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I know. I was the one who told her about amethyst's abilities.

[ He says that to Ezar, sounding a bit tired. And then he turns back to Summer. ]

My love.

[ He is still smiling though there's the tiniest crack in it - not anger but worry, the clear mark of someone who is used to fretting over someone else.

Her hand is already in his, so he takes his other hand to cover hers as he leans forwards, ears perked up. Will he be chiding or yelling at her? Nothing so overt. ]

I beg of you, please -

[ A deep breath. ]

- choose shorter buildings when testing your wings.

[ While Ezar might have thrown Summer to the proverbial wolves on this one, there are certain things he's certainly not going to give voice to... like how she'd needed to be rescued, how manna starved she'd been, and how she'd refused to call G'raha in favor of cornering him into synching with her. These things, he estimates, would only cause hurt for no good reason, and he's never been the sort to want to do such a thing, even at his most bitter. ]

Aye, but you best be a dragoon if you want to jump off so many buildings and live to tell about it. [ He grins. ] You'll not be wresting supremacy within the firmament from us. [ It's the one and only thing he's good at, the one thing he takes pride in, and he won't back away from it.

Hells, and in this case, he'll actually side with her. ]

Oh, leave off, G'raha. She's still in one piece and not flat as a pancake. I'll not let anything happen to her in my sky.

[ He grins. ]

Mayhap if she asks nice, I'll teach her to dive.

Our sky.

[So Summer mumbles under her breath, eyes averted and ears drooping, yet even when properly abashed still pathologically unable to let a chance for possessiveness go by without comment.

It doesn't miss her notice, however, the words Ezar chooses — the assertions he makes. I'll not let anything happen to her. And maybe it's just the dragon in him talking, greedy and particular the way he's been since he came over about having his things just so, just as he wants them, but...

But.

He wants to keep her, she decides eventually, more on impulse than out of any sort of rationale — a notion she'll have to go back over and bear out some other time. Whatever else he might think or say or feel compelled to do, something in him wants to be able to say that's mine and believe it. And that, of all things, is an impulse she understands.

But that's a thought for later.]

I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to worry. You know I know how to catch myself, it's just...it was different than using aether to do it. I didn't think it would be as different as it was. I'm sure I could've sorted it out for myself, just — Ezar got to me first.

[She lets out a slow breath of her own.]

But I won't be so careless again. I promise.

You have not had to consider the design of an entire city in the manner of "will she climb up on this, and how high can it be before it's dangerous".

[ This he directs to Ezar, his tails flicking back and forth in clear irritation. As absolutely grumpy as he sounds about it however, it's also clear through the synch that he's very fond of her, regardless of the affected tone.

Her statement, though, has him sighing softly and squeezing her hand again. ]

I know you know how to catch yourself - you were doing it before I met you and well after I left. I would not have you clip your wings for my worry, because I love you for your recklessness. [ His smile comes back, lopsided. ] I simply wish you would consider the height from which you fall when you are learning something.

I have no doubt you're quite set now to leap from any height now, and will keep finding taller and taller buildings to ascend from.

[ His ears flick a little bit, before he looks suddenly shy. ]

I suppose it's silly for me to chide you, when I have done my own dabbling in magics, some under situations where my control is not the finest.

My sky. [ He bares his teeth. ] 'til you've shown me otherwise.

[ Did he just challenge her? Yes. But he's a dragoon. He's not ceding that ground to anyone without good reason. It's one of the few things he does feel is his. The rest he does not feel the need to comment on, uninterested in taking credit for a rescue or anything like that.

Though when she promises to not be so reckless again, he does make his opinion on that known with a loud snort. If he's only known her this long and he knows such a thing is a lie, he'd certainly think G'raha would know better.

At G'raha's mention of designing an entire city, though, he does give voice to his continued annoyance in a very dry tone. ]

An entire city, aye? Or is that another important person thing that's not for the likes of me to know?

[ Because for all their previous insistence about not being that important and the rest of that bullshit, he can certainly tell when topics are being avoided as if he's not privileged to know the information. ]

...It's a story we would both have a hand in telling. Do you want to hear it?

[He all but implied that he does, just now, but — maybe she just wants to get Ezar to say it. To ask for it. To keep him included, as the person who sought out the tale, so that it's not just herself and G'raha reminiscing about old memories that Ezar isn't a part of.]

How Raha built a city for me so that I would come to love it, and do anything to protect it? Between the two of us, I think we can make it an entertaining one.

[She pauses.]

It...would lend a little clarity to why it frightens me to look like this. What was happening to me. I told you, remember? About my aether. It has to do with that as well.

It's not that we cannot tell you. It's that to tell the things we experienced to normal people usually upsets them.

[ But here, G'raha Tia with his too-long ears and many tails looks at Ezar, expression contemplative. ]

But you have seen anything other than normal before, have you not? Tis a tale with no clear villain or hero. If anything, it is one of being selfish.

[ He closes his eyes, for a moment. ]

There should be few secrets between us though, I think. If we are yours.

'course I want to hear these stories. [ He's grumbling, though it's about half for show. After Summer and G'raha both assiduously avoiding telling him such things before, he has to wonder what has changed.

Though the way she puts it, G'raha building an entire city for her... well, that's a lot of implication. Obviously he already knew they were mates and the like, but... well, damn.

His lips twitch to a humorless smile at G'raha saying such stories upset people. ]

Don't have much left to be scared or upset about.

[ It's something he's said to Summer several times, though not, he supposes, to G'raha. But, with nothing to go back to but, he supposes, the aetherial sea even if he were returned to Eorzea... what really matters anymore? What could G'raha even tell him that would be more upsetting than what the Calamity had done to his entire village in an instant? Than his own worthless death?

Fucking nothing, basically.

His ears flick back at the question, though. ]

"Normal" 's a funny word. Means a lot of different things.

[ Cautious, still. Always cautious. He's not sure what G'raha's asking, what the man knows. What has made him decide that there should be fewer secrets, what that even means.

But it's that last, that If we are yours, which leaves him speechless, staring at G'raha wide-eyed. The part of him that is dragon--quite a lot of him at the moment--smiles internally with smug, warm satisfaction. Damn right the both of you are.

But he is not wholly the dragon, and the part of him that is Ezar feels the same like a cold shock, alarm and fear and confusion and... hope, perhaps. What keeps him from simply fleeing the bathroom in a furtive instant is a combination of the dragon's weight and his own disbelief that surely, he cannot mean it like that, I am misunderstanding. Still, he draws his hand back from Summer like he's been burned before he freezes up entirely, fighting duel desires to curl in protectively on himself and curl around the both of them.

It's the dragon that choose the words; it's Ezar that turns them from firm statement to soft question. ]

You are?

[ In truth G'raha says it without thinking, the playfulness of the vulpine side spilling out as he speaks. But it is not a lie that he spoke it at all. Instead, he remembers too late how Ezar doesn't seem to want to be a part of any one or any thing - and his worry is struck true when Ezar draws back from the Synch.

He doesn't leave, though, and instead looks at them, G'raha thinking he looks almost wounded, before he speaks again. Though G'raha has been resting in the bath up until this point, he finally moves to step out, his movements careful and deliberate. ]

If you would have us.

[ After a moment he looks to Summer, who is sitting on the floor still, his head tilting a little bit. ]

No one is an object, or something to be controlled. But Summer and I care for each other. And once... she fought a man who would have killed me, and her, for touching me at all. And it is perhaps not untrue to say I fought time itself to save her.

[ He looks back to Ezar. ]

I did it because I cared about her. I did not even know if she loved me at all, but I knew I could not go on without her. Which is not to say you must welcome gestures as grand as that, but that... I know I care for you. That I already find myself worrying for you as I worry for her, when she leaps from towers.

So we could be yours. We do not have to be, but I would welcome it all the same.

Edited 2022-06-27 23:42 (UTC)

[Her instinct is, as ever, to chase after Ezar's hand when he draws it away — always, always seeking connection where she can get it — but she lets him have his space instead, and stays quiet while G'raha makes his gentle case.

She's not a better orator than he is. She's far from a better leader. But there are things she can add to what he says, she thinks — and if there's one thing that has always been true, it's that they're better when they work in tandem than either of them could be separately.]

What if I told you that I want to be wanted? I want to be surrounded by people so determined to keep me safe that I never have to feel afraid. I want to be more than an arm or a boot to someone — I want to be the air they breathe.

[It's her turn to glance up at G'raha, still from her place on the floor; as he stands near her, the nearest way of offering affection is to brush her hand up the outside of his thigh, and she does.]

And I want Raha to never be alone again. I want him to be so loved that he couldn't hope to forget it if he tried. I want him to have everything he could ever possibly dream of and more, because he can't help but give of himself and it's well past time he gets as good as he gives.

[Gradually, at length, she looks to Ezar.]

I think that's what you want, too. You want to make sure nothing ever hurts me. And you want to make Raha happy. But that's only what I think, and I'm not about to speak for you.

Now you know what I want. So. Will you tell us what you want?

[ It's so much, all at once. After death, after coming to this place, it's already been so much for him to have a friend, then more than one friend, then to have anyone outside his own head know anything about him, let alone several. It's so much, to go from those tentative, stumbling steps of trying to figure out how to connect with other people after a decade of complete self-isolation to having two people speak to him so. To go from nothing but exhausted, depressed numbness and constant fear to... this.

It's too much. Too many emotions to sort out or understand all at once. With a soft gasp he does fold in on himself, face pressed against his knees, arms wrapped protectively over his head, a ridiculously childish posture for a grown man, let alone one who's currently seven fulms tall and half dragon. He can feel himself shaking again, and he can't seem to stop it, another deeply embarrassing thing. Yet it is a sign of trust, however unwitting, that he reacts to feeling so disoriented and frightened not by lashing out in anger, which has always been his defensive habit, but by letting his fear be seen.

At least from the dark safety of hiding behind his own wings, he can attempt to speak. His voice is muffled, small, his adopted accent shattered and scattered from his control and he's so overwrought he doesn't even notice. ]

I don't know. I don't know what I want. [ He makes a small, despairing sound that might be a laugh turned on its side. ] I spent so much time trying not to want anything because it's--it's dangerous to want things.

I'm sorry. [ He's not even certain what he's apologizing for, but he feels he ought to again, for what he can only assume is another moment of disappointing others that he desperately wishes to not disappoint. ] I'm sorry. I don't want anything to ever hurt either of you and I want you to be happy--and I'm sorry.

[ Were they not all so dramatic, G'raha could have simply said that yes, they could be Ezar's. That perhaps they should try having a meal together, instead of promising tales of time undone and cities built. But he had not, and so this is his responsibility.

He moves first, careful, stepping into the small space Ezar has made with his wings. He still has Summer's hand on his thigh. This time, he gently places his hand nearby Ezar's foot.

He's careful, for now, not to touch him. He knows how overwhelming Synchrony can be and so he lets Ezar have the privacy of his thoughts and feelings, but leaves the offer of his hand if Ezar needs it. ]

Shh. It's okay.

[ He gives a soft laugh, his voice as even as he can make it. ]

There is nothing for you to apologize for. Not having an answer is certainly not one either.

Instead... I would be happy to find out if it is something you want? Something we can discover together. It need not be more complicated than that.

[ Since he is now the one between Ezar and Summer, he uses his other hand to reach down, curling his fingers into Summer's. ]

[How things come full circle. How it wasn't so long ago at all that she was the one coming apart, and he the one determined to hold her together.]

Breathe, love.

[And so she echoes his own words back at him, trusting that he'll remember. Peace, and caring, and protectiveness, and warmth.]

Let it be an adventure, then. One you're accompanying us on. And like Raha says, we'll all find out together.

[It takes no thought at all to weave her fingers through G'raha's. It never has, not since she found him again, not since so many things have tried to take him away no matter how tightly she holds on.]

Let us tell you a story. And then, when it's done, we can all start writing the next.

[ Summer bids him to breathe and he does, pathetically grateful for one thing he can do that is simple and not so emotionally loaded. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut and breathes like his was taught to do so many years ago, breathing the world in and himself out until his borders become less distinct and his distress seems small in comparison to the vast sea of life around him.

It isn't that it doesn't matter, but it's comforting to know that the world doesn't feel as easily, foolishly fragile as he does. It allows the tremors to work themselves from his shoulders and hands until he is still, and breathing, and not at peace, exactly, but no longer completely overwhelmed.

He relaxes slowly, one muscle at a time, until he lets his arms drop down, until he brushes his fingers hesitantly over G'raha's hand. Already so poorly controlled, the synch is instinctive, as is the soft outflow of aether, for once seeking rather than offering comfort. The dregs of his panic still flutter through him, but he is listening, breathing, attempting to simply be instead of tying himself in knots. ]

Sorry. [ He knows G'raha said not to apologize, but he still feels he ought to, from behind the shield of his knees. ] I don't know how...

[ He turns his head just enough to look at Summer, peering at her from under the mess that's become of his hair.

It had already felt like such an enormous step, to him, when they'd been on the island, when he'd sat with G'raha and Summer in that hut after willingly speaking even one of his lesser secrets to him. That he'd cried on Summer's shoulder. That he'd been bold enough to intrude on their sleep. In a way, it's good to have it affirmed that those things were welcome. To have it affirmed again, in what he picks up empathically by either connection, that this is no lie nor trick, that there is genuine affection (is that the right word for it?) of a sort he's not felt directed toward him before.

It's also fucking terrifying, like he edged one step forward into what he thought was a pond and suddenly found himself in water up to his cheekbones. And... mortifying, to find himself caught to off guard, so far behind, so ignorant of how to interact with others while he's still trying to even sort out if he should, if he could.

But an adventure, perhaps, as Summer said. A journey. He'd once wanted that, desperately, so much that he'd left his home behind for it, to everyone's detriment. Perhaps this sort of thing will end in a similarly soul-shattering disaster. But he still longs for it, still feels that secret heart urge him yes.

And every adventure starts with a single step, and that isn't so terrible, is it? ]

Please, just one step at a time. Please.

Edited 2022-06-28 04:38 (UTC)

One step at a time. I promise.

[ It is a promise to both Ezar and a reminder to himself that he should be more patient, that he should pick his words with more care. Lyna would shake her head at him to see him being so dramatic again, he knows she would.

The synch is, of course, easy to share his feelings with. He projects warmth and understanding, showing Ezar that he's not hurt at all by anything he's said. And there's a tinge of apology as well, for the fact that he did not pace himself.

He squeezes both their hands - Summer and Ezar's - again, his tails flicking behind him, much like his tail would when it is happy.

He lets Ezar have some time to breathe before he speaks again, his tone deceptively light again. ]

Would you still like to hear our story? I meant what I said - tis no maliciousness that kept it from you before.

[The mug of water he'd brought for her earlier is still around somewhere; it takes Summer a second to track down where she'd abandoned it, but when she does she retrieves it and eases herself up from the floor to go refill it with cold water from the kitchen sink tap. This, too, brings something full circle: he'd fetched it in to help soothe and calm her, and when she rejoins them she returns it to him, taking Ezar's free hand and pressing the mug against his palm, carefully guiding each of his clawed fingers to curl around it until he's got it snugly held.]

Or. If it's too much to make decisions right now, then you needn't. If you'd rather I decide for you, I will.

[She'd had to drop G'raha's hand in order to see to the water; now that she's back on her feet, she gravitates back to his side, this time leaning up against his shoulder by way of making contact. Present, but giving Ezar his space.]

Shall I? All you have to say is yes or no.

Edited 2022-06-28 16:29 (UTC)

[ One step at a time. He can do that. One step, and then another, and then the third might be easier still. But he only has to think about one step at a time instead of the sheer enormity of... everything G'raha and Summer were saying.

He will no doubt be ashamed about this later, for how pathetic he is in this moment, driven to near hysterics by two people being affectionate toward him and thinking better of him than he does of himself. But for now he is grateful, holding the cup of water like it's a lifeline and not like he ought to be drinking it.

And more grateful still, for what Summer offers. An even easier decision yet; all he has to do is trust her. All he has to do is let her be the sky and give himself over to the fall.

He raises his head enough to look at her and bobs his head in a little nod. Yes, please. ]

Before we get into the telling of stories, might I suggest a more comfortable locale?

[ He gives Ezar's hand another squeeze, projecting warmth and fondness. ]

You'll be able to stretch out those wings if we rest in the living room.

[ he'd normally suggest the bedroom but - he doesn't want to give Ezar the wrong impression. If Summer wants to suggest it, he won't stop her.

Either way, he waits for Ezar to finish his water before he helps him down, and starts to move them somewhere more comfortable. Wherever they end up, he'll sit down first and indicate they should sit with him. ]

That's it. Go with Raha and sit where he tells you. I'll join you soon.

[Because there's one thing in particular she needs to do first, and waits until they've got Ezar untangled from the sink vanity and back on his feet before letting herself back out into the apartment proper again, ahead of them.

It's odd how easy it is to slip back into a semblance of confidence simply because there are more important things than being upset, now. And, in its fashion, this too is as much of a distraction as any of the others she'd been begging for not long before. There's a relief in this, too — to take it all and box it up and set it away in favor of being what someone else needs.

And knowing what someone else needs occasionally extends to the little things along with the big ones, which is why she darts into the apartment first and rounds up her Ultros, carrying him wriggling into the bedroom where she correctly assumes Wind-Up Mystel is sleeping, and deposits him there before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Three mammets accounted for, and none on the loose to bother them while they talk. Ultros can serve a little jail time for Ezar's sake, this go-around.

When she rejoins them in the living room, she picks whichever of Graha's sides is currently unoccupied and settles in next to him, almost automatically leaning into his side and bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.]

The kitchen cupboard has a knife in it.

[She remarks, smooth and low, as she settles in.]

If you find yourself looking for one, later.

[ Ezar follows G'raha with his head down and his shoulders hunched, a combination of residual stress and embarrassment. But he's still horribly, horribly grateful to have clear, simple things he can do, things that he doesn't have to think about, things that have no greater implications and require no answers. Follow G'raha. Sit with G'raha. Wait for Summer.

Ezar starts out leaning against G'raha a little awkwardly, but when Summer joins them he finally just gives in to the dragon-urge and moves to lay down, curling protectively around both of them--ridiculous, when he's been such a mess, but instinct is instinct--so that he ends up with his head in G'raha's lap, careful to not poke the man with his horns, chest against his back, legs against Summer's back, and his tail wrapped fully around Summer's waist. Only then does he fully relax, arms and wings sprawled out comfortably.

He mumbles against G'raha's leg: ] Said your kitchen was haunted.

Perfect for making some sandwiches later, maybe.

[ He answer Summer smoothly as she sits back down, letting Ezar arrange himself until he's comfortable as he can be. As soon as he is, G'raha reaches down to stroke his fingers through Ezar's hair, teasing the rolanberry colored strands between his fingers. He leans his head against Summer's, resting his cheek on top of her head. ]

Haunted by the spirits of my past, maybe.

[ He says it lightly, and after a moment he clears his throat. He briefly explains how Summer and he had met - the research expedition at the Crystal Tower. He spoke of Xanda, Unei and Doga, and how he had come to be in possession of two Allagan eyes instead of just one.

He glances to Summer as he explains that he had sealed himself in the tower, confident that he would only wake when humanity was strong enough to open its doors and be worthy of the technology within ... ]

That was not, however, the situation I found myself waking up to.

[ He details the experiences he had in the timeline of the eighth umbral calamity, of working with the Ironworks. Of a world that wanted the Warrior of Light back, and how he could not bear to live in a world that Summer's life had ended early in. He explains the reflections of the Source, and how they had determined the First had caused the Eighth Umbral. ]

I... with the permission, I suppose, of some of its people. I took the Crystal Tower from that timeline and abandoned them. I took the device back with me to the First. My aim was not as true as I had hoped, and I arrived 100 years before the Calamity actually happened on the First.

[ Again he details his work. The planning of an entire city, based on Old Sharlayan but also in consideration of how Summer might see it. How he sought to work trade with the Tribes of the First - not just because they were people, but because they had always been the people that Summer took to most easily. And he needed her to care for the place he would ask her to protect, because he could not give her G'raha Tia to protect in its place.

He speaks of his plan as well. To ask her to take the Light into her, and then take it away and seal himself in the void between worlds. How that was always intended to be his goal.

He stops when he mentions his first attempts at bringing her in, glancing to Summer to see if she would like to offer the story from her perspective instead. ]

You know...it wasn't until after the doors closed behind you that I realized how much I wished you hadn't left.

[Had her future self ever said this to him, in the time between what she remembers now and wherever she ends up in G'raha's recollection? Mayhap she has. But it's still the right place to start her own telling of things, and she rubs her cheek against G'raha's shoulder as she does, her tail draping easily over Ezar's where it curls around her.]

I always went back, every time I was in Mor Dhona. I don't know why. I just...wasn't ready to lose you yet, I suppose. Of course, Alphinaud's Crystal Braves had other ideas.

[And there's far, far too much to tell if she were to try every detail, but there's a clear and obvious theme to the points she pauses to dwell on: her exile from Ul'dah and flight to Ishgard. How they'd sheltered her, but with implicit prices and conditions attached. The unwelcoming airs of the Halonic church and the Heaven's Ward. Tataru's inquisition and subsequent trial by combat.

It's important that it be known, how for all that she may care for Ishgard now, it didn't always care for her. It didn't welcome her with open arms. It didn't make her feel safe.]

First it was Ishgard. Then came Ala Mhigo, where I met —

[She doesn't mean for her breath to hitch, but it does.]

Where I caught the attention of the imperial prince. Zenos yae Galvus.

[And again, the nature of her tale follows a similar theme. The feeling of being hunted. The helplessness of confronting an enemy too powerful to surmount. The obsession. The fixation. The nightmares. Until at last: ]

Not long after the liberation of Ala Mhigo, the other Scions and I started hearing a voice calling out to us in our minds. Searching for something. For me, it turned out. Only it kept finding my friends instead of me. Spiriting them away, one by one.

[She'll let G'raha decide how much he wants to clarify the manner in which they were spirited away. Part of them, at least.]

When he finally found me, I was fighting the prince again. And all of a sudden I couldn't move. Couldn't get up. Couldn't lift my arms to cast a spell. And I could just barely see Zenos through the haze, drawing closer and closer and —

[She stops short.]

It's the reason I let a man I knew nothing about, who'd forcibly taken my friends, take me too. Because he said he needed me, and after what had happened on the battlefield I — I was selfish enough to want to be as far from Zenos as I could be. So that I wouldn't have to face him again. I thought anything, in that moment, would be better than that.

[ Ezar breathes out a contented sigh at the feeling of G'raha's fingers in his hair. The tip of his tail slowly moves against Summer's stomach, an idle, unthinking caress as he listens, eyes half-closed.

He does not move or react much more than making the occasional murmur to indicate that he's listening until Summer mentions Ala Mhigo. The name of the place hits him like a shock, his tail stilling, fingers of one hand curling into a fist against G'raha's back. But all he says, a murmur that's not really directed at anyone, is: ]

Ah, so we won at Ala Mhigo. They're free. It was worth it, after all.

[ He may not have saved anyone personally, but he contributed to that victory in his own small way. The thought is more than he's ever had. Some meaning to take from his death, some small measure of peace it grants him that resonates in what threads of synchronicity there are.

And there's levity, at least, in learning more of G'raha. Of being able to return to an older, gentle mockery. And with his panic and anxiety receded now, he remembers himself, the way he's supposed to speak with that thick accent, and it's enough of a habit even around G'raha and Summer still. ]

So what I've learned of G'raha is that he can't bleedin' aim and when he does he snatches people up out of their clothes.

[ He smiles against the man's leg. In a strange way, with all the ludicrous amount of power being spoken up, the deeds of import, that makes G'raha feel more like a person and less like someone he ought to assiduously avoid out of self-protection.

The continuation of the story draws him back to silence. He's aware of Zenos, hates him with the passion of a soldier that's seen the destruction he's left behind and tried, inadequately, to pick up the pieces. He certainly can't blame Summer for wishing to escape the man; many would have liked to be able to and never had the chance. ]

[ G'raha is reminded of the first time he wandered into Ezar's dreams - the thick smoke and smell of blood and ceruleum in the streets of Ala Mhigo. So when he says they won, he strokes his fingers against his scalp. ]

They did, and you helped.

[ But it's the only comment he gives Ezar for the moment. Then the comment about his aim and he gives a soft indignant sound. ]

I would ask either of you to use an untested magic and to aim it precisely where you wanted it. In truth... I am not as skilled a mage as Summer or Y'shtola Rhul. What I lacked in finesse, I made up for in the amount of power I could draw from the Tower.

[ And he sighs. ]

The best way I could protect Summer was to convince her to stay on the First. Should she come to blows on the Source with Zenos and win, she would force the Emperor's hand in using Black Rose.

[ He details, again, his request to have her absorb the Light after she found her compatriots. But then he pauses. ]

She began visiting me, after defeating the first Lightwarden. I assumed, at first, it had to do with my concealed identity. I could also tell the aether was roiling within her. And yet she did not ask for relief or pry about who I was. She simply ... asked me to speak with her, and tell her stories.

Edited 2022-06-29 00:27 (UTC)

...Oh. Were you — you were at Ala Mhigo. With the Maelstrom?

[It's more a rhetorical question than a real one, but still, it earns Ezar a light squeeze, herself.]

Well, if you weren't present to hear Pipin's speech to my thaumaturges, I'll have to reenact it sometime for you. Though my rendition won't be as good.

[But now, here, comes the part of the tale that has her subconsciously drawing in on herself a little. Hiding in the First. Absorbing the primordial light. Knowing something was wrong. Knowing she couldn't say it to anyone, except one person.]

Mayhap it sounds ridiculous, how easily I was willing to put my faith in the Crystal Exarch. He'd taken my friends. Scared us all half to death, not knowing what was happening to them or why.

But...he came running to see me when I arrived. Called me his guest, and treated me like one. He asked me for nothing and offered me everything. To answer all my questions, to help me see my friends straight away. Arranged for lodgings just for me. Showed me around the city so I wouldn't get lost. Showed me that it was a place so unlike Ishgard and Ul'dah.

[She laughs softly, under her breath.]

I love the Amalj'aa. One of my tutors in black magic is one. But in Ul'dah they're mistreated, scorned, feared...and yet there in the Crystarium, they were just...around. Earning livelihoods, just like anyone else. There wasn't an eye batted about it.

[And now, she casts a sidelong glance at G'raha, arch and knowing.]

Of course I loved his city. I still love the Crystarium. How could I do anything else? It's just as he said — it was made for me to love.

Small wonder I grew to love the man who made it, really.

IC Inbox | noctiumrp

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