It was not that Minfilia Warde feared seeing the true Warrior of Light. The person who she had guided before vanishing, the person who should have been the one to fight the Ultima Weapon. She did not fear him. She shouldn’t. They were both victims of the Empire, after all. And yet, as she settled down with a warm tea across from Yda, Minfilia could not help but hesitate. The Rising Stones - as she had been informed they had called their new base - was a wonderful place, really.

“There has been no word from Alisaie, then?” Minfilia asked, as she swirled her spoon around in her cup.

Yda sighed. “Nope. Which is weird. Alphinaud, either. But, you know? I think I know why.”

Minfilia prickled. Yda continued. “We all got our memory back of you, right? And the other forgotten people. But I remembered… well, I heard the stories about Alisaie.

During that big Sharlayan exodus, she… didn’t make it. She’d fallen really sick, and her father couldn’t delay.” Yda was looking down at her own drink - a coffee as light as her soul. “So, whoever that girl is, she’s not Alisaie.”

At that moment, the door opened - the two pausing their conversation to look up. And up on the top of those stairs was Cordis.

Leaning on his cane, Cordis was paler then Minfilia remembered. His hair and skin were both near-white, he looked so very fragile. Viera claws which had overgrown wrapped tenderly around his cane, which seemed to also be his axe? There were grooves an axe head could slot into. Purple eyes looked down upon the two ladies, and Cordis limped down to them. Exhaustion painted his face, from his creased forehead to his stubble, even if he had a large smile plastered over it. “Pardon me,” Cordis said quietly, “I appear to be late.”

His expression so soft, Cordis sat at the table, looking between the two of them. His long Viera ears twitched. “You wanted me to… oh. Minfilia?”

The two gazed at each other. Focused. Cordis spoke so gently, as Minfilia studied his tired face. “It’s been a while. We both got caught up in… whatever happened, did we not?”

Minfilia nodded. “Yes - nobody could remember either of us. But you… did you fall forward in time as well?”

“I did. I woke up back in Dalmasca…” Cordis said, before looking to Yda. “It’s changed a lot since I left.”

A Dalmascan man… “How did you get back, if you don’t mind me asking?” Minfilia asked, honestly curious. Garlemald had stolen his home, kept it chained and broken. As she asked, Cordis grew a little upset.

Still, he would answer. “I don’t know why, but— they bombed it, Minfilia. Nothing’s left. But that also means there aren’t many imperials left.” Small comforts. “So I found my way across the border. Then got caught up in some stuff…

…but I eventually made my way onto a boat, and ended up here.”

Before Minfilia could ask, Cordis frowned. “I can’t remember how I got on the boat. Last thing I remember is seeing an airship graveyard, but with a beautiful tall tree.

And then I blacked out, and then I arrived back just after… well, after you did it!” Cordis slapped Minfilia on the back, expression utterly changing into a deep smile. “You managed to scare off Garlemald! The Black Wolf is dead!”

…Dead? Minfilia had not killed him. For she felt life was far more of a punishment for him. Had he killed himself? No, he would not dare. Minfilias’ anger bubbled again under her flesh. And yet, she dare not speak up on it. “With Ultima Weapon gone, and the XIVth weakened, the Scions can look towards the Ascian threat,” Minfilia said. “And I can aid the Gigas, and others who require such aid.”

“Oh, right,” Yda said, sipping her coffee. “You’re going all Path of the Twelve again, right?”

“Not quite,” Minfilia replied, as she drank her own tea. “I hope to help others with the Echo, but I also hope to branch out and help the native tribes of our home in this role. For… well.

Men will not listen to those who they don’t see as equal, but they deserve a voice. If I can be that voice, then so be it.”

Cordis listened, and then gave a soft nod, a little reassuring nod. “Seperate, but together. Like the Path and the Archons were.” Both of the ladies looked to the white-haired Viera, as Cordis looked back. “I’m still the Warrior of Light. Even if I’ve only just returned.

So… I’ll do my best to help both of you.”

Even now, Minfilia felt the kindness she remembered from Cordis, back when his hair was brown, and his eyes were not so dull. They had been allies, after all. But Alexanders’ meddling - to claim and enthrall Cid, the Primal stated - had done quite some damage to the Warrior of Light.

How much had Alexander needed Cid? What was so important about him— ah. “Cordis?”

“Yes, Minfilia?”

“Have you…” Minfilia began, her voice suddenly quiet, “gone and seen Cid yet?” They were lovers, after all.

Cordis suddenly turned a bright red, before looking to the table, which was suddenly quite interesting. “Well - Cid’s busy. Him and some others are looking into the Crystal Tower. And I don’t want to distract him.”

“I doubt he’s working all the time,” Minfilia replied, a little smirk crossing her lips. “Go on, go and surprise him.”

Embarrassed, Cordis looked down at the table, shuffling slightly in his chair. “Perhaps… perhaps tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Yda asked, a little louder then she should have. “But it’s still light! And it’ll be for a few more hours!”

Shaking his head, Cordis tried to hide his frown. “I know, I know. But… no, it’s fine.” Both sides being so quiet, so hard to penetrate - Yda shrugged. Adventurers. Even if Minfilia was less of an adventure, and Cordis was more of a heroic figure. If they’d just talk…!

Then again, Yda didn’t have a foot to stand on, still wearing her mask around friends. Still hiding herself, even if Minfilia knew the truth. Cordis did, as well. It was really an open secret among friends. Gulping down the last of her coffee, Yda leaned back. “So! Cordie! Why don’t you tell Minfilia and me about what sort of things are happening in the East?”

As Minfilia listened to Cordis, Bolormaa - the gentle-hearted Dotharl - was quite a bit away. It may have been noon, but the skies in the South Shroud did not seem to know that. She’d been sent to collect aethersand, you see - and there was apparently some here, near an old shrine. And now, she had passed though a small cavern, into Urth’s Gift.

Her stance strong, Bolormaa was looking around. The air was stiff, hard to breathe. A familiar scent begin to coat everything - fresh blood. It was almost calming - except that Bolormaa couldn’t see what had been slaughtered.

Taking a step forward, and then another, Bolormaa quietly stalked though the wild Shroud. Water flowed, bugs fluttered, but there was no sign of a hulking hog or whatever she’d been told to look for. Perhaps she could find the aethersand if it was not so dark, so… tense.

Bolormaa quietly climbed hills, crossed the trickles of water. Odd. Bugs and beasts were slain around her - but they were not the hog she’d been told of. Gleaming white crystals began to jut up.

In front of her, Bolormaa then saw a massive beautiful crystal, clean and light. It was the brightest object in the area, almost like a white flame, calling to her. The Au Ra took a step forward. And then another. A black blot laid on the ground. The aethersand…?

No, it was a blade. A black blade, ancient and dark. And as a weaponsmith, Bolormaa couldn’t help but rush over, kneeling and examining it. It was beautiful, preserved perfectly. Gently, one of her hands hovered over the blade—

—and Bolormaa couldn’t grasp it, a dull pain suddenly forcing her hand to clasp shut above it. Again, she tried to grasp it, but the same happened. For whatever reason, the blade refused her hand. Letting out a frustrated growl, Bolormaa tried again.

Until she felt a figure behind her. The blade on the ground vanished, turning to aether. Barely turning in time, Bolormaa could barely make out the features of what was behind her. A centaur of sorts? Clad in armour, the blade now fused to its’ hand. While the area was dark, so dark, the figure gleamed like the sunlight itself. Blues and yellows blended together, the figure seeming out of this world. The creature looked down at her, before stomping once.

Once was enough. For Bolormaa was distracted, and thus, she was an easy target. Her stomach prone, the usually proud Dotharl was now stuck on the ground.

The figure and the strange blade both left her sight - silent, so silent. Managing to get to her knees - before coughing up blood, and falling again - Bolormaa let out a cry of frustration. Her guts felt like they had rearranged themselves, and she could barely think. Shifting again, she at least laid her head on the massive crystal structure. This was quite the struggle - had she grown weak?

No, horses were dangerous, when used to fight. Even if that hoof almost felt like a paw…

Moments passed, and Bolormaa felt herself fading in and out of thinking. Until she felt a soft touch to her body, and Bolormaa moved to grab her weapon.

Next to her, a Miqo’te sat. Medical supplies taken out of a sack. “I’m not here to hurt you!” The Miqo’te chirped in surprise, voice quiet. “I just need to lift your dress to check out the injury.”

Groaning slightly, Bolormaa let her weapon drop to the ground. With swift fingers, the Miqo’te began to examine her abs - rubbing an ointment into the injury. Bolormaa hissed, tail lashing. Still, she knew the importance of the pain. As the stranger wrapped bandages around her, Bolormaa noticed something.

His neck. “…Archon?” Bolormaa mumbled.

The Miqo’te twitched, ears pricking. “Y-yes. How do you…” Then, his gaze turned to her. Though it was dark, he could see her scales, on her thick neck - and her own Archon mark, blended into the Xaela scales. “You’re one too?”

“Yes,” Bolormaa replied, the healing properties of the salve already helping. “My name is Bolormaa - um, what’s yours?”

“My name is G’raha,” G’raha replied, as he sat up. Watching over her - there were no enemies, but still. “I just arrived recently - Sharlayan is in a bit of a panic right now, but that’s not why. Have you heard of the Crystal Tower?”

Still stuck laying down, Bolormaa chuckled. “I’m helping with that exploration. I’m curious, you know - there may be Allagan weaponry there. And by studying intact relics, it might help me continue my work.” Almost forgetting her pain, Bolormaa began to move her hands as she talked. “You know, I didn’t see it for long, but there was a sword here. You know, belonging to the thing that hurt me. It looked old! I wanted to look at it!”

Remaining at her side, G’rahas’ tail begin to swish. “I’ve heard stories of this area - I believe the blade you’re talking about is from the Third Astral Era. It was the blade of a man known as Odin, who was an enemy of the Allagan Empire.” Excitement was rising in his voice, with an accent barely audible that Bolormaa had not heard in her travels. “While this likely isn’t the selfsame Odin - unless they, too, re-appeared like the tower - it’s still an interesting coincidence, isn’t it?”

“It is!” Bolormaa replied, both of their tails swishing in rhythm. “From my studies, weapons from that era were often repurposed and broken apart for use in the post-Allagan era. It’s harder to find intact examples. Which is a struggle when you want to study and reverse-engineer them.”

“Why?” G’raha asked.

For a moment, Bolormaa hesitated. Before giving a big grin. “My tribe believes in rebirth. And I help them - by carrying what weapons they used to use, and being able to recreate them as they were. Or by improving them, with modern technology.” She flinched, waiting to be mocked. But instead, G’raha continued to smile at her, gently. So, Bolormaa continued. “While I do respect there are some who’d find it strange to combine old and new methods, or that it’s even wrong to focus so much on fighting… I like it.”

His hands now resting on her injury, G’raha continued to strengthen the bandages. “Traditions are traditions. Mine bring me comfort as well, you know.” Bolormaa gazed up at him. “But they’re not fighting-related. My own tribe used songs to pass down our history.” His voice had taken on a musical feel, almost like a lullaby. “We both treasure the past in different ways, don’t we?”

Nodding, Bolormaa looked up at the Miqo’te, managing to focus on his red hair. “Mhm. And we both want to explore it.”

Replying with his chipper tone, G’raha nodded. “We’re both going to be exploring it soon. As soon as I heard of the Tower, as a young boy, I’ve dedicated my life to it.

My future awaits there. At least, that’s what it feels like.”

“Fate!” Bolormaa shouted, before she noticed G’rahas’ ears press back from surprise. “I mean, um, it might be fate. I believe in it, as well. But not as much as a Mol or something, I don’t think the Gods are telling us stories.” A chuckle, as Bolormaa finally sat up - now looming ever-so-slightly over the Miqo’te. “But I like to believe that just as us Dotharl are reborn over and over, we’re drawn to certain places. Not just because of old memories, but because we’re going to make new memories there.”

Both of them babbling, both of them gazing at each other, Bolormaa and G’raha didn’t notice time slipping away, time they should have been using returning to Mor Dhona. Their time was being spent simply talking, about past and future both… and, for this moment, all felt well.

As the sun began to set, and their drinks - others having been prepared - empied, Cordis stood. “I believe I should be going,” he said gently. “There’s a monster I’m hunting that only appears at night.” Cordis seemed to be in quite a rush. Minfilia nor Yda would stop him - as he left, Yda stretched.

It had been quite the day - listening to these two young ones. Nostalgic. Closing her eyes, Yda let out a light sigh. If only Lyse was here, and not busy making sure that the Moogle were calm. Made sense, but still. The family was nearly all together! Fordola napping in a side-room, Papalymo still at his desk—

—the door slammed open. Yda and Minfilia both looked up, and Yda suddenly stood to get a better look at the tired-looking figure in the doorway. A figure she hadn’t seen in years, nor expected to see. Even as the other was covered in sweat, even as the other shuddered tiredly, there was no mistaking her.

“Moenbryda—?!”

Before Moenbryda could answer, Yda clung to her. “Moenbryda! You should have told me you were coming—!!”

Her voice shaken, Moenbryda pushed Yda away slightly. “I didn’t want to have to come. It’s nice to see you, but— listen, I need to see Papalymo.”

Minfilia stood, concerned, to examine Moenbryda. She was much like she’d heard Urianger describe her once - her skin as dark as twilight, while her hair reminded him of the waning moon. (She would put it less poetically.) Her body was strong, muscled, and beautiful - the sort of woman that Minfilia wished she could be. And her eyes, even if they carried a burden Minfilia would not know, held the kindness of a thousand promises yet made.

…Urianger had a way with words, that was for sure. Moenbryda was finally calming, as Yda began to lead her to the door. But then, she stopped. “So I don’t freak out when you tell Papalymo, what’s going on?” Yda asked, as Moenbryda tried to look to her.

After a long moment, Moenbryda now leaning against the wall, she looked right at Yda.

“They’re evacuating Sharlayan, Yda.”

With those words, Yda suddenly turned serious. Hands put on Moenbrydas’ shoulders, firm. “…We’ll call a meeting in the morning, Moenbryda. I know we probably don’t have time, but you need to get cleaned up. And we—

—we need to call everybody in. Not just because we both know Uri misses you, Moen.”

Minfilia took a step back, looking to the door, until Yda looked towards her - a kindness in her voice. “That includes you, Minfilia. You’re one of us Scions, even if you’re also working with the Gigas?” A questioning tone in her voice, as if Minfilias’ relationship with Belias was a secret.

…Minfilia hadn’t quite explained it to her, to be fair. That she was emissary, and his little princess. A role made of memory, but a role she would play. If only to aid the many native tribes of Eorzea. (Someday, she would make sure Belias saw her as herself.) Nodding firmly, Minfilia stood. “Then I shall see you in the morning. If Sharlayan is truly evacuating, we shall need to work as fast as possible.”