While Alphinaud grumbled in the caravan, wishing he was doing the political discussions, Minfilia remained on her Linkpearl. It was comfortable, not showing her face, speaking to her dear friend Belias.

“So it’s truly going well?” Minfilia asked, trying not to speak too loud. She wiggled slightly, Fordola kneeding into one of her thighs. “I’m so glad, Belias. You’ve begun to build a new kingdom.”

From the other end, Belias gave a snort, his voice filled with the warmth of a campfire. “I’ve not seen so many smiles before, Minfilia. But it is not by my hands that this has happened. It is by yours.

The Adventurers’ Guild has come to ask for a partnership,” Belias admitted, “and I was waiting for you to come discuss it…”

“That’s so exciting! But I’m a little busy.” Leaning back, Minfilia felt his warmth coming though from far away. “Ishgardian politics, alongside a Primal - and some of my allies have been imprisoned by the Empire.”

The joy drained from Belias’ voice. “If there is aught I can do, Minfilia…”

“There is,” Minfilia said with realisation filling her voice. “I imagine with allies ‘tween Tonberry, Gigas, and now the Adventurers’ Guild - they may be able to report sightings of any Archon.”

“You aim to take down the Primal yourself.”

Belias did not judge her. No, instead, there was a soft concern in his voice.

Minfilia went quiet. Before her voice wavered. “I need to. Without the Warrior of Light - and with the P-Path of the Twelve…”

With the other echo-bearers dead, she was alone. Her glyph warmed slightly, and Minfilia lowered her head. “They were slaughtered, Belias. By the Empire.

I cannot forgive them. Currently, this legion is run by Gaius - I believe you would not know of such.” Belias snorted, and Minfilia continued. “He has hurt me and my allies far too much.”

Fordola grumped, and Minfilia looked down at the summon. “I do not know what I shall do when we are face to face. But I know I must stop him.”

“Your passion is your strength, dear little Minfilia,” Belias said quietly, after a long while. Caution entering his voice. “But do not let it consume you, lest you may lose track of what you held passion for.”

Lecturing her, of course. Belias was— well, he was a little fussy. Odd for one once thought of as one of the most terrifying beasts in the world. Minfilia leaned backwards more. Masking her sorrow. “I know. My wish is to work towards a brighter dawn. That is all. My own desires—”

“—matter.” Fordola didn’t know what was happening on the other end of the line, but she gently bit into Minfilias’ thigh. Into the crystal scar - blue turning to orange, the same colour as the armlet she wore, the same colour as the gentlest of dawns. “You gotta stop putting th’fate of the world ahead of yourself.”

“Fordola, quiet,” Minfilia said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I cannot focus on myself when the world is at risk.”

She looked out the caravan window, and sighed. Camp Dragonhead was coming into view though the snow. “Thank you, Belias. Oh— before I go, can I ask you about something?”

A pause, and Minfilia bit her lip. “Have you seen a dragoon clad in azure? I saw one, and felt strange - it was almost like a vision, but I saw nothing.”

Belias’ voice was dark as he next spoke. “I have not. But I shall ask our allies, and shall tell you when we next talk.”

As Belias hung up, Minfilia closed her eyes, finally letting her body relax. At least, for the moment, before she had to deliver the letter. She hoped Ceodore was at least a little open to her. That’d be nice.

Ishgard was never nice. First, there was the inspections. Each outpost had them, it seemed, and this one was more concerned with their luggage. It made sense, with rumours beginning about Francel.

But the looks that Fordola got - now those were strange. Whispers, murmurs. Wasn’t that thing reported by the Ixal? No, no, it couldn’t have been. They shot it, right? Minfilias could feel her covered ears twitching. “Pardon me - did you say Ixal?”

One of the Elezen let out a grunt. “Yeah. Those birdbrains are acting like they’re some of us. Still checking they’re not Dravanian in disguise.”

“If they are not, you’ll…?”

The Elezen shook their head. “No. Can’t trust them - they haven’t grown up fighting against the dragon threat. They don’t get it. But, hey. Might as well get some help.” Simply put, they were not going to fight them.

Fighting enthralled Ixal would not work, after all. Minfilia did not say this, instead letting a soft frown cross her face. “Why?”

Again, the Elezen shrugged, shaking their head. “I think it’s what Lord Haurchefant would have done.”

If Minfilias’ theory was right, the Elezen inspecting her closely was closer to the truth then he may have known. Perhaps she would tell Alphinaud, at least, who gave a harsh look to her. As soon as they were alone, when everything was okay, he spoke up.

Alphinaud, for his part, wasn’t glaring at poor Marques anymore. “Minfilia. We don’t have time to play politics with these dragon-fearing Ishgardians.”

Minfilia shook her head. “What would you do - have them send their armies against us?” Alphinaud looked back, a little perplexed. “We play their games, but I do not disagree. But it seems the threat of Primal have been forgotten.”

“…the Burn…”

The two turned to Marques, and he was disassociating. His eyes dull, he stared blankly out of one of their windows. “A land where Primal were summoned unchecked. It… it’s why…” A choked tremble, as Marques seemed to be stuck in thoughts half-remembered. “It’s why Garlemald fights them. The Burn… cannot be repeated.”

Minfilia strode over and gave Marques a soft little hug. “Thank you. You need not remember if it hurts - not now.” She would ask more when he did not stammer, when his hands did not ball up.

Instead, she knew it was time to go and speak with Ceodore. “Alphinaud, pray remain with Cid and Fordola.” Fordola was about to protest, but Minfilia sighed, her voice lowering. “Your… well, we cannot risk them figuring it out.” Hopefully, none of them heard that. Giving a soft nod to herself, Minfilia left the caravan.

She moved swiftly towards where she would meet with Ceodore. She held her letter close. Would that she knew what to do with this - but she had a few ideas.

A map table may have seperated Minfilia and the other Elezen - Ceodore - but they both stared at the other. Ceodores’ soft blue hair was fluffy, almost like the snow outside - but his eyes were piercing, unlike any Minfilia was used to. It was a little intimidating, honestly. Minfilia would not back down.

“State your business,” Ceodore said quite firmly - but there was a little quiver in his voice. One that most would not notice, but Minfilia did. A lack of confidence, perhaps?

A point of attack. Well, not attack, but a way to get the upper hand. “I have come bearing a letter of introduction from House Haillnarte.” She crossed around the table, expression firm. “I have come to offer aid, in exchange for information.”

Ceodore took the letter, opening it swiftly. He mumbled the words, before looking up at her. “You are aware of the rumours, right?” Yes, of the heretics in the house… Minfilia nodded, and Ceodore frowned a little. “This letter is worth less then the paper it’s written on.”

“I expected as much,” Minfilia replied, “but I also know where Francel has gone. But I also know he is innocent.” Ceodore looked her over, confused. “Tell me, Ceodore. What is the evidence against him, again?”

“W-well!” Ceodore said, focusing. “His luggage had a rosary in it. And his family has long been rumoured to—”

“Rumours and falsehoods, then.” Minfilia stated, as she stood firm. “His luggage had recently been struck by heretics. Would they truly work to undermine their position, by attacking one of their own?”

Ceodore crossed his arms, eyes darting away ever-so-slightly. “Perhaps they were rivals?” No, he didn’t believe so. Heretics were heretics. That’s all their was to them.

“In fact,” Minfilia said, eyes now focusing, “I think I have a way to prove that’s the case. But it will take us waiting for the next delivery from the same people.”

“…We only use one company for deliveries,” Ceodore admitted. “From the Holy See. To think, they may have been corrupted by Dravanian. But they should be arriving within the bell.”

As they waited, Minfilia and Ceodore began to talk. She learned that he was a bastard, and not related to the Lord of House Fortemps. But he was a knight, and seen as the best choice to come here. His actual children had their own tasks, and perhaps they expected Ceodore to fail. His parents were rumoured to be some noble and some Viera who was left to die after he was born - a horrible fate, really.

The topic, however, turned to what Minfilia had seen earlier. “A dragoon, clad in dark azure armour.”

Ceodore smiled for a moment when she mentioned such, before he hid it behind a nod. “Est— he’s gone missing, actually. Did he look healthy?” Ceodore fussed, worry entering his voice. Minfilia nodded softly, and he felt a pressure leave his chest. “He did something bad - he’s been labelled as a traitor. But he did it because he thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I understand more then you know,” Minfilia said softly. “If our deeds label us as traitors, even if they are for the betterment of the realm - well. I once chose to forsake the city-states to join with those like the Ixal. But that was before Dalamud fell—”

As soon as the word Dalamud dripped from her mouth, Ceodores’ eyes grew too wide, and he stood stiff. It was a different reaction then Fordola or even the common Eorzean. But it would be quite terrifying for Ishgardians, Minfilia realised, and bit her tongue. “The point is, I will not tell those who seek him of my meeting.

…He did not speak to me, mind you. Simply stared and left.”

Ceodore smiled again, meekly. “He’s like that—”

Before Ceodore could speak more on the Azure Dragoon, they heard the tell-tale signs of porters stopping. The two of them moved outside.

“Oi. Ceodore, what’s the big idea?” One of the porters asked, looking over the young Lord.

Ceodore gave a confident smile. “Don’t worry. I simply wish to inspect the packages.” The porter stood aside, as the Lord began to poke though the locked packages. But… his lips curled in disgust.

“Tell me. Did you get struck on the road?” The porter shook their head. Ceodore then held up a bunch of rosaries, silent as they clanked together, glaring at the whole group. “Even a heretic would know not to carry this!”

Turning to face Minfilia, he nodded. “You were right. Francel was framed. And who knows how many others were? By the fury - we’ve been infiltrated.” His voice was becoming panicked. He shook, and tried to focus. “Minfilia. We— we need to find Francel and make sure he’s not being hunted down. Then, I don’t know, I’ll help you get to the bottom of this.”

Perhaps Ceodore was a new Lord. He clearly had no control over the situation - and without thinking, Minfilia nodded. “We’ll find Francel. And then I shall ask for an introduction to the final high house, and with all of your help, we shall find who has been planting these false claims.”

It almost took too long to find Francel, as he stood at the edge of Witchdrop. Minfilia, before she rushed out, had tucked Fordola into her coat. Her eyes were the sharpest of them all, after all, and she had been the one to notice him. Oddly, though, there was nobody else around. He’d dropped his bag, and his eyes were filled with tears.

Ceodore tried to rush forward, but Minfilia stopped him. She approached softly, carefully - and did not get too close. “Ser Francel…?”

Francel looked over to her. His eyes were burning with tears. “Oh— adventurer.” His voice was broken. “Did my letter help you?”

Minfilia nodded, as a hand went to her chest. “I’ve found proof you’re innocent.”

Francel shook his head. “Thank you. But…” he looked down Witchdrop, his feet slightly shuffling. “I don’t think that’ll help anymore.

I’m going to where Haurchefant is.” Despair had overtaken him, it seemed. In one of his hands, Minfilia then saw it.

Tattered remains of Ishgardian armour, stained with blood. The head of a unicorn remained visible - that is, when Francel did not grip that part. His eyes wide with grief, he stared Minfilia down. “He’s dead.”

Damn. Now Minfilia had to play her trump card. “…He is not, not yet. There was no body, correct?”

Francel shuddered. He did not step away.

“If there is no body, there is no proof. And I have proof of the opposite.”

Minfilia opened her coat, Fordola stumbling out. The entire group stared at her, as Minfilia nodded to herself. “This is another who was thought to be dead. But, instead, she had been claimed by a beast tribe. Have you not noticed how the Ixal have changed?

It happened with her and the Amalj’aa. It’s not concrete, but—”

“—there’s a chance…?” Francel asked, his feet slightly shuffling again. “But then, how—”

“The airship I am seeking is to fight the Primal of the Ixal. If we are fast enough, then Haurchefant…” Then they could save Haurchefant. The implications were enough, and Francel stepped away.

His feet slipped. But before he could fall, Minfilia then felt magic bubbling up in her throat. It felt so strange, but—

—she pulled him back, with a strange sticky liquid. It was nearly like a frogs’ tongue. But Francel was safe, as he shook. Gently, he put a hand on where the stickiness remained on his body, before looking back at Minfilia. Thankful, but a tiny bit insulted.

His gaze turned to Ceodore. “We need to get that airship found,” he said softly. “And we need to clear my name properly.”

Ceodore nodded. “Minfilia? I will write you a letter. Head to Whitebrim Front, and speak with the people there. They’re likely your best bet.

Good luck.”