ your mind re©on©ile your ©hanging ši†ua†ion…in †hiš ©aše, your þoš†-šurgery reš†.”
“I…didn’t realize one stone could do so much.” Looking away from the glinting malachite, Summer’s eyes fell upon the other gemstones lying on the table. “What do the others do, then?”
R’pahfu’s eyes twinkled. Carefully setting the malachite in the matrix once more, he gestured to the stone closest to him: a raw yellow-green stone that barely reflected light at all. “†hiš iš a varie†y of garne† †ha† will allevia†e any išola†ion you may feel during your re©overy. I hear you will be in bed for qui†e šome †ime, and I would ha†e †o šee you feel lonely. Þerhaþš šome of your neighborš will feel drawn by i†š þrešen©e and will ©ome †o viši† you?”
It was very hard for Summer to keep himself from grimacing. Receiving neighbors as visitors would be one of the worst things that could happen. Instead, he forced a tiny smile, ignoring the headache beginning to form in his forehead. “Will it draw me friends?”
“Of course,” R’pahfu said with a matching smile. His finger rested gently on the next stone, a green gemstone similar in shade to the malachite. “†hiš iš jadei†e. Like mala©hi†e, i† will en©ourage †he ©onne©†ion be†ween your boneš and your þroš†he†i©š. I† šerveš †o rebind †he škele†al šyš†em, and I hoþe i† will re©ognize your þroš†he†i© aš þar† of your body.”
Summer hummed, but didn’t comment. R’pahfu moved on to the next stone: opaque and as bright and varied in yellow hues as Azeyma. “Amber iš †he moš† þowerful ‘š†one’ for healing †he body. Over †he ©ourše of hiš†ory, i† haš abšorbed †he life energy þrovided by Azemya, †aking †he form favored by †i†an †o rešerve †hiš energy for fu†ure uše. Unlike mala©hi†e, i† may be þla©ed on your ©heš† †o þromo†e †he healing wi†hin, aš well aš draw þain away from you.”
“Really…? What if there’s a bug trapped inside of it?”
“†hen i†š life energy iš abšorbed in†o †he amber en©ašing i†, and i†š þo†en©y iš in©reašed. I did no† know if you were š©ared of inše©†š, šo I brough† a š†andard amber juš† in ©aše.”
“’ow...considerate.” R’pahfu’s aether may be unhealthy and terrifying, and his headache was pulsing in time with the aether currents flowing and out of the Miqo’te’s body , but the man himself was quite nice. It was a shame he couldn’t stay here for long.
Speaking of the man’s imminent deparature, R’pahfu moved onto the final gemstone: a raw blocky piece of what almost looked like solidified sunset light. “And finally…gold †oþaz. No† only will i† helþ you relax and find þea©e, bu† i† šþe©ifi©ally helþed þoš†-oþera†ive þa†ien†š re©over and re-energize †hemšelveš.” He winked.
Summer, for his part, blinked. Was it all the technicalities and specifics making him dizzy, or was it R’pahfu’s mere presence…? “G-Gemstones can get that specific…?”
“Oh, yeš! In fa©†, †he mala©hi†e I am gif†ing you would helþ your mo†her if šhe were of ©hild-bearing age by redu©ing any diš©omfor† from ©ramþš or ©y©le iššueš šhe would fa©e. †he amber would alšo redu©e †ee†hing þain in any ©hildren you have.”
“…Huh.” This time, when he blinked, his eyes almost refused to open again.
R’pahfu must have noticed it, because he chuckled. “Your body iš †elling you †o reš†; i† haš good †iming, be©auše I šhould exi† aš well.” Reaching for his cane, the man slowly pushed himself to his feet. Almost immediately, his legs began shaking once more, causing him to grimace. “…I šhall have †o go reš†, †oo. Þleaše reš† well, Rhylšoemr.”
“W-Wait.”
R’pahfu’s hand had been resting on the doorknob when Summer called out to him, and he slowly turned back to the bedbound man. “Yeš?”
Summer’s head was pounding, his mind dizzy and tired, and his eyelids heavy, but he had to ask. “…D-Did…you ever want to…meet R’thipra?”
To his surprise, the pallid Miqo’te nodded almost immediately. “I do. Af†er all, he iš family – even if he were no† raišed on our an©eš†ral land. However…I am no† allowed in †he †welvešwood ex©eþ† under ©er†ain ©ir©umš†an©eš. I imagine you ©an †hink of why?”
Summer’s heart leapt. R’pahfu considered R’thipra family, even though he hadn’t met him? A happy trill nearly escaped him, but he swallowed it down at the last second. Finally, he’d been validated!
But…there was also a void of doubt left where his heart soared. Did that mean that R’pahfu didn’t consider Summer family…? How was he to be happy if only one of them were considered family?
Oblivious to his turmoil, R’pahfu continued to speak. “I alšo hear he haš an averšion †o †hanalan and †hiš land. I would no† will him †o †ormen† himšelf merely †o mee† wi†h me. Þerhaþš we ©an find neu†ral ground be†ween uš. May I ašk for your helþ when you are re©overed, Rhylšoemr?”
So stuck in his thoughts was he that he nearly missed the Miqo’te’s request. “O-Of course,” Summer stammered. “I-I can try…writing him. He wants to meet you, too.” Distantly, he was aware that his accent was slipping, but between R’pahfu’s aether and the drugs in his system, it was hard enough speaking his thoughts.
The smile the man sent him, despite being thin and tired, was one of the warmest Summer had ever received. “†hen we šhall be in ©on†a©†. Re©over well, Rhylšoemr.”
And by the time the door to his bedroom closed, Summer was already asleep, dark thoughts banished by the warmth of his smile and the aura of good-will.
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The Reforging of Summer Halusyn (Clean)
((WARNING for body horror-esque writing in the beginning of this story. Please skip to the dark line below if you’re sensitive to uncanny body descriptions!
The original version of this story can be found here.))
25th Sun of the Third Umbral Moon
For the first time in six years, ‘Summer’ Halusyn couldn’t stop staring at his chest.
It was odd; the skin was still the same, even worse in some respects. Sickeningly pale, a shade of off-white that spoke of how it’d been hidden from light for so long, and heavily mottled by the crush injury he’d sustained all those years ago. In some areas, the mottling was light enough to show the old surgical scars that came after the injury, when the resource-starved chirurgeons of Little Ala Mhigo did all they could to save his life. And save his life, they did – but in return, they gave him a fatal weakness, a flaw that left him wondering every day for six years if that would be the day he died. He had become painfully fragile despite the appearance he put on: a musclebound Roegadyn who always wore dark armor, who never showed his eyes, and who was as stoic and stoic came.
Now, however, a new set of scars were joining the old constellation on his chest. The cuts made by Seras’ skillful hand were straight and precise, and only as big as they needed to be for the operation. Even only a few days later, they were healing so well that may eventually lose sight of them.
But even if he ever lost track of them, the proof of Seras’ and Sanura’s work lived with him. The feeling was unsettling: something hard under his skin that felt like it was constricting him from the inside, something that moved with him as he breathed, something that felt so foreign and not him. His mind wanted to interpret it as cold and covered in slime and liquid, even though he couldn’t feel chill radiating off of it and freezing him from the inside out; nor did it feel like his organs were slipping and sliding around it. When he put his hand on his chest, where the damaged skin was taut and learning to stretch over it, he felt the pain of distant impact.
Was this something everyone with ribs felt, but their minds forced them to ignore? It was so much different than the corset-like brace he’d been wearing for the past six years, the poor substitute for the ribs he’d lost. Sanura said that the prosthetic ribcage she’d made would feel different at first, but that it would eventually become just another part of him. Would he eventually grow blind to this alien feeling?
He hoped so. If he did, he could forget that his trip to Thanalan ever happened, and could forget the fear of death he’d lived through every day since. Maybe he’d even grow used to seeing his chest, seeing it as something normal instead of something to detest or, currently, be marveled at. But that was something for another day: right now, his job was to relax, recover, and gradually rebuild his strength and energy.
________________________________________________________________
For the duration of his recovery, he’d been shipped back to his childhood home in Aleport. As much as he detested the city, Summer couldn’t think of a better place to be. Surrounded by family that helped him fulfil his daily needs, in a private space where he wasn’t exposed to outside people. Best of all, it was near the ocean; the orchestrion roll of ambient wave sounds he’d gotten for his house in Hyrstmill did its best to mimic the sound he fell asleep to best, but nothing could compare to the real deal. It was a combination of everything that helped him relax and let the drugs Seras had prescribed him help him heal.
It was one such afternoon when there was a disturbance in this perfection. Basking in the warmth radiating from the wooden window covers, Summer lay in his bed, staring at his bare chest and listening to some show that was being broadcast over a public linkpearl. He knew that his pain medication and the sound of the waves would soon pull him back into slumber; in fact, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy, his mind fogging up and slowing down.
And just when he was on the edge of sleep, the voice over the linkpearl suddenly distorted, and a chill descended over his room.
There was someone – or something – in the room.
Despite his ineptitude at anything related to aether, Summer could feel it – what seemed like a dearth of energy just a few yalms away from his bed. Whatever was in its place was something stagnant and empty, suffocating even. For perhaps the first time ‘awakening’ in the basement of the Onsen, he could feel the currents of aether shifting, dragging, pulling, cycling around him: the natural aether inside his bedroom was being pulled into that void of air, and something…slightly off was flowing out of it. With every breath he took, he could almost feel the changed aether entering his lungs, bypassing the protection of his newly-installed ribs.
He was in no position to defend himself from whatever that hungry stagnation was. Where was Bryn? He surely wouldn’t have let this thing in, and if it’d naturally generated in his room, surely, he would’ve sensed it? He was the more aether-sensitive of the two of them, owing to his training at the Arcanist’s Guild. But yet he heard no pounding footsteps indicating his arrival, no voices that would show him to be nearby…Nothing but the birdsong outside his bolted-shut window and the chatter of sailors drinking after dark.
He tried to shout, but all that came out was a feeble whimper. As if in response, the void drew nearer and nearer, drawing in more and more ambient aether and spitting it back out changed. Was he just being paranoid, or was he feeling his own aether draining from him as well?
Summer could feel himself trembling. His too big, too blocky hands gripped at his sheets, as if he’d be able to pull himself up, defend himself, run away. The rational part of his brain that told him it was futile, dangerous even, to try it at all was shoved into the back of his mind as he struggled to form words with his dry mouth.
“S…Stop…”
To his surprise, the stagnation ceased its advance. And then, to his even bigger surprise, someone spoke:
“Oh! I am sorry. Did I rouse you? Please, return to sleep.”
Whatever that void was, it turned familiar words unfamiliar. Wait, no, they weren’t entirely unfamiliar – as his sluggish mind turned over the words, it took a few moments to connect, but…those clicks and pops interspersed in his words sounded like huntspeak. He hardly had any practice with speaking huntspeak, let along hearing it, but his few sessions with Father taught him to recognize those sounds.
Which meant…
Fighting back against that urge to defend or flee from the suffocation, he willed his drug-heavy eyelids open.
Slowly, his childhood bedroom came into view, and through squinted eyes he could see the form of a Miqo’te standing near his desk chair. Standing was a generous term, however: the man looked frail enough to collapse if he wasn’t leaning on his oaken cane, and even then, his legs were shaking fiercely. Despite the man’s small stature and stunted tail, he got the distinct feeling that he was older than him. White-pink hair and pallid skin blended in the with white stone walls and brown wood flooring, the only differentiator being his vivid bright green eyes and turquoise robes. In his free hand was a small bag made of simple undyed cloth.
But where was the void that was still draining the aether around him? There were no sprites, no elemental anomalies he could see. The man was, in fact, standing right where he could feel the void.
What is going on…?
His confusion must have been written all over his face, because the Miqo’te man gave him a thin smile. “I did not mean to disturb you. Your brother, Rhylbryn, told me that you were sleeping, and I believed it would be the best time to gift you something.” The longer he spoke, the weaker, the airier the man’s voice became, as if speaking were taxing to him.
“…Gift…?” Summer managed with his hoarse throat. He needed water. Briefly, his eyes left the man to look at the small cup of water placed on his bedside table sometime during his sleep. The man seemed to get the idea, stepping away to retrieve the cup. But as soon as he drew near once more, the stagnation pulled at him further, and the bedbound man grimaced. His fingers twitched for a few moments before he mustered the strength to raise his arm an ilm above the bed.
“…You should not be moving your arms. that would pull on your chest, yes? It needs to mend, and you would not be able to hold this cup’s weight,” the man advised. “Please, let me help you.”
Summer could tell he was right. Already, he could feel the chest muscles attached to his shoulder burning, already in anguish from the surgery and not tolerating the additional strain. But, if the man came closer, his own aether would…
“…A…aether…” he forced out. “Y-You…”
The Miqo’te frowned, glancing away from him for a moment. “I am aware of my presence and the discomfort it can cause, yes. However, I am only here briefly. I will ensure you are not ruined.”
Summer’s brows furrowed. “…W-Why…?”
“To explain why in detail would take more time than we can afford, given your health. Please, trust me. Rhylbryn approved me to visit you, and he is a great judge of health.”
He did…? Then Bryn felt this man’s seeping stagnation and felt it was okay? It was true that his twin was strangely good at perceiving the health of someone, everything from if they were about to come down with sickness to if they’d recently suffered a scratch. It was something that would be a great boon to him when he’d go on to learn at the Conjurer’s Guild eventually. The Miqo’te’s words implied that even though he was feeling strange when he drew near, no warm would come to him yet. Yet there was an innate sense of wrongness to the man, his mind screaming at him that his presence was unnatural and he needed to flee. Bryn was a cautious man when it came to others’ health. Was there something he was missing?
“Please, Rhylsoemr. I know what my body is, and have learned how best to avoid ruining others. It is important that you drink, and I am here to help you,” the sickly Miqo’te implored.
The muscles holding Summer’s too wide arm gave out, and his hand hardly made a sound when it hit the sheets. Sucking in a breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded slowly.
Now blind, all he could feel was that sickening void drawing closer and closer to him. And as the distance between them decreased, he forced himself to breathe in the unnatural aether, forced himself to not think about how it felt like his own aether was being drained into the black hole of the man…
He couldn’t breathe.
It’s going to be okay.
He was getting lightheaded.
It’s going to be okay. Bryn trusts him.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
It’s going to be okay. Bryn trusts him. It’ll be over soon-
The rim of the cup touched his lips, and soon after, lukewarm water wet his parched lips. All thoughts of paranoia were swept away as he greedily sucked down the water, the Miqo’te aiding him by adjusting the tilt of the cup. Much sooner than he would’ve liked, the flow went dry, and before the man left-
“Glasses,” Summer rasped. “…On the table.”
The Miqo’te made a hum of affirmation, and soon, he felt the cool frame of his blackout sunglasses rest on his face. And then, the stagnation made a hasty retreat back to the desk chair.
This time, it wasn’t as hard to open his eyes. Now shaded in gray, the bedroom’s bright white walls were easier on his light-sensitive eyes, and the man stood out somewhat better against them now. He was seated on the desk chair, watching him carefully. His cane was laid out across the desk. “I am sorry for the discomfort. How is your head? Are you feeling sick?”
Summer slowly nodded, opting to save his voice for more important things. The pallid Miqo’te returned the nod with a sad look. “It shall fade soon. My presence is distressing to most Eorzeans, but especially to those not in well health. Your life energy is adjusting and recovering after your procedure, and wind upsets fire otherwise.”
He could understand that his aether was in disarray following the surgery, but…wind and fire? What is he talking about…? This was a man who seemed to talk vaguely and oddly, but he spoke with so much familiarity about Bryn and his own current condition…
Until he could learn more, he was going to play it safe. It took him a moment to bring remember how to speak with his old accent. “Who are ye…?” Summer asked.
“I am Pahfu, Warden’s Word and tia of R tribe,” the Miqo’te answered easily, seemingly unaware of how the bedbound man’s heart skipped a beat. “Your people named us Cliffwalker, and we have adopted that name for ease.”
This was R’pahfu? The last child born on Cliffwalker land, and their only Warden’s Word? Summer had heard of him before, had wanted to meet him for two years now, yet their lives took two different paths. Summer’s took him to the Twelveswood, where R’pahfu reportedly couldn’t go, and R’pahfu traveled to Thanalan, which, well…Maybe he’d be able to visit now, once he was recovered. Not that it mattered much, because apparently R’pahfu’s mere presence was poisonous to him, somehow.
Amidst Summer’s stunned silence, R’pahfu continued to speak. “I heard from your brother that you had some sort surgery done, and wished to help your recovery. I knew I would not be able to stay for long, but…” He sighed softly. “I will only be able to leave your gift with you. To enhance its power could be dangerous to your position.”
Summer watched as R’pahfu set his little bag on the desk and undid the knot at the top. With delicacy and near-reverence, the pallid man’s shaking hands withdrew a few gemstones one-by-one, placing them in a matrix on the table.
Summer squinted, fighting to keep his eyes open. The pain medication was doing its job, but he didn’t want to fall asleep now. One of the gemstones looked familiar. “Is that…malachite?”
R’pahfu looked up from organizing the gemstones in the matrix, giving him a sunny smile. “It is. Do you know of our healing practices, Rhylsoemr?”
Summer thought back to his childhood, when he continuously pestered Father for information and stories from his sept. He remembered quite a few stories where those afflicted by pain and disease were attended to Words like R’pahfu, who would combine traditional medicines, aetheric power drawn from the land, and a variety of gemstones to aid in their recovery. Traditional medicines and aetheric healing were familiar to him by now, but gemstones…Well, they were set out around the house, and Father always carried them with him in his pockets, but he knew nothing else. “I know that each gemstone has its own unique effects on people, and ye use them t’ ‘eal people,” is what he eventually answered.
“That is true, yes,” R’pahfu replied, turning back to the gemstones. Carefully, he picked up the small piece of tumbled green gemstone, holding it up to ceiling light to let it glimmer. “But it is more complicated than that, as you may imagine. To be a Word, you must know each gemstone intimately – otherwise, you may risk your patient’s health. Malachite, for instance, helps a patient’s bones heal, but it must never be placed on the patient’s body without a medium between it and the skin. If it is placed directly on the skin, or drank as a potion, it will poison them.”
Summer looked to the closet in the corner of his room with a wince, where his malachite earrings rested in a small jewelry box. Hopefully the silver earring loop was a suitable medium.
“Therefore, I have told Halu and your family that when they treat you with this, they to either keep it away from your skin, or are to place it atop a piece of cloth first. In addition to remedying your bones, it will invite the energy of the land to aid you, guard against excessive noise that will harm you –“ his eyes briefly stray to the bolted-shut window, “– and will help your mind reconcile your changing situation…in this case, your post-surgery rest.”
“I…didn’t realize one stone could do so much.” Looking away from the glinting malachite, Summer’s eyes fell upon the other gemstones lying on the table. “What do the others do, then?”
R’pahfu’s eyes twinkled. Carefully setting the malachite in the matrix once more, he gestured to the stone closest to him: a raw yellow-green stone that barely reflected light at all. “This is a variety of garnet that will alleviate any isolation you may feel during your recovery. I hear you will be in bed for quite some time, and I would hate to see you feel lonely. Perhaps some of your neighbors will feel drawn by its presence and will come to visit you?”
It was very hard for Summer to keep himself from grimacing. Receiving neighbors as visitors would be one of the worst things that could happen. Instead, he forced a tiny smile, ignoring the headache beginning to form in his forehead. “Will it draw me friends?”
“Of course,” R’pahfu said with a matching smile. His finger rested gently on the next stone, a green gemstone similar in shade to the malachite. “This is jadeite. Like malachite, it will encourage the connection between your bones and your prosthetics. It serves to rebind the skeletal system, and I hope it will recognize your prosthetic as part of your body.”
Summer hummed, but didn’t comment. R’pahfu moved on to the next stone: opaque and as bright and varied in yellow hues as Azeyma. “Amber is the most powerful ‘stone’ for healing the body. Over the course of history, it has absorbed the life energy provided by Azemya, taking the form favored by titan to reserve this energy for future use. Unlike malachite, it may be placed on your chest to promote the healing within, as well as draw pain away from you.”
“Really…? What if there’s a bug trapped inside of it?”
“Then its life energy is absorbed into the amber encasing it, and its potency is increased. I did not know if you were scared of insects, so I brought a standard amber just in case.”
“’ow…considerate.” R’pahfu’s aether may be unhealthy and terrifying, and his headache was pulsing in time with the aether currents flowing and out of the Miqo’te’s body , but the man himself was quite nice. It was a shame he couldn’t stay here for long.
Speaking of the man’s imminent deparature, R’pahfu moved onto the final gemstone: a raw blocky piece of what almost looked like solidified sunset light. “And finally…gold topaz. Not only will it help you relax and find peace, but it specifically helped post-operative patients recover and re-energize themselves.” He winked.
Summer, for his part, blinked. Was it all the technicalities and specifics making him dizzy, or was it R’pahfu’s mere presence…? “G-Gemstones can get that specific…?”
“Oh, yes! In fact, the malachite I am gifting you would help your mother if she were of child-bearing age by reducing any discomfort from cramps or cycle issues she would face. the amber would also reduce teething pain in any children you have.”
“…Huh.” This time, when he blinked, his eyes almost refused to open again.
R’pahfu must have noticed it, because he chuckled. “Your body is telling you to rest; it has good timing, because I should exit as well.” Reaching for his cane, the man slowly pushed himself to his feet. Almost immediately, his legs began shaking once more, causing him to grimace. “…I shall have to go rest, too. Please rest well, Rhylsoemr.”
“W-Wait.”
R’pahfu’s hand had been resting on the doorknob when Summer called out to him, and he slowly turned back to the bedbound man. “Yes?”
Summer’s head was pounding, his mind dizzy and tired, and his eyelids heavy, but he had to ask. “…D-Did…you ever want to…meet R’thipra?”
To his surprise, the pallid Miqo’te nodded almost immediately. “I do. After all, he is family – even if he were not raised on our ancestral land. However…I am not allowed in the Twelveswood except under certain circumstances. I imagine you can think of why?”
Summer’s heart leapt. R’pahfu considered R’thipra family, even though he hadn’t met him? A happy trill nearly escaped him, but he swallowed it down at the last second. Finally, he’d been validated!
But…there was also a void of doubt left where his heart soared. Did that mean that R’pahfu didn’t consider Summer family…? How was he to be happy if only one of them were considered family?
Oblivious to his turmoil, R’pahfu continued to speak. “I also hear he has an aversion to Thanalan and this land. I would not will him to torment himself merely to meet with me. Perhaps we can find neutral ground between us. May I ask for your help when you are recovered, Rhylsoemr?”
So stuck in his thoughts was he that he nearly missed the Miqo’te’s request. “O-Of course,” Summer stammered. “I-I can try…writing him. He wants to meet you, too.” Distantly, he was aware that his accent was slipping, but between R’pahfu’s aether and the drugs in his system, it was hard enough speaking his thoughts.
The smile the man sent him, despite being thin and tired, was one of the warmest Summer had ever received. “Then we shall be in contact. Recover well, Rhylsoemr.”
And by the time the door to his bedroom closed, Summer was already asleep, dark thoughts banished by the warmth of his smile and the aura of good-will.
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