The Solar was cramped, even if most of the objects and items within had been packed up. Those which could not be moved had simple glyphs placed nearby, so they would not be disturbed. At his desk - now empty - Papalymo stared at the group who entered. He was expecting the tall Xaela Bolormaa, and he also still had a seat for the exhausted Arenvald, who’d barely moved since returning. His skin covered in sweat, his armour stripped so he only wore smallclothes, the half-Hyur could barely catch his breath. Small wings flapped on his back, unnatural and slightly fluffy. Fur was still pushing its’ way out of his flesh, held back slightly. Honestly, he should have been resting - but he had insisted, in his actions, that he wanted to greet Bolormaa.

Thankfully, Yda was keeping an eye on him from one of the corners of the room. And in her arms, Lyse was in her Sylph form, half-asleep in the dulled light.

But the others - the white-haired Hyur with a presense even he couldn’t ignore, and Minfilia and Fordola… Papalymo felt he had to stand to speak to them all.

“Did the Primal get sealed?” Bolormaa asked, as she put a hand to her chest. “Because, uh…”

“It did,” Papalymo replied, his tongue a little softer then she expected. “But unlike Minfilia, it seems Arenvald is struggling to keep his form together.”

“Duh.”

Fordola stepped forward. And then over to Arenvald. While the two hadn’t met before, they were both carrying Eikon energy, in one way or another. She forced his head up, and looked into his eyes. “Hey. Arenvald, was it?”

He weakly groaned. “You need to rest. Now. Trust me - this sort of stuff is overwhelming.” Before anybody - least of all Arenvald - could protest, Fordola lifted him up and carried him out of the room. Minfilia couldn’t help but blink a few times, reaching out a hand once she realised what was happening, but lowering it again. Bolormaa chuckled.

“Haha… Ala Mhigans are cute,” Bolormaa said, before growing a little serious. “Anyway, the next time we meet will be at the Rising Stones, correct? I will miss here.”

Papalymo averted his gaze, for he felt Minfilias’ anger building. And so, he addressed her. “Yes, we will be moving there. I know that we didn’t tell you, Minfilia, nor did we consult you. But the Waking Sands will still belong to us, as well - we all know how much this place means to you.”

“It’ll be home, and we’ll have another home, and they’ll both be… homely!” Yda added from the corner, still shrouded in shadows. Minfilia and her hadn’t gotten to talk much after she learned that Yda was a runaway Garlean noble… but Yda hadn’t changed. She was a goofball, optimistic… the sort of woman you wouldn’t have expected to come from Garlemald. “Right, Papalymo?”

“As always, you made no sense, Yda.” (Papalymo loved it. Papalymo loved her, even if she annoyed him.) “But… yes. I am so, so sorry that we could not reach you until now.”

…She held back her true feelings again. Minfilia couldn’t help it. “The guest you have for me - might I also ask… has Thancred been well?” Another person she should have checked on. But unlike Yda, Thancred… it was more complex. He’d forgotten. And he’d also been possessed by an Ascian, Lahabrea. It was awkward - what would they say to each other?

There was a silence, Papalymo looking awkward. Bolormaa looked to Minfilia. “He’s been in and out of medical care. His flesh is deathly cold. I think he’s in care right now?” Even if she spoke so innocently, Minfilia felt her heart skip a beat. Like the touch of that Raen Au Ra… huh. Her hands couldn’t help but fist up. Bolormaa continued, worried. “So, he hasn’t been avoiding you either. But we’re worried - it’s from the Ascian influence, we think. Y’shtola has been trying to help, and Urianger— well, he’s been no help.”

“Yeah!” Yda added, with a huff. “Come on, he should be! He made the magic which let you seal Primal, and that makes you change, but then he can’t change Thancred back?” As Ydas’ arms tightened, she stopped suddenly - making sure she didn’t crush the Sylphic Lyse who still slumbered. “Uh, anyway - so that’s what’s happening with us.”

Belias would know how to help, Minfilia reasoned internally. “I’ll meet with him once you’ve moved into the Rising Stones, then.” A deep breath inwards. A shake. “And Cordis? The… true Warrior of Light? I hear he’s returned.”

Nodding happily, Yda beamed. “Mhm! I think he said he was off investigating something about some… stuff? He was quite vague about it.” Yda was ditzy as always, but was honest as well. “He’ll be around the Rising Stones? I think?”

Good. She wanted to meet the Warrior of Light. The one who was destined - chosen - by Hydaelyn, lost in the Light. They had so much to discuss. Another inwards tremble. “And - our guest?”

Papalymo finally got off of his chair, nodding to himself. “She’s made herself at home.”

Minfilia followed, carefully, cautiously… not ready for what she’d see.

Meanwhile, Fordola forced Arenvald down into bed, a frown on her lips. Thank the Gods they’d kept the medical bays ready to go. His fever was not breaking, his body struggling.

…She would have fought it, herself, honestly. If she hadn’t been turned into that beast. Hesitating for a moment, Fordola put a hand to his forehead. Before lifting it, sweat dripping from it - he shifted away from her touching it. “Listen. We might be different, but—”

“…you’re Ala Mhigan as well?” Arenvald managed to choke out, looking up at her. “Please don’t touch my head. Personal reasons.”

Right. Fordola sat up straight, her mind going back to being a commander. Before she could speak more, Arenvald was focusing on her. “…you’ve got the same tattoo Yda has,” he commented.

“…Yeah. Yda’s a friend of mine.” Fordola mumbled, closing her own eyes. “I’m not quite Ala Mhigan, though.

…I worked for Garlemald. But now‘m one of you.”

Fordola hoped that’d get him to understand. And so, she didn’t let him speak. “Now, listen. I was th’first that Minfilia sealed. And she didn’t suffer like you, just passed out for a bit. You— do you have the Echo?”

Arenvald coughed. “Yeah, but— can we go back? You worked with Garlemald? Why?”

Fordola let out a sigh. “Arenvald. Why do you fight for the Scions?”
She’d turned it back on him? Arenvald gave a grunt. “Because I want to be a hero, and help fight against those who want to hurt us.”

“It’s basically the same for me, but our places were switched,” Fordola explained calmly. “Ala Mhigans decided t’kill my dad, because he’d chosen Garlemald. For safety.” She had no clue he was not her birth father - though it did not matter. “And I chose to fight for Garlemald, so that I’d be able to protect those I cared for. Fightin’ against those who I thought wanted to destroy us.”

The silence was broken by Arenvalds’ shudders. “Point is,” Fordola said, “we’re similar right now. I was turned into Ifrit, and you tried t’seal some Moogle God.” A deep inwards sigh. “Don’t struggle. You need to accept this.”

“Kupo…” Arenvald replied, without realising. As he said that, his body seemed to calm a little.

“Like it or not, we carry these marks. And if you’re fighting it, then you shouldn’t have sealed somebody!” Her voice had raised just a little too much, Fordola trembling as she screamed it out. She hadn’t had a choice to become this way - he had!

More silence filled the room. And then… laughter? Both of them suddenly broke from how serious they were looking at each other. Arenvald, of course, was the first to crack. His body relaxing, his illness clearing up. Fordola tried to stifle her laugh, but smiled warmly. “My name’s Fordola. ‘m with Minfilia. Y’know, just some dumbass Ala Mhigans hangin’ out.”

Arenvald snorted weakly - before letting out a few more coughs. The change had tired him out - hurt him. His eyes closed slowly… and he smiled. “We’re just a bunch of dumbasses, huh…”

Not every room had been put away - for example, the lounge area Minfilia found herself entering. Usually, she’d take note of the atmosphere, the soft carpet she stepped onto, the sweet homely scent.

But that was not what Minfilia focused on. No, sitting in one of the soft couches was…

“…Lhaminn?”

Her voice was less then a whisper, the sort that Hyur wouldn’t hear. Face going pale, Minfilia remembered. She’d seen her adoptive mother— wait, no. The grave was a mass grave, and she’d learned of her passing from the Ascian, Lahabrea. Still, hope had died, and she had mourned.

She had mourned so many, as the other figure - the Miqo’te - stood shakily. They met each other in the middle of the room, both near-silent.

F’lhaminn was the first to move, holding Minfilia tighter then she ever had before. Minfilia returned the hug in kind, a whimper in her throat. F’lhaminns’ hands moved to touch Minfilias’ kobold-esque ears. Minfilia learned into the touch, her tears saying more then words could ever say.

Papalymo left them, knowing that this wasn’t a place for him.

Eventually, F’lhaminn spoke - as she kissed Minfilias’ forehead. “I’m so, so sorry… I somehow forgot you, dear Ascilla… don’t worry, Papalymo and the other Scions of the Seventh Dawn filled me in.

I am so, so proud of you.”

Those words broke Minfilia. She wanted to talk, to tell her more, to ask her more - but only wails and tears came out. Purrs and sobs mixed together, as she just tried to control herself. A chance she never thought she could get… and now she had that smile looking down at her, the age of suffering though the Calamity visible on the Miqo’tes face.

Minfilia rested her head, and finally caught her breath. “I’ve managed to befriend lots of other tribes, Lhaminn. And I— I’ve even managed to find a safer place for those who want it.”

“I know, Ascilla,” F’lhaminn replied, as she began to groom Minfilia. Usually, Minfilia would shrug off the licks, but she wanted the love. “You united many tribes, and took down a Garlean superweapon. And you managed to do it your own way.”

She understood…! “But.”

Minfilia tried to stand to attention. F’lhaminn gave her a little smile. “You don’t know much about your other parts, do you? They might not be fully Miqo’te, but I want to help you.”

—Of course! Beaming, Minfilia bunted against her. “I’d love that. I— I missed you so much. Oh, and I can introduce you to Belias - he’s the King of Mor Dhona, and he’s employed me to help, and…!”

F’lhaminn sighed internally, dreamily. This was the daughter she missed so much. Even if she had forgotten her, there was a gap in her heart. Her fingers laced though Ascillas’ hair, F’lhaminn couldn’t help but notice how much she’d grown up. She wasn’t her little girl anymore - but she was still her daughter, and she would help.

Far away, in Mor Dhona, Thancred leaned against the thin wall of one of their temporary medical tents. They’d set it up in the abandoned Castrum, and were still tending to a few of the men found alive in North Thanalan. Imperials and Alliance both. If it were up to most of them, the Imperials would have been slaughtered, killed. But then again, they all held information. Not just information, but there was a sense of duty to not kill unless they absolutely had to. Or so Penono had drilled into him. To think, a Tonberry was tending to them, leading the efforts.

Thancred still had the frozen skin. He knew why, but couldn’t tell anybody. And the Scions kept trying to get him treatment, and he couldn’t refuse. Urianger had even tried to speak up, but he was not a master of the Ascian. And he’d been like this after Lahabrea left his body, so…

Slumping his head a little, Thancred sighed, looking at his hands. He knew what would await him if he fell to slumber. The unseelie, and those who claimed him and their King, the Fatebreaker who saved them from fading away, had become one. The optimistic and kindly Shivan, who called him father. And the cold knight Raiden, who claimed he would never replace the former King.

Urianger would be there as well, of course. For he was born there, and came though to here. He’d promised to help, and yet—

—ah, right. He’d come here for a reason. A difficult Hrothgar. (He’d never seen a Hrothgar before! In fact, they weren’t… how long had they existed?) If Penono couldn’t get him talking with kindness, he’d use his tongue to get information out of him. A name, their former duty - anything!

Turning the corner, Thancred saw the scene. A large cat-like boy, he was quite fluffy. While his fur was black with red markings, he had golden hair draped over his shoulders, tangled and matted from lack of care. Penono the Tonberry sat on a stool, giving little frustrated grunts - eyes lighting up more as she saw Thancred enter.

Thancred sat at the foot of the bed, and looked to Penono. “So, this is the one?”

“Mhm. They was found near-death at the bottom of the Praetorium. While they’ve been nursed back to health, they hasn’t said a word since arriving.

We know he can make sounds. They made sure we knew when we were stitching up their wounds.” At that, Penono couldn’t help but chuckle a little - her fish-like tail beating against the back of the stool.

Hm. Thancred looked at her size, then to the patient. “I have an idea. But I’ll need you to get me some supplies…”

Soon, Thancred had set up - with some privacy. Tubs, water crystals, soaps… this Hrothgar needed a wash, and needed to be spoiled. He’d turn up the charm. Even if something about him seemed familiar. And now the Tonberry was gone, Thancred could prep the room. He removed his own shirt, so it wouldn’t get too dirty. Small feathers had begun to grow on his flesh again - tiny, but signs that he wasn’t Hyur. If his changed eyes didn’t make that obvious. His sclera had turned a dark grey, nearly black, after his Ascian possession.

He made sure the Hrothgar was comfortable - he felt quite light to manipulate, even as the patient growled lightly. A threat, but one Thancred didn’t fear. Perhaps it was because of his frozen hands? Those wouldn’t be comfortable. Luckily, he had some sponges.

But first, he had to brush and wash that hair. As he lathered up his hands, and then the sponge, and then the hair, he looked over the man. Scars, of course. Ones long-healed, and ones freshly tended to. They both carried both… “If I didn’t know better,”
Thancred mused to himself, “I’d say you were a conscript. I believe Hrothgar came from close to the Garlean capital?” Thancred knew how to move his hands. Examine the others’ body. “Your neck - you’re quite muscled, but not the way of a trained solider would be.”

No, this Hrothgar had ever-so-slight strains, he’d had to train up quickly. There were no magitek implants, either - his skin and fur did not hum or tingle, and Thancred did not feel an odd feeling looking at the other. His hands now began to stroke the neck and chest of the messy Hrothgar, moving up to his hair.

It had been washed before, of course, to get rid of the blood and dust and dirt. But it was still dirty, caked with sweat. His fingers began to unknot the others’ hair. “Hmm… if I had to guess, you’d be from one of the many tribes without Queens. Lost, without a purpose.”

“…still have one,” the Hrothgar finally mumbled. And that was not a lie - because, technically, he did. For he was Lahabrea, and he was still loyal to Zodiark. He only spoke because he still heard Hades, he still had his desires and dreams and love for him. He also had no clue about what Hrothgar believed or what he had to do.

His voice was a dark deep growl. Hurt, but not too much. Smoke, Thancred reasoned, as he continued to wash the others’ hair. “Might I ask your name?”

“…Zale,” he replied. He could not give his title. This— this would be safe.

None knew the name Zale. None would point out what it meant.

“Zale, then. My name is Thancred - I’m not an enemy, I promise.” Everything Thancred said was far too gentle - with a tiny bit of edge, of course. “None of us are. You might have worked for Garlemald, but it’s not my place to pass judgement. Especially if you were a conscript.”

Giving a gentle whine, Zale closed his eyes. He’d cracked. And all it took was thinking of Hades. A story, though. He could come up with that. “They did not listen, Thancred. I am a scholar from far away, who was brought to aid in the restoration of their Weapon - I could not refuse.” It didn’t take much to make that up, mind you. It was all true, from a certain point of view. “I’m scared.”

Thancred nodded to himself. “I’d be scared too, in that situation.” He strained out one of the sponges, and cracked another water shard. “Garlemald would want you dead, then.”

“They would,” Zale grumbled. For other reasons, but still. “But is it better then what the Grand Alliance would do? I still helped raise that beast from slumber. I still nearly doomed your men, if not for…” Hm. What would he call them?

Thankfully, Thancred thought that Zale had finished talking. He was trying his best to not freeze the other. “That’s true. They’re looking for anybody they can try. Or simply kill. With Gaius dead, they’re looking for people close to him.”

Gaius was dead? Zale closed his eyes again. Pathetic. He opened them again, looking to Thancred. “I don’t want to die, Thancred.

…Who are you with?”

As he worked, Thancred tried not to show his curiosity. A scholar from far away… perhaps he could help. “I work with like-minded people to study and stop the threat of— you call them Eikon, yes? Or at least Garlemald did.”

“Ah, yes. Summoned though crystal and will - they’re one of my topics of study, in fact.”

That made Thancred stop, linger. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. I… pray do not mistake my intentions. I know I would still be a criminal, Thancred.” Yes, this lie was working. And he would not need to give them much - just enough to not challenge their methods. Mitron and Nabriales would be pleased. And he’d get his body back. “Please.”

Sighing, Thancred leaned back. “I’ll need to ask the boss. But it would be a shame to lose any knowledge…”