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Chapter Text

There are...voices.

They are too distant and obfuscated through his hazy mind to even recognize if they belong to a group of men or women as G'raha stirs back to consciousness. A much too slow and gradual process for his liking, feeling like he is threading through molasses... He strains against the stubborn sluggish hold, pulls at the threads of what little stamina he can find. For his efforts, one of his ears twitches, then a finger. A shiver runs through his body, only offset by the sensation of warm hands on his shoulders, gently shaking him awake.

Or more like they try to. G'raha can't bring himself to react even when he feels compelled to, the majority of his muscles completely limp, unresponsive. All he can manage is to weakly twitch his ear again as a chill once more runs throughout his body.

Where...where am I?...Who...

The warm hands still holding onto his shoulders are...comforting, his skin tingling from the gentle touch. Memories, piece by fragmented piece finally start to fall into place. Of the Tower, the Crystal Tower. He...had gone into slumber...Entered stasis...to carry forth the beacon of hope for a brighter future...to preserve Allag's legacy and now...

I...are they...am I...finally being...awakened?

Excitement sparks faintly in his chest from the very notion. However, his thoughts are still too sluggish, moving like molasses for try as he might having just found himself being dragged out of the void that was in mind during his stasis, rousing from it is no easy matter. He once more tries to will his muscles to move, to do something but they remain just as limp, unmoving, not even giving a weak twitch. Still dimly aware he feels the warm hands slowly move away from his shoulders to the back of his neck and shoulders gently starting to lift him into an upright sitting position...Was he lying on his back? He can't really tell, his body refusing to heed him. It feels so...distant. In the face of it he has no choice but to follow, still being completely relaxed in their grip. He finally comes to rest leaning against their...chest? It is warm. His head lolls forward and he barely stirs, his ears giving the faintest twitch.

"...don't understand...why...won't...wake."

"...You sure...did...right?"

"...His vitals...stable... just give him...moment."

G'raha hears the voices again. This time they make more sense to him than before but still, they echo dully in the back of his head. He's unable to get a grasp at all. Whoever is still cradling him against their chest once more tries speaking to him but G'raha still can't bring himself to move, his muscles all limp. A sound escapes him, something unintelligible but he can't be sure. His mind is still caught in such a deep fuzzy haze, his body so numb and cold except from where a steady arm is wrapped around the back of his shoulders holding him protectively against their chest. The voice speaking to him...he can finally tell it...belongs to a man...His heart soars. Could...could it be?

...He came to wake me after all...

"...Sa...Sato?"

His voice is so weak, bordering on a whisper but he feels elated nonetheless. The thought of being woken up by the one he adores most of all, to feel alive, fills him with a new burst of energy, shortlived as it is.

..I..I never stopped believing...

With what little stamina he can muster he tries to raise his head, to open his eyes so he can look up at his friend to greet him properly but again he can only give a weak twitch, his head hanging just as limply, eyes remaining shut.

He wants to stay awake so badly, but his consciousness is already slipping. All at once everything around him grows more muddled, distant, a faint rush in his ears. Sounds...voices...sensations...Everything...is drowned out. He tries to resist, tries to grab onto the singular thread of stamina he has left but it fades, slips from his fingers...

He is out before he knows it.

.-.-.-.-.-

He drifts in and out, only aware of the faint sensation of being carried...by someone? Distant voices drift past his ears...a cool breeze tousling his red hair, caressing his skin. Then nothing but floating among dreams. His slumber within the Tower was a dreamless one so these dreams are a most welcome addition. Dreams of crystalline blue crystal sparkling in the sunlight, blue skies stretching on for as far as the eye can see, and a familiar young miqo'te man with golden locks akin to the sun, swaying gently in the breeze is ever by his side. Gleaming bright green eyes regards him with such fondness, such love, the smile on his lips warm enough to melt all the snow in Coerthas. It fills G'raha with such joy he has long forgotten. He reaches out...his fingers but ilms from touching Y'sato's right cheek. To run his fingers over the familiar jagged scar there, his smooth sun-kissed tan skin...skin looking like it has been blessed by Azeyma herself...

It strikes him he can kiss him, he can feel those plush soft lips on his once more. Giddy with excitement, anticipating the way their warmth will meld with his own in the soft familiar caress G'raha ever found himself so fond of he leans in and-

And he finds himself waking, blearily blinking his eyes open. Slowly his eyes regain their focus and he finds himself staring up into a high cold stone ceiling. He blinks again, confused, trying to get his bearings. This...isn't the Crystal Tower so where has Y'sato taken him?

The answer eludes him and in its place, he notices something warm and layered is draped over him up to his shoulders. Blankets? But they look nothing like the furs they used in their tent, being tattered and worn, smelling of earth and dust. Furthermore, he realizes he is lying on something soft, yet firm, but more than that...

G'raha is finally aware of how cold his body still is, much like a corpse, his muscles feeling like they are made of lead. Truly he must have roused from a deathlike state. He reminds himself he has been sustained by the Tower during his stasis. For how long he does not know but what he does know is he must have steadily leached off of its vast stores of aether, having subsisted more on its energies than breath. His body... still needs time to readjust.

Begrudgingly making peace with this observation and unable to do aught else he remains lying in the dimly lit room, unmoving, his arms lying straight at his sides. He should feel anxious and yet his heart is warm, strangely at ease. His dreams still plays in his mind's eye and he closes his eyes from the happiness they bring. He can almost feel it. Y'sato's soft smooth skin under his fingertips, his lips caressing his own. He can see his smile, see the pure unadulterated joy reflected in his bright eyes as he welcomes him back home, wishing him a good morning. Once greetings have been had G'raha will apologize to him for going ahead to lock himself in the Tower without consulting anyone about his plan until he stood at the threshold. He knows their parting hurt Y'sato, could see the pain so clearly in his eyes, robbing him of the ability to even speak. In its place all Y'sato could do was to offer him a brief nod looking all crestfallen. In that moment G'raha wanted nothing but to run over to him and pull him into his arms, to comfort him, to tell him he would stay at his side after all, but the Ancients had spoken. He knew what he had to do as their last heir. With a heavy heart, but yet brimming with hope for the future, believing his friends would do the right thing he commanded the doors to close. Still, even as he walked the stairs towards the Ocular, the very heart of the Tower, regret weighted his steps, but he held fast to his convictions. This is his destiny, his purpose and he would see it through even when he very well knew it meant he may never see his friends again. May never be able to properly apologize to Y'sato...

He had accepted this possibility but now he can finally make amends. Now he can do what he promised all along. To walk at his side, to journey the realm and the lands that lay beyond the horizon, to follow the eternal wind wheresoever it may blow. He can already imagine it, Y'sato regaling him about all of his adventures, and in time invite him for his next one. Yes, this is a good time to be awake. Alive! Cid and the Garlond ironworks must have made it after all. Succeeded in waking him up long before he had initially anticipated.

Still not being able to move aside from slowly blinking his eyes and twitching an ear or a finger, G'raha decides to just remain still, his eyes closed as he lets his mind wander. This time he is visited by memories. Distant ones from a...past life? His brows tighten into a small frown. Are these his? No. These are Salina's. Ancient memories gifted to him from Unei and Doga through the Allagan eye, activated by his blood. Images of the Crystal Tower's many sprawling ancient halls and chambers appear before him and with such clarity, he is sure he can map the Tower all out himself if he feels so inclined. It is strange this sensation, to know it as well as he knows the back of his hand, despite never having physically explored it in its entirety himself yet. Like echoes of a time long gone, a phantom touch on his fingertips of tomes he had never touched. Never read.

He remains like that for a while, just letting his mind wander. Living in his memories as if they are in the here and now, waiting for his body to catch up. Memories of his time with the Sons and NOAH comes to the forefront next. Of the times he shared with Rammboes and with his dearest friend.

Sato...

Memories of a time that feels like a lifetime ago takes hold of him. It had...all transpired on a sunny day he can recall. Taking a deep breath, feeling his lungs slowly expand, he gives himself over to the memory...

-.-.-.-

Cobblestone solid underneath his feet G'raha joyfully walks out of the House of Splendours, a paper bag of food stuffs held securely in his arms. He cannot recall the last time he had the opportunity to eat, having found himself too engrossed in poring over his many tomes during his research in his tent as is his wont and it had taken Rammboes, not a small amount of nudging to have him finally decide to get out and get some fresh air, not to mention some much-needed sustenance. So far the expedition proceeds well apace. About a fortnight has passed them by since they first braved the ancient labyrinth guarding the foot of the Tower. Or more like the Warrior of Light aka Y'sato and his carefully picked band of elite adventurers did. G'raha admits he still feels miffed, and not just a little disappointed over not having been allowed to join the hero of legend in his foray but Rammboes had made up for it in part by allowing G'raha to share a tent with the storied hero at least.

He admits to having been nervous, although he never let it show, his bravado serving him well as he tried to get to know him, aiming to impress. After all, what else could he do standing before such heroism? There he was, an all-forgotten dream from his youth standing before him, in the flesh. A hero that looks to the horizon and beyond and sees he doesn't know what.

But G'raha knows this. He will give anything to stand at his side. 

So as it stands after two weeks G'raha quickly found to his surprise that despite his worldly fame Y'sato proves to be pretty down to earth, humble, mostly speaking only if he has to. He also prefers to go by his name rather than his title. Something which G'raha was quick to adopt. However he still finds it a bit hard to get to know him, he being mostly aloof, not speaking much, but the more G'raha spends time with him, the more Y'sato seems to open. Piece by careful piece the wall he has built around himself is slowly crumbling. At least in his presence. 

The Toll is as bustling as ever, with adventurers of both big and small renown running to and fro from the tavern and the like, ever chasing the next big thing that will hopefully have their names written down in the history books. G'raha finds himself stopping at the incline leading down to the Aetheryte. Mismatched eyes of vivid red and emerald green scans the settlement for somewhere suitable where he can sit in relative peace to enjoy his meal. Preferably in the shade. While he doesn't mind the sun its warm rays beat down harder on him today. He can already feel sweat starting to gather on his brow and it is then he spots him.

Short blond hair shimmering like spun gold in the sunlight, clad in his black and red ninja armor adorned with gold accents he instantly recognizes Y'sato. A fellow young miqo'te not older than twenty-two summers. He is currently sitting on one of the ledges overlooking the aetheryte, his legs dangling over the edge, looking at something he is holding in his hands G'raha can't quite make out from his distance. A smile already forming on his lips G'raha hurries over to his companion's side, although he's sitting in the sun, much like his clan's namesake would imply. G'raha still finds it ironic. He is a Seeker as well and yet he struggles to find the time to be out and about in the sun as much as Y'sato does.

He is an adventurer. It is in his blood. There's no time to preoccupy himself with books. 

He doesn't really try to silence his footsteps and yet as he approaches his friend despite all the hustle and bustle around them from the busy street below one of Y'sato's feline ears still slightly twitches then pans around quickly to stop pointed in his direction.

G'raha can only grin sheepishly in response as Y'sato turns to see who is approaching him.

And nothing seems to escape his notice either...

"G'raha," Y'sato says, his eyes already lightening up upon seeing a familiar face, a warm smile on his lips.

"Greetings, my friend." G'raha greets, with a warm smile of his own. "Mind if I join you? I hope I am not interrupting something of import?"

"Not at all," Y'sato says still smiling politely as he turns his attention back to the item he is holding in his hands. Taking a seat beside him and setting his food aside G'raha finally sees what Y'sato is holding. It's a journal, opened and he has already been scribbling some notes down in it judging from the scrawly handwriting. It is a mundane-looking thing. Not at all like the adorned grand tomes G'raha himself oft finds himself lost in. It is leather bound, a red jaguar claw engraved in the center of the faded dark brown. Its pages are already a tad yellowed, a bit worn at the edges, smelling of earth and dust clearly having been a part of many an adventure and travels on the road already.

"I did not know you kept a journal." G'raha can't help but mention and with more enthusiasm than he should, his curiosity already getting the best of him. This journal belongs to the Warrior of Light himself! What deeds he must have written inside of it. What personal secrets! In his hunger for knowledge, G'raha doesn't even realize he has leaned in closer to try get a better look at its contents and he blurts out, eyes all sparkling "Might I ask where you got it and how long you have been journaling? This is amazing! A personal recount from the Warrior of Light himself! And is that your account of braving Titan I spy? You should-"

And there he goes silent. All expectantly he raised his gaze to look at the warrior and he freezes upon seeing his pointed, unimpressed look. Bright green eyes regards him with such intensity and judgment in that moment G'raha promptly averts his gaze. He can already feel his stomach tie into tight knots and suddenly aware of a tingly heat rushing to his cheeks all he can do is look down into his lap, finding himself wracking his brain, scrambling to find the words needed to try rectify the situation in any way he can, his tail swishing to and fro in a poorly hid panic behind him.

Come on, G'raha. You are an Archon. A Student. You can do better. Apologize... Just apologize.

Sitting up straight, his eyes still refusing to meet Y'sato's he finally says the only thing he can think of. "It's not like I was going to read it. Not without your permission of course. I-I mean. My-my apologies."

By the Twelve! How could I say something so stupid! Now he will think even less of me. Like a nosy kit that cannot keep his nose out of other's people business.

He doesn't dare look up from his lap, his tail still swishing anxiously behind him, his ears fanning back. He can still feel Y'sato's eyes on him and the silence between them drags on, way too long for G'raha's increasingly fraying nerves, and on top of it he feels himself starting to shrink under the scrutinizing gaze. Yes, he must have really done it now. Offended the Warrior of Light.

"It's alright."

Startled G'raha looks up from his lap, eyes wide as they dart to look at Y'sato, once more meeting those bright green eyes. Even his tail has stopped its anxious swishing. Did he...hear him right?

Y'sato just smiles, a knowing look in his eyes."As I said. It's alright. I'll share some of my accounts with you."

Still not quite believing what he just heard G'raha can only blink dumbfounded. He was so sure and yet...Y'sato isn't mad with him? In fact, he can see the storied hero is still smiling, his tail flicking thoughtfully as he slowly thumbs through the worn pages, clearly looking for something he is willing to share. G'raha still just sits there looking at him, wide-eyed. No this doesn't feel right. Y'sato shouldn't feel forced just because he could not rein in his excitement. Feeling put on the spot G'raha tries to interject.

"Y'sato. You don't need to share if you truly don't want to. I...I let my curiosity get the better of me and I-"

"G'raha, really. If I didn't want to share I would have put it away already. Here."

Before he can protest further he finds Y'sato's journal pushed into his hands. The leather is soft yet worn under his fingertips, its weight surprisingly light, and scrawled on its yellowing pages he sees it, Y'sato's handwriting. It is a bit messy, a bit scrawly, and disjointed but still G'raha can decipher it with relative ease.

"Are you quite certain?" He looks up to Y'sato once more for reaffirmation, not wanting to cross his boundaries unless he feels comfortable but Y'sato just nods, his smile never leaving his face and in his eyes, G'raha glimpses something else this time. A fondness he has never seen from him before, a warmth. And it helps. He can already feel the heavy weight being lifted off his heart.

"Thank you , my friend. I really appreciate this, truly. I promise I will only read what you permit me to."

Without further ado he looks back down into the yellowed pages, starting to read Y'sato's first-hand account of his encounter with his first primal. The fire demon rising from the very bowels of the hellfires themselves, Ifrit.

-.-.-.-

...He accepted me. Allowed me to look into the more personal parts of his life.

Smile still on his lips G'raha reflects on the memory. He hadn't known his friend for long at that time and yet it is one of his most treasured memories of him. It was the first time Y'sato truly opened up to him, to let him more into his life and G'raha can still feel the warmth of that pivotal moment fill his heart. He remains lying there just basking in the blissful feeling until he hears voices coming from somewhere outside of the room he currently finds himself in. Distant as if muted going through walls of cold stone, but they are there. In response he pricks up his ears, suddenly feeling much more alert.

"...You're absolutely sure he's the one? He's but a...I still can't believe..."

"...He fits...description...only person we found...Tower...He said his name upon...there can be no doubt..."

"...But he looks so...young...I expected...more after reading that report...two centuries ago...fabled keeper...like a sage..."

Wait...two centuries?

Those words grounds him, anchors him to the present. Once more he is fully aware of the cold chill still clinging so stubbornly to his body, the deep shadows surrounding him, and the heaviness of his limbs, and yet his heart is quickening in his chest. Two hundred years...but that would mean...he would have to face one simple truth. Y'sato would be long gone and...

It finally dawns on him...

His memories of him will be just that...memories.

G'raha can already feel his ears press back into the soft pillow, his heart sinking as a cold fear grips him. This cannot be. He had come for him had he not? To wake him? He can almost swear it was his voice he heard, his warm hands who raised him up, held on to him so protectively, trying to shake him awake...He can even faintly recall having called his name. He faded out before he could grasp any response, but he was so weak, barely able to remain conscious. Hells, he is still much too weakened for his liking.

A faint hope sparks to life in his chest. Could the words he had just heard be a mere exaggeration? And if not Y'sato...who had woken him up?... A damning realization hits him.

Since he clearly isn't in the Tower then where...Is he taken prisoner? And if so just where have they taken him?

Curling his fingers and toes willing himself to get circulation flowing, to wake his body up more G'raha strains against the sluggish hold it still has on him. Even his eyelids feel heavy as if they are weighted by lead. As far as he knows he is still alone but for how long? He needs to wake himself fully. Needs to get up even when every fiber of his being screams at him to stay still but he fights it. He has to know. Has to know for real if the words he just overheard hold any truth to them.

Sato I...please. Please tell me you are still alive.

"...How long until he will wake fully? Not to rush him of course, but we don't exactly have a great surplus of time."

"...The hold the Tower had on him was absolute. Please be more patient. I am confident he will come around in due time but your incessant nagging won't exactly help matters. Last I checked his vitals were fine. If you would excuse me."

The voices. They are closer now, sounding like they are coming from somewhere right outside the room he finds himself trapped in. The first one is distinctly female and sounds annoyed at that, having a pitch. The other voice however sounds vaguely familiar. A male voice with a slightly deep timbre to it. Could it be?

No something feels off. Whoever these people are, he knows Y'sato's voice by heart, the way he speaks. This voice...it is not him.

Footsteps. Decisive hurried footsteps are coming his way, the click-clacking of heels clear on the cold stone floor, echoing in the halls and they are coming closer. Unsure of what to do, whether he should force his body to move when it clearly is much too weak or feign unconsciousness G'raha has to decide fast.

There is something with this situation he does not at all like. Fear heats his skin, pulling at his nerves, drawing them taut as a bowstring. If he indeed is taken prisoner, then by whom? And how did they manage to open the gates to the Tower? Unless...

The creak of a door handle to his left being pushed down alerts G'raha to his present predicament before he can fully decide on what to do. Out of options he quickly closes his eyes and remains lying as still as possible. Not that it is hard with his body in its current state. Still, his heart keeps pounding in his chest, each throb pulsating in his ears making it hard to focus.

Calm yourself. Breathe...Just breathe. Deep and slow.

A beam of bright light hits the side of his face as whoever opened the door fully enters and G'raha has to consciously refrain from reacting to it. Focusing on his breathing he keeps his ears very still, relaxing all of his muscles. Now all he can do is wait, feline ears primed to pick up any sound. He just hopes he looks convincing enough.

Again to his left another light source is flicked on and again G'raha forces himself to stay very still. A second set of footsteps, these lighter joins the side of whoever flicked on the light. Then silence...a quiet breath...then...

"Gods...he's still not awake? It's been almost two days. If he stays like this much longer he will die before he gets to be of use for any of us."

"Delika!."

The way the male voice suddenly rises in volume and intensity right next to him has G'raha almost jumping out of his skin and it is only thanks to his still sluggish state he does not move although he can swear his ears twitched. For once since he came to awareness he finds himself praising his body's unwillingness to move.

"You know as well as I that's why I am here. Healers are in scant supply these days." A sigh. "Lucky for you he seems none the wiser."

"You sure about that? Cause I swear I saw one of his ears twitch."

G'raha's breath hitches in his throat. No. He can't be found out. Not like this. He has burning questions yes but something tells him he shouldn't put his trust in these people. Forcing himself to stay calm he resumes his breathing, but his heart, his pounding heart. Try as he might he can't bring himself to calm it this time. Under the covers his tail instinctively draws closer to his leg, trembling.

"...G'raha?" The male voice is hesitant, close. Way too close and he already knows his name, How does he know my name? And as G'raha initially feared he feels warm fingertips touch him, gently pressing into the pulse point at the side of his neck next to one of his Archon tattoos. There is no mistaking it. He knows the man can feel it, the fluttering pulse of his anxious heartbeat.

He doesn't think. Eyes snapping open he with what little stamina he has regained pushes himself upright and tries to get away from the now startled man who had just been examining him, but his wild panicked frenzy doesn't last. He is aware of the blanket sliding down his chest, bare he further notices. They have stripped me?! Next, he is falling, his legs not working, hands weakly flailing around for purchase, every hair on his tail standing on end as it too wildly flails around in an instinctive bid to help him regain his balance. He feels his knees collide with something hard, something freezing cold, but he ignores the pain, scrambling to right himself until someone catches him. Who G'raha doesn't even register at first, frazzled, overwrought, and hyperventilating as he is, heart still pounding wildly in his chest as he feebly claws at their back. All he knows is he has been found out. Whoever has him knows he is awake now. What should he-

"Hey, it's alright. We won't hurt you."

Someone is holding him protectively against their chest again. It feels vaguely familiar and yet G'raha feels no comfort. His chest is burning, heaving with every panicked breath. His body still feels much too weak, unwilling to move. Only pure adrenaline spurred him to jump into action like he did and now all he can do is lean against this man, this stranger, sitting on the floor as it were in nothing but his small clothes. Never before has he felt so helpless. So...vulnerable.

"Delika. Go tell the Chief he's awake."

Hurried footsteps barely registers in G'raha's ears as the woman, Delika? Presumably runs out of the room. He still struggles to just draw breath, his lungs burning, his heart still beating so wildly in his chest he fears it might break free from its bounds any second. His vision blurs, the room swimming in and out of focus so quickly he feels nauseous. Sounds and sensations grows more distant, echoing dully in his ears, and from that alone, he can tell his consciousness is fading.

..I..am I going to...pass out again? Air...I-I need- Why can't I get enough air!

"Shhh, you are safe...Just breathe. You will be fine."

It is a struggle just to keep his eyes open but he tries, really tries but his lungs won't comply. For every exhale he feels them crumpling more and more much akin to paper slowly being squeezed into a tight ball. His head spinning and his vision still a blurry mess of shapes and colors he cannot discern he isn't even aware of the man he is leaning against gently takes hold of his chin and tilts it up so G'raha can look at him. A face slowly swims into focus and although G'raha still can't make out any features he feels a bit more clear-headed. Dazed Allagan crimson eyes blinks once, twice.

"Good." The man encourages. "Now take a slow inhale then slowly let it out. Can you do that for me?"

"I-I think..."

"Good."

G'raha tries to do as he is bid. Just...breathe. In and then out. In and then out...

And... it works. Slowly but surely, G'raha gradually regains control of his breathing and in so doing, himself. At some point, the man let go of his chin but the young historian scarcely even noticed. All he knows is the man is still holding him up in an upright seated position against his chest much like he did before, the warmth of his hand still resting on G'raha's shoulder. Without thinking he leans into it, chasing the warmth against his cold skin.

Still dazed, G'raha looks up, wanting, no, needing to get a good look of his mystery rescuer, and a stern-looking pale face adorned with what looks like...white scales...peers back down at him, meeting his scrutinizing gaze. G'raha blinks. He has seen these traits before, in Sharlayan. His rescuer is an...an older-looking auri man. Raen. Despite the stern-looking face, his eyes are kind. A deep vivid blue that strangely puts G'raha's heart at ease, making him wonder why he was so fearful and distrusting in the first place...

"Wh..who?" He finally manages to force out, his voice hoarse, sounding just as weak as he feels.

"...My name is Toshikata Buhen, but you may call me Toshi. I am a healer and appointed to your care."

G'raha slowly blinks. That much he has already surmised. The man, Toshi however doesn't seem convinced he is yet fully aware, clearly having taken note of the dazed look in his eyes, for his next words comes out more slowly. Deliberate, as if he is talking to a child.

"You need not fret. You are safe here. After attempting to wake you in the Tower we decided it best to take you here to the Revenant's Toll seeing you didn't awaken as fast as some of us thought..."

G'raha's tail flicks, the downy fur so soft against the cold stone. A small pout forms on his lips...I am not a child...

Yet the thought comes with no annoyance. He already feels pretty much spent, his frenzied attempt in trying to get up to flee already having taxed his yet-to-recover heavy-laden muscles. He blinks again, this time his eyelids drooping slightly. So that explains it then. Why he found himself waking in this dimly lit cold room. A room looking nothing like Crystal Tower. Another thought hits him. Perhaps...seeing this man means him no harm he can give him some much-needed answers. Already G'raha feels them burning, simmering back up to the surface.

"...Tell me...how long has it been? Please...I need to know..." G'raha looks up at the man, his eyes pleading, ignoring how hoarse and weak his voice still sounds to his ears. The fact he is entirely bare except from his small clothes and still being held in this healer's arms is of no import to him anymore. He needs to know if there is a chance Y'sato is still alive out there, no matter how slim. That he is not consigned to memory. If he can still meet him...See his smile...Feel his gentle soothing touch...

There is a beat of silence, a twinge of something strained, something pained crossing the aura man's face as he looks away, his expression unreadable. Already from this G'raha can discern something, and that with startling clarity. This man...he knows something and it is grave enough G'raha feels his heart sink.

The arm held securely around his shoulders tightens its grip, but Toshi still doesn't look at him. "It's natural for you to seek answers...and answers you will get once you can stay on your own two feet."

Before his words can fully sink in G'raha feels himself starting to shift, the man already moving to carry him back into his bed. G'raha's tail lashes. No, he wants answers now! He needs to know. Has to know!

"No, please...I need to know. Please."

G'raha tries to protest, to move as he wishes but again his body refuses to heed him, except from his tail. He can only lean limply against the man as he gently gathers him up into his arms, lifting him with ease to then placing him gingerly back onto his bed.

"For now you should focus on recovering," Toshi says as he covers the young historian with the warm blanket. G'raha's skin tingles at the feel of it, chills running through him but more than anything he wants to sit up, to demand this man to give him answers.

"The aftereffects of your stasis still has its hold on you I'm afraid, but I'm positive you will be able to move freely in a couple days. Until then I bid you rest. I will have Delika bring you an easy-to-digest meal in a couple of bells."

With that the healer quietly takes his leave, leaving G'raha once more to his thoughts but this time he is left more riled up than ever. The man clearly knows something but withholds information for unknown reasons. It makes him wonder if anything he or his associate said is even true...

But some things are certain and have been clear to him from the start. Whoever these people are they managed to open the Tower, to disable the stasis that ever kept him locked in slumber and him being slow to stir they thought it best to bring him here. He is important enough to them they have even assigned a healer to look after his recovery as well as his general well-being.

Eyelids drooping, still feeling much too weak, cold, and dazed G'raha decides to go along with what the healer told him for now, to focus on recovery. At least when he is fully recovered he can finally figure out what is going on, to uncover the truth for himself.

Taking a deep breath G'raha closes his eyes, doing the only thing that brings him any semblance of comfort. Once more he looks within himself, into memory. Of him, of Y'sato, sitting by the shore of the Silver Tear Lake telling each other stories, laughing. The sunlight warm on their skin.

Fond smile on his lips and a spark of new hope flaring in his chest he consigns himself to the blissful feeling. To the memory of halcyon days.

For now, he dares himself to hope.

I will see you again, Sato. I am certain of it.

----------------------------------------

Notes: 

Enjoy the calm while it lasts G'raha. Soon you will know what has come to pass... :( 

I figured he would be disoriented after spending so much time locked in stasis although he doesn't know quite how long it has been yet, and also the aftereffects clinging to him after coming out of it makes sense to me.

I also always imagined a small part of G'raha hoped Cid and his team would manage to find a way to wake him in their lifetimes, being an optimistic, hopeful character. This is the result.

Also, the flashback here is the moment G'raha alluded to in Chapter 6 of Shatter of when Y'sato first opened up to him.

As always I hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter Text

The room is cold, still dimly lit and G'raha has long started to feel stifled in it. He is currently sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed, looking into his lap. A couple of days have passed since he first found himself waking in this room he still finds himself confined to. However, the healer, Toshi was right. Already G'raha can tell much of his strength has returned, his muscles long having lost their heavy leaden feeling, and no longer does he feel unnaturally cold. Still, his room has this chill clinging to it and once more finding himself bored for lack of anything to do he looks around the room. Not that there is much in it. It doesn't even have windows so he's unable to tell whether it is day or night. Aside from his bed standing up against the grey stony wall to the far end there is just this lamp looking like it is derived from magitek secured to the wall and a plain-looking wooden nightstand with almost nothing on it except from a smaller artificial-looking lamp that also reminds him of magitek. It gives off this cold white bright light that offers no comfort, a half-emptied cup of water and a bowl with scraps from his last meal standing next to it. It is a worn scratchy thing. In fact, everything he has laid his eyes on so far looks worn, dusty. Derelict. Even the simple white shirt and brown baggy pants he has been provided have seen better days, the threads fraying at the edges. Everything around him feels uninviting, oppressive. There is a sense of desperation hanging thick in the air, like a suffocating shadow. It makes him feel nervous in a way he can't quite explain. As if someone or something is watching, waiting for something. Judging.

It makes him wonder if the snippet he overheard the other day is true after all.

Two centuries...No. It has to be wrong. Just an exaggeration surely and yet...this feeling.

Looking down at the stony floor at his bedside he feels doubt start to simmer below the surface. After all, he has yet to see or hear anything he can recognize...

His tail flicks from the nervous, impatient undercurrent that eats at him, his lips pressing into a tight line. This uncertainty, he can barely stand it. Neither does it help matters he has this nagging feeling he should have known better. He knows very well he should have expected this to be one, if not the most likely outcome. To find himself waking up in the far future and yet a small part of him still dares to hope. Cid, Biggs, and Wedge all sounded so hopeful, so certain they somehow would find a way and...

G'raha quickly shakes his head. Mulling over it endlessly won't help him at all in his current situation. He hasn't even been allowed to leave this room unless absolutely necessary and always under tight supervision with an escort and just to the latrine a room over. Furthermore when leaving him to his own devices stating it is night time he cannot help but notice the unmistakable sound of his door being locked behind him. They also keep mentioning this Chief G'raha has yet to meet, to even see for himself, but from what little he has been able to piece together so far from Toshi's and Delika's interactions their Chief seems to be a very busy man.

Quick rapping on the door immediately draws his attention. Startled, his feline ears perking up in alarm G'raha looks up at the sudden intrusion. With the telltale click of the lock, the door creaks open and eyes of warm amber meet his of vibrant crimson. Vertical thin pupils matching his own regards him with such displeasure in that very moment as a young miqo'te woman dressed in a white tattered coat strides into the room. One of his ears twitching G'raha is quick to avert his gaze in response, not doing anything to hide the pout pursing his lips. This is not the first time he has been regarded with such displeasure. Least of all from her. Once more Delika or to be more exact, K'delika barges her way into his room to hand him something or other. Usually food and this time proves to be no exception as he glimpses the wooden bowl held in her hands. She alongside Toshi has taken turns giving him food every three to four bells outside of nighttime. She is the one he heard speaking to Toshi and accompanied the healer's side when they went to check up on him two days prior G'raha has long come to realize, the loud pitch of her voice not exactly easy to miss.

"Here," She huffs as she hands him yet another bowl of much the same bland, tasteless food he has been subsisting on for the last couple of days. Some sort of light brown unsweetened porridge and G'raha has long since lost his appetite for it.

"My thanks." He says dully, not looking up at the fellow miqo'te as he reluctantly accepts his food. Her arms are crossed over her chest now and she leans her weight over to one leg, still regarding him with the same displeasure, the same...contempt. G'raha still doesn't know what he has done to earn her ire. He can't even remember ever having seen her before, even less properly made her acquaintance. Like himself she is a Seeker but dark of skin and hair, it being around shoulder length, her amber eyes standing out like two burning torches. She looks young like she has just passed her twentieth summer, being around his height, but aside from that he knows next to nothing of her.

"Tch. At least sound more grateful" Her displeased tone has G'raha look up at her just in time to see one of her ears twitch in annoyance, tail flicking. Well, one thing has been clear to G'raha ever since he found himself being forced to interact with her. He doesn't trust her. Nor does he like her. Not one bit.

His eyes narrows "And why should I? You have done nothing but regard me with contempt, keeping me fed like some common prisoner. Is that all I am to you?" He does nothing to hide his own displeasure, and it clearly hits a nerve as her eyes flashes.

"The hells you know!" Glaring him down she takes a step closer, her hands now held at her sides, fists trembling. Her voice is dripping with such anger G'raha can't help but shrink under the fierce assault. "I honestly don't see what the Chief hopes to achieve with you. To me, you don't look at all that special. The reports spoke of a selfless man of noble standing, a true descendant of the Allagan Royal line. One able to control the very Crystal Tower itself. One who's promised to save us all. We expected someone older, someone wiser and this is what we get!? Some wet-nosed little runt of the litter who looks like he hasn't even seen his twentieth summer yet who's spent his days mostly sleeping since we dragged you here. To think we worked our asses off for-"

"Delika! That's enough!"

Stopping mid tirade K'delika's head snaps around at the sharp voice addressing her. G'raha nearly drops the bowl he is still holding in his hands, his ears instinctively drawn back. Both his and K'delika's eyes are now glued to the door or more on the person currently standing in the doorway. A familiar Auri man of tall stature, Toshi. Contrary to K'delika the healer hasn't given G'raha any cause to dislike him yet. Still, he doesn't fully trust him. With his familiar stern expression, Toshi enters the room and it is first as he steps into the light from his bedside lamp G'raha takes note of what he is carrying draped over his arm. Something made of some sort of fabric, dark brown in shade.

"Instead of blowing off your steam in our poor guest's face pray go downstairs to make preparations. You know the ones. Oh and make sure to notify the Chief."

With a huff and her anger still not having fully abated K'delika does as she is bid and shows herself out of the room to G'raha's immense relief. He cannot help but feel tense and stifled whenever she is around. However, as he relaxes, taking his ease he can't help but think of what she had just told him.

The one promised to save us all...The true descendant of the Allagan Royal line...I am to save them? From what?

"Please excuse Delika. She has always been a...temperamental one."

Snapping out of his musings at Toshi's voice addressing him G'raha looks up at the man. Much like the room he is currently confined in he has had ample time to get a good look of his primary caretaker. An older-looking Auri man, tall in stature with long blond hair tied back into a loose ponytail. A raen, pale of skin with imposing-looking horns curling back then forwards ending in sharp tips, one at each side of his face common for his race. He much like K'delika is dressed in a simple white coat, a tad tattered at the edges, and light brown thigh-high boots. Despite his stern-looking face and professionalism G'raha so far has only felt kindness radiating from him, although he is still secretive, never holding G'raha's inquiring gaze for long. As he has already surmised after their first meeting, the man is hiding something, and no matter how much G'raha has tried prodding him for any information over the last couple of days he has long realized Toshi isn't going to divulge his secrets anytime soon.

"Think nothing of it. Who's K'delika to you...if I might ask?" G'raha decides to ask in a bid to lessen the tension. It hasn't slipped his notice Toshi always regards her as Delika which means she is close to him in some way to even accept him dropping the tribal letter prefix which is a well-known custom in Seeker culture.

His eyes not straying from him G'raha once more observes how the healer's eyes keep avoiding his.

"Oh, she's just a very dear friend of mine. We met years ago. I took her in in fact." He coughs awkwardly into his fist "More importantly, you look like you have regained much of your strength. In that case please accept this."

Putting the bowl he still holds in his hands aside on his bedside table G'raha finds himself being handed whatever the man has in mind for him. It is soft to the touch, worn looking and yet it feels warm. Unfolding it G'raha realizes it is a long woolen cloak and from the looks of it maybe just an ilm or two too big for him.

"It gets chilly around these parts these days. If you are to join us it is only right for you to dress accordingly."

This is...this reminds me of... It is just like back then.

Memories of a particularly chilly night spent huddling around their campfire by the lake with Y'sato floods to the forefront of his mind. While it had been summer the turbulent aether in the region made the weather conditions unstable and it sharing a border with Coerthas meant that occasionally ice aspected aether seeped its way into Mor Dhona. Night had fallen but it didn't hamper their spirits in the least. It is so vivid in his mind's eye, of sharing stories long into the night, the sweet taste of apple cider rich on his tongue, of cuddling into Y'sato's Chocobo's soft white feathers both dressed in warm cloaks, laughing at nothing and everything as the alcohol in their system warmed their cheeks.

G'raha blinks, struggling not to fall victim to the memory in its entirety, but Toshi's last words catches on and he finally looks up, trying not to let his surprise be too evident but the curious flick of one of his ears betrays him.

"Join you? You mean to say I am finally going to get my answers?"

If the man caught on to his eagerness he doesn't show it.

"...That is what you were promised, and answers you will get. That is if you feel strong enough of course, and before anything else, you should eat up, then perhaps-"

Finally!

"That won't be necessary." Excitement burning through him like wildfire G'raha jumps to his feet to show his readiness, only to yelp when his bare feet hit the icy cold stone floor. In his excitement, he forgot how freezing his room truly is.

"Ah yes about that. I made sure to bring some boots alongside the cloak. Here."

Still reeling from the freezing cold under his feet G'raha doesn't get to regain his bearings before he finds a pair of knee-high boots being pushed into his hands. Both in a dark brown shade matching the cloak, both made of soft leather. Not wasting any more time he quickly pulls them on, already feeling relief from the warmth slowly returning to his toes.

"Very well." Toshi then says, straight-backed and professional as always. "When you feel ready I will escort you downstairs. Just give the word."

G'raha doesn't waste a breath, already in the process of pulling his new cloak over his head. He lets it fall over his lithe frame, it coming to a stop just shy around his ankles. Just as it looks it feels warm, a comforting weight on his shoulders and he can tell it is lined with a thick material. Already he can feel it block out much of the cold drafts seeping up from the cold stone floor. To his pleasant surprise even the hood accommodates his ears, being quite roomy should he wish to cover himself for more warmth. However there is no slit sewn into it for him to poke his tail through but there is enough room for his tail nevertheless, swishing it to and fro to test it. Once satisfied with himself he turns back to face Toshi, his ears wiggling with satisfaction as he gives him an amicable smile, showing his gratitude.

"I am ready. Lead the way."

Giving a curt nod, stern-faced as ever Toshi turns to lead the way and for the first time since he first awoke G'raha is allowed to go downstairs. At last, it is happening. Finally, he will be getting the answers he so desperately seeks.

He recalls Toshi saying they had taken him to Revenant's Toll and as G'raha wanders down the bleak grey halls he finds himself more and more inclined to believe him. He recognizes the architecture. Rooms with high ceilings, arched doorways, and grey cold stone spanning from ceiling to floor greets him. Artificial lights much like the one in his room light up the stony walls being haphazardly wired together by black and blue cables running alongside the corners leading to somewhere downstairs. Now this is new to G'raha. In all of his forays into the Toll, he cannot remember ever seeing the like. On that note he is all but certain he isn't a free man just yet. These people, well so far he has only met two of them. Toshi and K'delika, they always have this guarded air around them. Toshi the most whenever he enters his room, and G'raha in response makes sure to take his due caution around him in turn.

Yet it is clear to him they mean him no ill will, for the most part. K'delika is...well, something else. Still, they have kept him fed and relatively comfortable but he would be lying if he told himself he isn't looking for a way out. Even as he walks at a steady pace behind the tall, imposing Au Ra, his crimson keen eyes keep looking around his surroundings, seeing if he can spot any possible escape routes. After all, once he has gotten all the answers he seeks he plans to make a run for it.

The further he walks down the sprawling halls though the more they seem...oddly familiar to him. Especially when he rounds a corner after walking down a flight of stairs.

Is this...the House of Splendours?

There is no mistaking the stonework or the layout, but it doesn't look at all like he remembers. He has walked in these very halls before on occasion, which to him only feels like a couple of days ago. But now all of it looks so much different. From the looks of it, his current surroundings look more like a well-used although oversized tavern than the fabled house, and they are not alone. There are others, the first he has seen so far aside from his two caretakers. People both young and old are all milling about in the hallways wearing much the same white tattered clothes like Toshi, weary expressions on their faces, but aside from that the House is...eerily quiet. Nothing like the hustle and bustle G'raha has long come to expect whenever he pays a visit.

A chill starts to creep up his spine, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. G'raha severely doubts Rowena would give up her beloved House of Splendours anytime soon during her lifetime so does this mean...

...For how long have I been slumbering in the Tower?

"Please, have a seat. The Chief will be with us soon."

Toshi gestures into a wide spacious room after opening a set of wooden well-worn doors. From the loud creak to judge they are well used, clearly worn with age. To his right G'raha glimpses the exit leading out into the Toll in his peripheral vision and he pauses. It is right there. He can make a run for it now if he so feels inclined, but answers. His tail flicks under his robe, his gaze downcast. He is so close, too close to think about running away now when he knows he is about to learn the truth, so he wordlessly complies and with calm, assured footsteps enters the room.

The size of it grabs his attention first. This one is far bigger than the one he has been confined in for the last couple of days and he notes there still are no windows. One strange thing is the holes with cracks in the ceiling and there are obvious signs someone tried to patch them up with wooden planks and whatever else they could get their hands on but from the looks of it, he can tell they have done a shoddy job. There is no light streaming down through the cracks so either it is nighttime or there is another room above but judging from the more obvious cold drafts seeping through the cracked stonework G'raha surmises it got to be the former. Harsh cold light much like what he found in his room is the only light illuminating the room, coming from tiny lights strung up along the walls in a complex cable work leading to places unseen. One bigger lamp hangs from the broken ceiling, casting harsh light on a lonely partly rusted metal table standing off to one corner of the room with one lone chair pulled up to one side of it with a row of seats on the other leaning up against the wall. A couple of storage boxes containing what looks like miscellaneous metal scraps and coiled wires stand partly obscured in a shadowy corner and a bit in front of it G'raha sees what appears to be a campsite. Or what is left of it. Currently, there is no fire, a few pieces of charred firewood the only proof it has recently been lit. It hangs thick in the air, the distinct smell of machine oil mingled with sweat with an underlying tinge of ash.

Wordlessly Toshi gestures again and G'raha realizes he wants him to sit in the lone chair. Once more he silently complies but unease starts to settle in the pit of his stomach, icy and cold. Carefully he sits down, his tail still hidden under his cloak drawing close to one of his legs instinctively, curling around his thigh slightly. This feels more like an interrogation room than him finally having all of his many burning questions answered, but he wills himself to calm his nerves. This is what he wants. He needs to do this.

And so he is kept waiting, his only company Toshi who still stands by the doorway, the door now closed, silent and stern-faced as ever. In the distance, G'raha's keen hearing picks up distant muffled voices down the hall he can't quite discern but aside from that he is on his own. In a bid to try lessen his unease, he takes the opportunity to get better acquainted with his current surroundings. The shadowed boxes in the far corner especially catch his interest. A few of the bits looks vaguely familiar, like the stray pieces of magitek he knew Cid to often tinker with at their camp. These particular bits got to be salvage more likely than not from the looks of it, but aside from that he cannot recognize any of the other bits and bobs, some of the wiring hanging over the side. Next to the boxes, he takes note of this blackboard with mathematical equations scrawled all over it next to what looks like a drawing of the Crystal Tower. None of them makes much sense to him either from a glance and then...he sees it.

Next to the blackboard partly obscured behind it he glimpses something white, something smooth looking and round. A low distinct hum emanates from it, blue neon lights pulsating in geometric and angular set patterns throughout its white casing as it moves and as it fully comes into view, G'raha immediately recognizes it. His eyes wide, ears perking up he nearly leaps out of his seat. For a moment he can't believe what he is seeing.

Thats-thats a node! A fully functional Allagan node!

Still staring at it wide-eyed in disbelief he watches as it comes to a slow stop beside the blackboard. They have one. They actually have one. None had been seen or found during the Warrior of Light's ascension when first braving the Crystal Tower, or during their explorations after, and here one now stands right before his very eyes.

G'raha's tail swishes with curiosity, all starry-eyed. Oh, how he wants to get up this very second to go try to operate it, to figure out how it all works. His fingers itch to reach out so badly, but he quickly catches himself. No this is not the time to be excited over such childish diversions. He can still feel it, the desperation hanging thick in the air, the ominous ambiance clinging to this very room, this stifling sense of incoming doom he can't quite place, and he can still feel Toshi's eyes on him there the man is still standing straight backed as ever to G'raha's left by the closed door. Taking a deep breath in a bid to compose himself G'raha starts to fidget with the rim of one of his sleeves.

Despite his best efforts, his eyes are once more drawn towards the Allagan node. Maybe one closer look wouldn't hurt? He is about to rise to his feet to go over to it when the loud creak of a wooden door being opened catches in his ears. G'raha turns to look only to see a face so uncannily familiar he this time does leap from his chair.

"Biggs! I-I- You. You did it after all! Where is Wedge? I mean-"

"Oh gods, please. Shut it already and sit your ass back down. This isn't the man you know."

Still feeling so elated to finally see a familiar face G'raha can only stare dumbfounded at K'delika as she makes her appearance from behind the stockily built seawolf roegadyn. Her eyes still regard G'raha with the same displeasure as always as she folds her arms over her chest, her ears drawn back. The roegadyn man, Biggs? Turns to address her.

"Enough Delika. If you insist on keeping this up you can see yourself out of the room. Your contempt for this man is getting tiring."

"Hmpf. Either you tell him soon or I will. I tire of this charade." With an annoyed twitch of her tail, K'delika storms away to take a seat on the furthest side of the table but G'raha's eyes are still glued to the man who looks so much like the man he knew, and yet...

That voice...

The man, he doesn't sound at all like G'raha remembers. His voice is deeper, more gruff, and yet he looks the part somewhat. He is wearing a grey, blue, and white uniform, although the goggles are different being more like shades, his hair kept short and is silvery grey in color but G'raha guesses that could be due to age. He even recognizes the orange Garlond Ironworks logo adorning one of the man's sleeves but it looks...different somehow. G'raha places his knuckles on his chin, angling it as he starts to reconsider. If not the man he knows then could he be...

"If...if you are not the Biggs I know could you be his father?"

"I'm afraid not," The man says as he turns towards the still-confused young historian. "But I am related to him. Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."

His mind buzzing with even more questions G'raha does as he is told and sits back down in his chair. The man, the Chief takes a seat opposite of him with Toshi seating himself right next to him, essentially being his right hand. Those two and K'delika are the only people in the room and for a moment everything grows eerily silent, only the low steadily churning hum of the lone Allagan node registering in G'raha's ears. Everyone's eyes are on him and it takes all of G'raha's willpower not to squirm under their scrutinizing gazes. Should he be the first to break the silence? No, that would be rude and he doesn't really want to make his situation any worse than it already is. He throws a quick glance towards the door. It is closed again but he hasn't heard any telltale sound of someone locking it.

Good. When the opportunity presents itself I will make a run for it.

Trying not to show his intentions, G'raha looks back up to meet the man he thought was Biggs' eyes, unreadable as they are hidden behind his dark shades.

"Right. I believe proper introductions are in order. You have already met Toshi and Delika of course."

"I am well aware." G'raha retorts politely, his guarded look never leaving his eyes. Something that isn't lost on their Chief as the man continues.

"While you have cause to be alarmed we have only your best interests at heart. Now you called me Biggs which isn't too far from the truth. My name is indeed Biggs. Biggs third of his name to be exact, A descendant. While I am not the man you once knew I hope you will come to see me as a comrade in arms like you once did him."

Wait...Biggs third of his name? Comrade in arms? Descendant?

Not quite believing what he has just heard G'raha blinks, his mouth falling open slightly. This...something isn't quite adding up and yet it explains the uncanny sense he is feeling. Ever since he first stepped out of his room he's been unable to shake this feeling. A feeling of being...displaced. He steels his gaze.

"Forgive me my forwardness but so far you have done nothing to earn my trust. Neither has your associates." His eyes strays over to K'delika who is currently more busy looking at the Allagan node now slowly floating around the blackboard than paying any attention to the conversation. "You keep me locked up like some common prisoner and I am not blind. I recognize that logo you wear on your sleeve." He narrows his eyes as he keeps looking at the man unflinchingly. "So then tell me, if your mantra is still 'freedom through technology' I should be more than happy to see your actions reflect that."

He doesn't relent in staring the man down, vibrant crimson almost aglow in the bright light, but if his steely cold glare has any effect on the man he doesn't show it. Instead, all he does is lean forward, resting his elbows on the table with his chin resting atop his folded hands.

"Our records told us you were sharp. A scholar worthy of the name indeed. Good." The man then leans back in his chair, a polite smile on his face. A smile G'raha does not at all like. "As for us keeping you confined to your room, I assure you it is done as a safety precaution."

G'raha starts to bristle, all hairs on his tail standing on end, his ears drawing back slightly. "And for what purpose pray tell?"

"You are far too valuable to us to put at risk. At least until you have learned everything."

G'raha can feel his patience is already slipping and the way this Biggs talks about him like he's nothing but a valuable asset has his blood boil. His ears draws even further back, his eyes now glaring holes into him. "Then drop the cryptic nonsense and get to the point."

Biggs just gestures at him to calm down something that does nothing to ease G'raha's rising ire and it takes all of his willpower to remain civil.

"All will be made clear in time. Here as a show of our goodwill." Biggs then turns to Toshi. "It's time."

The way Toshi nods affirmatively to the chief before he rises to his feet has G'raha tensing up more than he already is. He doesn't take his eyes off him for a second as the healer walks around the table towards him. While it's true Toshi has been the kindest to him so far he still doesn't fully trust him, and as the man comes closer G'raha notices something else. Guilt, so much guilt. It is clear as day in the healer's eyes and the sight of it immediately has G'raha pull his guard up, his ears now pinned flat against his head. It is a reminder. These people are the ones who managed to wake him. They know he is of Royal Allagan decent, his blood flowing just thick enough with it to control the Tower and they have taken him away from it. Furthermore, he is unarmed, bereft of his bow.

His tail flicking anxiously under his cloak G'raha can only watch as Toshi stops just a few fulms away from him, his jaw tight as he reaches into a pocket from the inside of his coat. Ready to spring into action anytime G'raha holds his breath. To do what exactly he doesn't know until Toshi pulls a journal free from his pocket. A worn-looking thing, the leather clearly having seen better days, and yet G'raha would recognize the seal engraved in its center anywhere. A claw, a faded red jaguar's claw. He feels his breath leave his lungs.

...Is-is that-

He blinks, scarcely believing what he is seeing, struggling to find the words."But that's...Where did you find it!"

"It was archived," Biggs says. "The Ironworks kept it well preserved to our great boon. You recognize it I trust?"

But G'raha doesn't pay any attention to the man's words as he is gingerly handed the journal, just barely aware of Toshi quietly retreating back to his seat. The journal he now holds in his hands...it is Y'sato's. The brown soft leather is far more scuffed and worn than he remembers and the red jaguar claw is much faded and yet there is no doubt. It is unmistakably his. Wordlessly he runs his fingers over its cover with reverence, his fingertips catching on every dent and scuff but he doesn't mind. It even smells the same, of worn leather, of dust and earth from roads well traveled although there is something else to it too. An older more mustier scent, much akin to old, dusty tomes. Eyes still wide he looks back up at Biggs, still not quite believing. Why...why do they have this journal and why give it to him? G'raha doesn't have to voice it, his eyes burning with everything he is dying to know.

"I take that as a yes." Biggs confirms "Now then. You have questions and answers you will get. Let's take it from the top then shall we?"

Giving a silent nod G'raha shifts in his seat, journal still in hand. He knows Y'sato to not be careless with his personal belongings, always keeping them close to his person or locked away safely and yet the age of this journal currently held in his hands isn't lost on him, well acquainted with old tomes as he is. It both looks and feels...old. As if it hasn't been opened in centuries, the pages even more yellowed, tattered at the edges. Already he can feel the small hope he has been clinging to so desperately start to slip...

Swallowing thickly he looks back up at Biggs, his ears perking up. Be that as it may, at least he is going to listen intently. And listen intently he does to every piece of information given to him as Biggs third of his name starts to explain. Much like the Biggs G'raha knew he can tell this new Biggs is a patient man, but there is a more serious streak to him, choosing his words as carefully and patiently as he probably does his work, putting great consideration into not trying to overwhelm G'raha too much by carefully dividing everything up into smaller, more digestible pieces. He confirms indeed their keep, their new base of operations is located in Mor Dhona. Namely in the Revenant's Toll as Toshi told him two days past. This already helps in making G'raha feel a bit better about his current situation seeing he also made much the same observations himself. Furthermore, Biggs reveals the founder of their organization has long since passed and that several generations back, leaving Biggs the third of his name the eighteenth president, and that they for years have toiled endlessly to find a way to open the gates of the Crystal Tower, to at last awaken the fabled keeper within in order to continue the work their illustrious founder laid out before them all those years ago.

That last bit of information gives G'raha pause. Several generations...He knows all too well the man speaks of Cid. A man G'raha can recall having seen and interacted with just moments before he sealed himself in the Tower which to him still feels like just a mere handful of days ago. His mouth dry G'raha looks down into his lap. The weight of the journal in his hands suddenly feels so very heavy...

"...So that means...it has not been one but two centuries since I locked myself in the Tower..."

"You're correct. For so long we have waited to hear from the fabled keeper and here you are at last. Soon our work can begin in earnest."

Again G'raha finds himself not fully listening to the man. This...is a lot to take in. He brings a hand up to his lips, his trembling knuckles resting against them as he tries to get a grip as he tumbles through whirling thoughts, his chest tight.

But that means...Sato...You...What became of him after I sealed myself in the Tower?

And there he stops. He really doesn't want to go there and yet it takes every fiber of his being not to ask. Two centuries...of course he would have...moved on. It is an eventuality of life as certain as the sun rises and in that case...

He presses his lips firmly together, eyes narrowing. No, he won't go there. What purpose will learning of the circumstances surrounding his death hold? In truth, G'raha feels his efforts will be better spent looking to the future. Is what Y'sato would have wanted. To be remembered for his deeds, the life he led, the man he was, not how he...passed on. It is this fear of the latter that keeps him from asking even when his curiosity burns so fervently on his tongue. In the wake of it, G'raha dares himself to hope his friend found happiness at least. That he led a long eventful and healthy life. Unseen his tail flicks under his cloak. He...he has to start looking. Certainly for a storied person such as he G'raha does not doubt there has to be numerous accounts of Y'sato's many deeds and his general life archived somewhere.

Still, his stomach squeezes into tight knots upon the cold realization this means he will never see him again. Won't meet his vibrant eyes looking at him with such fondness, such kindness. Won't see his warm smile. Won't feel the way his fingers scratched him ever so gently behind his ears. He...won't even hear his voice again or his laugh...

His breath hitches sharp in his throat, a prickling familiar sensation stinging his eyes. No, he cannot. Will not break down here! Not in front of these people he hardly knows. Swallowing hard he blinks rapidly, willing the tears welling behind his eyes away. Once he feels more collected he slowly raises his head. Letting his hand fall back into his lap he does what he can to keep appearances, to remain diplomatic, but he can feel it, the slight droop of his ears. He can but hope they won't give him away entirely.

Subtly his fingers tighten around the fabric of his cloak in his lap, his jaw set. He will do this. He won't squander Unei and Doga's sacrifices. Salina and his ancestors did not pour their blessing into his Royal bloodline for millennia just for him to waste it all with unbecoming pouts and brooding. This is what he chose did he not? He is to carry a beacon of hope and if this Ironworks of the future has worked so hard for so long to reach him as they claim then the least he can do is to hear them out. And yet as he sits there, the gravity of it all slowly sinking down heavier and heavier upon his shoulders he realizes while he still thinks he ultimately did the right thing by preserving the Allag legacy by sealing himself in the Tower, that a part of him had considered this possibility very likely would become his reality, he still...

Since he woke up he allowed a small part of him to believe, to hope he would meet Y'sato again, and now...

His fingers tighten around the soft fabric of his cloak so tight they tremble. He has been so naive.

Pull yourself together. This is not what he would have wanted. I gave him a promise and that promise I will uphold. I...I will live like you did. Explore the lands with your journal in hand. Help people in need...Yes...Your star will chart my course...

It's a comforting thought. One he reaches out for it with both hands, clinging on to it with all his might. It is all he can do to try ease the horrible ache he can feel blooming in his chest.

Allowing a smile to grace his lips he looks back to Biggs with newfound determination burning in his eyes.

"Well, then what are we waiting for? Tell me, my friend!" G'raha urges, scarcely able to remain seated in his chair. He barely even takes notice of how everyone's eyes snap to him as he speaks his request, taken aback by his sudden fervor. "Tell me everything of this world. Of what has come to pass and how I can help with your work and what you hope to achieve. I know you won't be able to cover it all in just a bell or two but know that as a Student I am quite accustomed to absorbing a lot of information. Difficult it may be but stay ignorant I shall not. I-"

"Sorry to interrupt but hold it right there."

G'raha still so eager to learn can only look at Toshi in surprise as the healer raises a hand. It is first then G'raha notices he in his eagerness is leaning more forward in his chair. Immediately he straightens his posture. While he still feels much recovered to the healer's eyes it must have looked like he was slumping. Toshi stands up next and G'raha already knows what will be asked of him.

Smiling he is quick in allaying the healer's fears. "Rest won't be necessary. I feel fine I assure you." He turns his attention back to their Chief. "Please, tell me. I need to know everything." He doesn't look away from him for a moment, his determination never leaving his eyes. For as much as G'raha is certain Biggs so far has told him the truth he can tell the man has left much unsaid. There is yet something that lingers in the shadows. Something everyone seems to know, something he is yet ignorant of. He especially feels this vibe coming from Toshi, him ever having been guarded and secretive from the start.

"G'raha, I insist you get something to eat at least."

The healer is still standing, regarding him with a stern look G'raha has seen before and the look of it does cause him to pause to consider the notion, realizing it hasn't slipped the man's notice he hasn't eaten yet and G'raha can't deny he feels rather peckish. In fact, his stomach chooses this moment to give a low rumbling growl at the suggestion but he pushes it down. After all, he is far more hungry for knowledge.

"And I insist I feel fine. If I am to be of any help to you it is imperative you tell me everything."

Clearly knowing when he should back down Toshi with his head bowed does just that, sitting back down in his chair. "Very well. I see you cannot be swayed."

"Alright then," Biggs says with a sigh. "If you feel ready let's get down to business." G'raha is now listening intently, ears perked and attentive. "Let's begin with me telling you a bit more about our organization. Ancient Allag as you well know is the birthplace of the artifacts that the collective of NOAH labored for years to unearth, whose technologies we further strove to understand for generations now, the task of merely opening the gates to the Crystal Tower a monumental undertaking on its own, but that's a story for another time. " A knowing smile spreads across the roegadyn's lips. "History also tells us how you dedicated your life to the pursuit of Allag and that you chose to preserve it in the most unselfish of ways. A truly admirable feat for someone so young. You should be proud."

At his final words, G'raha's proud ears falter. But at what cost?

At that thought G'raha finds himself looking down. The journal he still cradles in his lap is a testament to that fact, now worth more to him than the entire world's weight in gold. For all he knows this is the only thing he has left to remember Y'sato by...And as much as his fingers itch to read what new passages it contains he can't bring himself to open it. Not yet.

"But back to our technologies. You can see some of the fruits of our labor around you can't you?"

G'raha is given pause as Biggs broadly gestures around the room and G'raha does as bid. He once more looks at the humming lights strung up all around him, clearly being fueled by a powerful energy conduit of some kind. Next, he looks to the pile of salvaged scrap and shrapnel in the boxes hidden off to the corner in the shadows, as derelict and worn-looking as always. The electrical lights hold merit on their own he thinks and yet the most advanced thing he can see in this room is still the fully functional Allagan node slowly floating around the blackboard. He finds it odd. If they are indeed two hundred years forth in the future he expected their tech to look a bit more, well...advanced.

"I can see you aren't entirely convinced. Care to share what's on your mind?"

Tilting his head, his gaze downcast G'raha doesn't voice his thoughts immediately. Something is...amiss. If they are as advanced in their tech as Biggs claims then why does everything still feel so...derelict? True he didn't know Cid very well but even he can tell the man was a genius, able to innovate and piece together new inventions in the span of just one morning before the sun could fully reach its zenith. Hells he was lucky enough to even witness the man at work himself when he innovated and built the elemental claws needed to bring down the barriers sustained by the Eight Sentinels guarding the gateway to the Tower.

"It's just..." He says at last, gaze still downcast in thought. "I expected to see...well bigger technological advancements after the passage of two centuries than what I can observe now. At least from what I can tell given the state of this room."

G'raha startles as the man abruptly leans towards him in his chair, his face deathly serious. "As astute and sharp as ever. Finally, we are getting to the heart of the matter."

Not quite knowing how to respond G'raha stays silent but finally, he feels he is going places. The atmosphere in the room already gloomy and oppressive grows even more stifling and casting a quick glance towards the other two occupants in the room he can see he is not alone in his observations. Toshi keeps his eyes glued to the metal table, expression stern and unreadable as always, but K'delika looks more and more impatient, her tail flicking to and fro in an agitated manner behind her. She finally looks to her Chief, clearly starting to feel fed up with it all.

"Just let us get this over and done with Chief. We don't have all day."

To this, Biggs just gives her a curt nod before again fixing G'raha with his shaded gaze.

"Well, now that we have gotten to know each other, and laid down some foundations there is no need for me to mince my words any longer. The truth is, there aren't many of us left. Those who have heeded the call of our work struggle just to wake up in the morning. Our resources are dwindling by the day but that is to be expected in this long-dead forgotten land."

His last words have G'raha's ears perk up in rapt attention, eyes wide. Wait. Dead? Forgotten?

A tingle crawls up his spine. Did...did he just hear him right?

"I...my apologies. Did I grasp that right?"

To his slight bafflement, Biggs just leans back in his seat, oddly calm "Afraid so. The work our illustrious founder laid for us, speak of salvation."

"Salvation?" G'raha blinks, still in disbelief and he looks to each of them, his brows raised. He notices the guilt has returned to Toshi's eyes and stronger than ever. Now feeling even more bewildered and unsettled than he has ever been since he first stirred back to consciousness from his stasis, G'raha forces his tail to stop its anxious flicking under his cloak as he once more looks back to Biggs, doing his best to keep a hold of his fraying composure.

"I...I don't quite follow. Pray, elaborate. Did something happen?"

No one says anything at first and the silence makes G'raha feel even more tense and anxious than he already is. One of his ears twitches. A hush falls over the room, the dim humming of the lights and the Allagan node all that can be heard until someone finally breaks the silence.

"How does one even begin..." Toshi is the first one to speak but he immediately locks up, his gaze never straying from the table. Something grave happened. Something no one is willing to say. Even Biggs who so far has done most of the talking looks down at the table, his expression grim. The ominous already stifling air in the room weights down on him even further and G'raha's heartbeat picks up in response. Something is wrong here. Very wrong. Has been from the start. He just hasn't been able to put a finger on it.

Placing Y'sato's journal gently on the table G'raha rises to his feet, unable to stay seated for any longer. He casts an accusatory look at their Chief, pinning him under his unnatural Allagan crimson glare.

"You speak of salvation, of technological leaps and bounds, and yet you salvage metal parts like birds flock to corpses to pick flesh from bones." He gestures to the scrap pile in the boxes to the far corner to make his point. "If that isn't telling enough you still withhold information, treats me like nothing but a valuable asset for your cause. So much secrecy surrounds me and yet no one deigns to enlighten me, even when I have tried. Over and over to get answers." His voice trembles, and growing aware he is shaking he pauses to take a deep cleansing breath to try still his rattling nerves, but it does nothing to stop the trembling of his hands, or his fear from leaking into his eyes as he once more looks to their Chief. "I can feel it you know. The desperation in the air, the suffocating shadow. It has been obvious to me from the start but I am unable to put a finger on it and last I checked Mor Dhona wasn't dead, nor forgotten, so please stop going around in circles and just get to the point."

Still riled up, G'raha pauses to see if their Chief or Toshi will finally open fully and just spill it all, but the men remain just as quiet, lips pressed into a thin firm line, both refusing to look up from the table to meet his eyes. A cold sweat grips him, his tail lashing in response to the rising desperation flaring in his chest.

"Please." He begs, his glare less intense as he tries so desperately to appeal. "If you ask my help I need to know. It is the only way I can-"

"It's not a simple matter." Biggs interrupts him, finally meeting his gaze. "I just- I just need a moment to find-"

"Oh for Azeyma's sake!" Slamming her palms into the metal table so hard it has G'raha nearly jump out of his skin, his ears fanning back instinctively, K'delika rises out of her seat and marches up to him. Her face uncomfortably close he finds himself pinned under such a fiery intense glare it takes all of his willpower not to avert his gaze.

"I will only tell you this once so you better keep those ears of yours perked up. You want to know what happened? Well, here it is. The. Eight. Umbral. Calamity. That's what happened." She punctuates each word by poking him in his chest sharply with her index finger, but the weight of her words is enough.

The Eight Umbral-

Those four words alone are enough to knock all air from G'raha's lungs and staggering he struggles to make sense of it all, his heart sinking, still racing wildly in his chest. No, it cannot be. He tries to echo the words cause he must clearly have heard her wrong. He had to!

"Th-The Eight-" He gasps when K'delika is suddenly all in his face, her hands clamping down onto his shoulders as her nails dig roughly into the fabric of his cloak. G'raha doesn't avert his gaze from her eyes which he comes to regret. Her eyes...they hold such a dark fire to them in that very moment, their pits begetting true despair.

"That's why we have worked so hard to find a way to wake you. Why you are even here in the first place, but you will regret it soon enough. We're all doomed I tell you. Just wait until you see-"

"Delika! That's enough! Remove yourself at once!"

Still stunned into silence G'raha is scarcely aware of their Chief having risen in his chair, his voice commanding such authority it makes G'raha's skin crawl. Then as abrupt as it came he finds himself being harshly pushed back down into his chair, K'delika near shoving him into it. With a huff and an angry lash of her tail, she leaves the room, the door slamming shut behind her, the hinges rattling from the sheer force.

Breathless G'raha can just remain seated in his chair. His heart is still pounding so wildly in his chest he for a moment fears it might leap free of its bounds. Yet his thoughts are elsewhere. Doing nothing to hide the distressed look in his eyes he looks back up to their Chief and Toshi. He wants, no needs confirmation that the words K'delika spoke were true but the men don't need to say anything, Biggs seated back in his chair. The mournful looks on their faces tells him everything he needs to know.

He tries to find the words but under the shock of it all, only two words come to mind, coming out in a whisper when he finally manages to find his voice. "...When...How?"

"...History tells us it happened about two centuries ago." Biggs is the one to speak. He sounds just as patient and calculated as ever but G'raha senses the man speaks more deliberately this time, clearly in a bid to try soften the blow. "It was caused by a chemical weapon of some kind, manufactured by the Garlean Empire in secret preluding the war. As the alliance of an untied Erozea managed to drive the Garlean forces further and further into their own territories they became desperate and...it was deployed. The weapon known as...Black Rose."

The man pauses as if to gauge his reaction, but G'raha remains silent, listening with rapt attention. His heart is still racing and cold sweat still clings to his brow, the back of his neck, but he tries his best to ignore it. He already knows he doesn't like where this is going. The weight of the man's words. They tell him enough, and yet he wants to know.

Regarding him from behind his shades, Biggs continues. "It laid waste to large swathes of the populations back then. Nothing was spared. Animals, even the land itself, our resources, crops, water. All diminished, bled dry. Only through Cid Garlond's records and relying on our technological advancements have we managed to get this far, to see to your awakening. It's everything that keeps us from withering away in this land, a land long lost to death and decay. You will find the rest of the world to be in much of the same state. Long gone are the former city-states across the border, as well as the Empire."

Before G'raha can even fully grasp his words Toshi speaks up, finally looking up from the table."I should mention seeing I am a healer, the very aether itself, even to this day is warped beyond recognition. Something we have never been able to recover from. Even now it is slowly dwindling. In the end, there will be nothing left..."

"We are not asking you to save us or the world," Biggs interjects before G'raha can even think about getting a word in, to even go see for himself. "We merely ask your assistance, to see our illustrious work carried out to its end."

Struggling to keep up G'raha sinks further into his chair, ears drooping from the weight of it all. This...this is already too much and a part of him still can't quite believe what he is hearing. The sheer scale of the devastation enough to warp the very aether across the entire star itself beggars belief, and everything caused by but one Calamity...An actual Calamity...

"What...what do you mean?" Is all he manages to get out, his voice still hushed, close to a whisper.

"I and Toshi, well, everyone you have met and seen here, I'm sorry to say, are already a lost cause."

A lost cause...Then why...why awaken me at all? Why...tell me all of this. Why ask for my assistance?

Still grappling with the reality he now finds himself in G'raha wracks his brain for what to do, what to say but all words escape him. This...this isn't the bright, hopeful future he expected to find himself waking up to.

"...That said it is only so much our words alone can tell of the full gravity the devastation Black Rose wrought."

G'raha looks up from his bout of listlessness upon hearing Biggs's words. He catches sight of him just as he turns to Toshi who with a grave nod quickly rises from his chair to go fetch something in another room. Allagan crimson still on the Chief G'raha watches as Biggs turns his attention back to him, the unspoken question in his eyes not going unnoticed as Biggs continues.

"Yes. Some things are better understood if you see them with your own eyes."

I am to pay witness to what? One of G'raha's still drooping ears twitches curiously but he stops himself. Does he truly want to know? From what he has just been told of the event, it wiped out so much and with it a damning thought hits him. If this Black Rose was so devastating, then...what of Y'sato? Did he survive?

Not daring to think otherwise his gaze drops to his lap, a chill crawling up his spine, his chest tight. Yes, he reassures himself. He had to. Y'sato is, was, one of the strongest and kindest people he ever had the pleasure of getting to know, and he never doubted him for a second and that feeling remains even now, a fluttering warm sensation in his chest. Regardless of what this Black Rose wrought, he must have survived. Survival in such a world must have been a tough one he is all but certain, but G'raha can already imagine it. Y'sato eking out a living in a post-Calamity world, rallying other survivors to his cause, to remain strong, to hope for a better tomorrow, helping anyone in need as was his wont. It is one of his many enduring qualities G'raha always found himself admiring most of all. His innate inclination to inspire others to step up to do what is right, to believe in oneself.

A smile graces his lips. He even inspired me. Made me think I could amount to something more, and here I am...

In this he is confident and yet G'raha finds himself afraid to ask, to voice his thoughts. To even think of any other possibility Any other outcome...is inconceivable.

Toshi returns from another room, a box not much wider than a large tome held securely in his hands. Its silvery surface gleams in the harsh artificial lights and G'raha has to look away from it lest he wants to be blinded by the harsh glare. Heavy footsteps alerts him to the healer's presence at his side and looking up he watches as Toshi puts the box gently down before him, right next to Y'sato's journal.

G'raha sees it once more, the guilt in his eyes, now stronger than ever, his eyes refusing to stray anywhere else than the cold stone floor right before his feet, his lips pressed into a thin, firm line. Before G'raha can voice his misgivings the man has already retreated back to his seat, to promptly look down into the table as he has done for most of their time in this room. With no other directive, G'raha tentatively reaches out for the metal box. The scratched, worn metal feels cool to the touch under his fingertips. He is about to open the lid but he hesitates, a sense of dread pooling in his gut. Does he really want to know of its contents?

Looking up to Biggs the man doesn't say anything. Only regards G'raha in silence, expectant, his expression grim. Swallowing past the rising dread G'raha gently starts to pry the lid open. His curiosity, his undying thirst for knowledge is now all that drives him.

An expectant tense silence hangs in the room until G'raha finally manages to pry the box open. With a small metal click he puts the lid aside to then starting to go through its contents. To his mild surprise, the box contains three book-sized metallic slabs with square frames of metal encircling something that looks vaguely like...glass? These strange contraptions are utterly unknown to him, their weight hefty in his hands. He can immediately tell however they are not of Allagan make, they being way too plain looking and bulky for that as well as lacking any telltale geometric neon lights. Gently setting them aside to ask about them later he rummages further into the box finding it contains naught else but a coiled thin black wire and a vial containing a blue luminescent liquid he does indeed recognize, its cool, incandescent light reflecting in his eyes.

Ceruleum. So that still exists in this future...

Putting it and the wire aside G'raha picks up one of the book-sized slabs, looking at Biggs as if to inquire of its function and source of origin.

"If I may ask, what exactly are these? I have never seen the like."

"Oh, I suppose those are indeed new for you. They are known as phasmascapes. An invention conceived and coined by our illustrious founder sometime shortly after you locked yourself in the Tower if the accuracy of our records is anything to go by." Biggs are quick to fill in. G'raha looks back down at the peculiar piece of technology in his hands. Cid. That does make sense. The man was a master of thinking up new innovations like this after all. Still, he finds himself confused over what exactly these are used for. Turning it over in his hands he notices the back of it is covered with nothing but a thin sheet of metal.

Noticing his confusion Bigg's continues. "They are frames of some kind, capable of displaying still images taken from any moment in time to then be saved for all posterity. Inspired and born from both Magitek and Allagan technologies they soon grew popular amongst the elite although their original function was to make it easier to document historical events. Something I think should be of great interest to a historian of your caliber. Powered by ceruleum they were more lucrative for the wealthy to be used as decoration in their private estates, however, displaying scenic images of nature or some such." Biggs leans a bit more forward in his chair, pinning him with his gaze."That said I must warn you. The images contained on these phasmascapes in particular...aren't for the faint of heart."

G'raha's eyes widen upon hearing about their purpose. Partly cause he is intrigued something like this plain-looking piece of metal and glass can even display something like that, but mainly upon hearing Biggs's last words. Their...gravity isn't lost on him and once more Biggs wears the same grim expression, his hands lying folded on the table being oddly calm despite the circumstances and the sight of it brings G'raha pause. His words, what he might discover by looking through these phasmascapes...He might see something he will never be able to unsee...

Cold dread claws deeper into his gut, and he swallows thickly...Is this something he wants? Biggs...he mentioned Black Rose...to see for himself. These non-assuming slabs before him hold the key and yet...

….Should I look? I...I can still turn back.

G'raha squeezes his eyes shut. No, he has come too far now to turn tail and flee. He begged these people to tell him everything they know and finally, they give it to him willingly, and in ways he could never imagine. If these frames, these phasmascapes are a part of that he will endure whatever they contain, whatever...images. As a Student of Baldesion, this is his duty, to seek the truth, to seek knowledge. Black Rose...he needs to see what exactly it entails. All of it.

His mind set he opens his eyes and meets Biggs's gaze head-on, Allagan crimson steeled with resolve. "I am ready. Pray, tell me how they work."

Biggs gives him a slow nod, grim understanding on his face.

"Very well but don't tell me I didn't warn you." With that Biggs offers him some simple instructions on how to connect the wire to the vial of ceruleum as well as where to connect it to the phasmascape in question and what button to click. G'raha does as he is instructed and right as he is about to activate the first frame, his ears drawn back, all tense, a steely determination in his eyes, Biggs raises a hand, grabbing his attention.

"Oh and one last thing. I would ask you to look at each one carefully. Also please be careful. As far as we know these are the only ones to have survived throughout the ages, the knowledge of how one is to go about taking such images long lost. In that sense, they are the only visuals we have left from the time of Black Rose. I'm sure you understand..."

"I do," G'raha says, nodding in firm understanding. With slight trepidation, he powers up the first phasmacape, unsure of quite what he will behold but being determined nevertheless.

With a small hum, the piece of technology comes to life in his hands, the part made of glass flickering for a moment in a cascade of black and blue until the image becomes clear and already G'raha starts to second guess his decision.

Although the colors are slightly faded the scene playing before his eyes is clear as day and captured with such vivid detail. Before him from some field that looks like it is located in...Gyr Abania? He sees nothing but heaps of bodies littering the arid ground as far as the eye can see. Man and beast alike lie crumpled together like they have all dropped dead on the spot. There is no blood. No obvious carnage and yet G'raha feels such dread crawl up his spine he has never felt, every hair standing on end.

His stomach already churning G'raha picks up and powers the next, seeing much of the same senseless death. This time he recognizes some of the fallen figures as…members of the Scions? He can make out Alphinaud at least. Of that he is certain although he can't quite see his face, lying face down as he is, an arm bent out in an awkward angle, but the blue clothes, the white hair, the distinctive braid. Yes, there is no doubt. G'raha never personally knew the boy although he met him once or twice on occasion when visiting the Toll. Still, to see someone so young, laying so still and lifeless it's-

It prickles in the back of his throat, the sour taste of bile making itself known as it starts to creep up his throat. A slight tremble in his hands G'raha shakily puts the frame down. He really doesn't want to see more, to continue, feeling he has already seen way more than he bargained for, and yet one last frame remains.

"Go on…"

He looks up at Biggs, the man encouraging him to continue for reasons G'raha can't quite discern. Unsure he shifts his gaze to Toshi who still stubbornly looks down into the table, his gaze intense enough to drill holes into it. It is clear neither of the men are going to divulge any of their thoughts.

However, what bothers G'raha the most is that he saw a member of the Scions. Y'sato never strayed too far from them, helping them out when needed even during the expedition, and for a war of such a grand scale...No, he has to remain positive. Perhaps Y'sato was stationed elsewhere. Perhaps he was spared the initial onslaught thanks to a stroke of sheer luck. His friend ever had a knack for pulling off the impossible, surmounting any challenge laid before him. Black Rose, should be no exception.

Stay strong. You can do this. It cannot be much worse than what you have already seen—just one more frame. Breathe in, breathe out.

His mouth dry, cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck, G'raha once more steels his nerves. He can do this. He has to do this.

His fingers trembling, feeling shaky G'raha finally retrieves and powers up the final frame...

The sight that meets him has his blood run cold in his veins, breath hitching sharp in his throat. Worn with age as the phasmascape is, details are just as vivid as the two previous ones. Furthermore, this one is...different. Instead of being an image showing the devastation from afar, this one is...a close up...Angled in such a way it is clear the unlucky soul who captured this image stood just a few fulms away from their chosen subject, the image having a bird-like overview to it since they had been so close to this one fallen figure in particular...

And he recognizes the fallen figure immediately as Y'sato, and...he still looks so young. Not much older than when G'raha saw him last. He is just laying there, crumpled in a heap on his back much like many of the other corpses, as if his strings have been cut, like on a marionette. Worse yet there is nary a mark on him, no discernible wounds, his black leather armor scuffed in places, his hair a little streaked with dirt and dust but otherwise, there is no telling of what has befallen him from appearance alone. It looks like he has fallen right where he stood. His sword, a blade G'raha does not recognize lays uselessly at his side, an arm laid out, elbow bent in an awkward angle...

But what gets to G'raha the most is the expression on his face. Or rather, the lack of it. His once so vibrant green eyes which ever regarded him with such fondness, now dull, lifeless, staring at nothing. His jaw is all slack, mouth hanging open. He just looks…dead.

No glory. No heroic death or sacrifice. Just...devoid of life. Gone in seconds.

Wordlessly G'raha drops the Phasmacape. It hits Y'sato's journal with a dull thud. The image flickers but it remains as if to mock him. To mock his fate.

Try as he might he can't tear his eyes from the horrible scene still laid before him. The sheer cruelty of it all. His lips quivering, eyes wide, tears forming G'raha tries to draw breath but...nothing enters. Instead, his lungs squeeze together so painfully, long deflated, all breath having left him much like it left his dearest friend so long ago...

"G'raha, I-"

He is unable to think, barely even registers Toshi's voice addressing him as he shakily rises to his feet. All he is aware of is his blood pounding in his ears, the dryness of his mouth, his eyes still glued to the cursed image of his fallen friend, and-

Before anyone can say anything or try to comfort him, G'raha has already left the room...

Chapter Text

Worn cobblestone under his feet G'raha runs, frantic footsteps echoing through the dark empty streets of the Revenant's Toll. Night has long since fallen with no stars to be seen but he pays his surroundings no heed, not caring where he is running to or even where he is heading. All he knows is he needs to get away from this nightmare. From that...dreadful image. Tears blur his vision and he hardly even notices he almost bumps into someone but he doesn't pause to see who it is, nor cares as he shoves them out of his way before sprinting recklessly through the gate.

It hurts to breathe, his errant heartbeat pounding in his chest and his legs burn but he doesn't let up, hardly taking note of anything around him. The closer he nears the Crystal Tower however the truer death calls all around him. The once aether-rich blue gleaming crystals dotting the landscape long since dimmed, now grown entirely dark, their empty stony husks the only proof they once were teeming with life-giving energies. The Singing Shards no longer sing and whatever sparse vegetation that once bloomed has long rotted away, only some scant withered tree stumps remaining as if to show life ever existed. All that remains are some rusted yet-to-be-salvaged parts from hulking Garlean airships that crashed into this land oh so long ago and out in the lake the Agrius, Midgardormr's charred corpse still wrapped around it ever stands in silent vigil, unmoving, unchanging.

But amidst all this death and decay the Crystal Tower still stands triumphant, gleaming, vibrant as ever as if to defy their fate, its radiant blue crystalline light the only beacon in this otherwise dead darkened land. Its tall spire reaches into the very bowels of the heavens themselves. A vast reservoir ever harnessing, and storing the aether borne from the sun itself, a true testament to Allagan ingenuity, his birthright, and yet the sight of it brings G'raha no comfort.

He runs until his legs are unable to carry him any further. Giving in underneath him G'raha collapses roughly onto his hands and knees, onto the earthen crystalline ground but he doesn't feel the harsh sting. Doesn't feel anything but the horrible ache in his chest, his heart clenching so painfully. Sparing his surroundings a glance he finds himself where he remembers their camp to have once been but no trace of it remains, the only inclination the camp has ever been there is the familiar-looking Allagan ruins, now even more derelict and weather-worn than before. The sight, it brings to mind many a night he spent with great company under the stars sitting around the campfire, comforted by its warmth,  Y'sato ever as his side, his touch-

It pangs cold and sharp in his chest. The fierce longing, a phantom feeling of fingers soothingly scratching him behind his ears with such tenderness he had ever felt, and now...he will never feel it again. 

The memory...everything. It's too much. Under the weight of it all he shudders, breaths coming out in ragged, quick bursts but none of that matters. His friend...Y'sato...that image...

He can still see it so vividly...The way he just laid there...lifeless...

I shouldn't have looked. Why did I look? Sato I- you- I cannot-

Choking back a sob he tries so desperately to think of how he looked like in life. His bright eyes, once so full of life, of hope, his kindness...All lit up from his gentle smile, but it's of no use. Try as he might G'raha can't shake that glassy dead stare...the way it pierces through his very being.

Sato...I-

The dam...breaks. Unable to keep it together he bows his head, sobs wracking through his frame, tears freely flowing from his eyes as his ears draws back flattening against his skull. His fingers dig into the dead cold earth, feeling it catch under his fingernails, but he doesn't relent. His heart, it aches, it aches so horribly in his chest, like it has been rent asunder, leaving a hollow in its wake. It hurts to breathe, his throat locking up so painfully he can scarce make a sound, his voice coming out in nothing but a choked whimper.

Sato I- I'm so sorry. Please forgive me...

In this very moment, he feels like he has killed him himself. He should never have locked himself in the Tower. He should have remained traveling at his side as he promised. He could...he could have used his gift to try save him, to aid him. The Tower, he could-

But how! How could I have possibly done anything! I did not know...could not possibly have known about the weapon. And yet I-

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears dripping to the ground below him. A couple hits his trembling hands, fingers still digging into the earth so fiercely it hurts, but he still doesn't relent. Shaking he curls more into himself, another sob escaping past quivering lips. He digs his fingers even further into the dead dirt, his grief giving way to frustration.

This isn't how it was supposed to be! I was supposed to wake up to a bright future born from your courage. To be a beacon of hope! I-I-

"I want to go back..." He pleads as he finally manages to find his voice. It sounds so small, so broken even to his own ears. "I could have figured out a way to save you. Been by your side I..."

He lets out a shuddering breath, wishing so desperately he could undo time, undo everything.

"I shouldn't have locked myself in the Tower…"

Still grappling with this new harsh reality and what it portends it takes him a moment to realize he is no longer alone. One of his ears twitches to the unmistakable sound of someone's footsteps slowly approaching. Instinctively his ears raise to swivel slightly to point in their direction, but otherwise, he doesn't move, nor does he turn to see who it is, still sitting collapsed on his knees on the cold darkened ground, curled into himself, trembling. He blinks his burning still teary eyes, not finding it within himself to care. He has lost. His selfless act of locking himself in the Tower has led to naught but despair.

The heavy footsteps from somewhere behind him comes to a slow halt. There is a beat of silence. Then a voice, deep and gruff starts speaking to him. G'raha dully recognizes it. That voice belongs to none other but their Chief, Biggs.

So he followed me...It matters not...Nothing matters anymore...

"...I'm afraid it is as you saw. No one survived the onslaught. Not even him."

G'raha grits his teeth, his breath hitching sharply in his throat. He doesn't need the reminder. Before he can stop it the image of Y'sato's lifeless body flashes before his eyes once more.

"Why..." He finally chokes out, his voice a broken murmur. "Why did you encourage me to look at that...that dreadful image."

If the man is aware of G'raha's inner turmoil he doesn't show it. His voice is as grim and serious as ever as he voices his answer. "To steel your resolve."

G'raha feels something within him shift. Something hot and boiling simmering just beneath the surface starts to rise. The man's words makes no sense. How could...how could showing him something so...so soul-crushing ever help fuel his resolve?

He doesn't think. Eyes flashing he whips around, rising onto his feet to snap at the man. The vivid crimson of his gaze fairly burns as he pins him with his glare, cutting despite the redness from crying, tears streaking freely down his cheeks, but above all else, his entire countenance reflects such anger, boiling and hot, his lips drawing back into a snarl.

"How could showing me that in any way help steel my resolve? Sato he- He is my dearest friend! I-"

I…I love him.

He doesn't say the words but he feels the weight of them all the same. Like a heavy shroud, they encompass his very being, stealing his breath away. His eyes widening anger gives way to the emptiness he still feels clawing at his heart and clutching a hand to it he once more is aware of the gaping hole in his chest. It aches, an indescribable pain beyond reckoning. Sinking back to his knees he curls into himself, tears once more blurring his vision.

It truly dawns on him then...His last memory of Y'sato will be of seeing him dead...And.

I...will never be able to apologize...

It hits him all at once. The cold realization he left his friend there, at the gates, with nothing but an unfulfilled promise to remember him by and the pain born from his deceit.

G'raha misled him, stole his heart, and now...

I...I am such a coward.

Not caring that Biggs is still standing there silently looking on G'raha breaks into another sob, burying his face in his hands. How foolish he has been. He locked himself up in the Tower without consulting Y'sato or anyone of the fact until he went away and did it anyway with some grandiose words from some epic as his parting words.

'The future is where my destiny awaits. This is my destiny. Here, and now. This, I have accepted.'

Foolish foolish, naive! He hadn't given it enough due consideration. Accepted? The only thing he accepted was to preserve Allag, to carry on their legacy. Although it would pain him still he could have accepted waking up to this future if it wasn't so...so...

He had hoped, hoped so dearly Y'sato with the help of the Ironworks would have found a way, to have been the ones to wake him, and now...cause of Black Rose he...everyone is-

No! He refuses to accept this. This isn't his destiny! And yet he finds himself powerless to do anything.

Allagan Royal blood flows through my veins and yet I...I cannot do anything...I...have failed.

Face still buried in his hands, shoulders shaking he isn't aware of Biggs gently kneeling before him.

A beat of silence, then a warm sizeable hand lands on his shoulder. "I know this is but a small comfort...but what if I told you there is a way he can yet be saved?"

One of G'raha's drooping ears twitch. Did...did he hear the man correctly? No, it had to be his imagination surely. Y'sato died a long time ago and no moving hells or heavens will ever bring him back. He knows this and yet something compels G'raha to ask. Stiffing a sob he slowly raises his face from his now tear-stained hands to meet Bigg's still-shaded gaze.

He hiccups, struggling to find the words. "I...I don't understand. He is- I saw-"

"There is a way. To turn back the hands of time. To alter fate and both you and the Crystal Tower is the key."

G'raha looks at the man like he has just sprouted two heads. Is he just pulling his leg? If so it is a cruel jest G'raha doesn't appreciate one bit. Sniffling he looks down at himself. He feels... spent and yet the aching gaping hole in his chest swallows him up like a chasm, his vision still blurred from tears. He feels Biggs gently squeeze his shoulder as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort but G'raha does not look up at him, his lower lip still quivering as another tear slips down his cheek.

"I know as you are right now you might find it hard to believe, but I speak the truth. And...I have to offer my apologies. I knew the phasmascapes. Especially the last one would upset you." He pauses, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "But that is why we needed to show you, to have you fully understand what has come to pass and to fully grasp the sheer impact Black Rose had. Our records mentioned you and the Warrior of Light were inseparable. Love. The love you harbor for him will drive you, be both your strength and the torch needed to guide you in the dark."

Still refusing to look up at Biggs G'raha tries to make sense of his words. Showing him such a dreadful image in the name of love. He could almost laugh at the irony if he didn't feel so utterly spent. So utterly...broken.

"I'll explain more back at our keep once you feel more up for it." Biggs continues, taking G'raha's silence as an invitation to keep the conversation going. "For now let the anguish you feel, your sorrow fuel your conviction. It will be needed for the long road ahead."

Teary downcast eyes still glued to his lap G'raha still doesn't respond. It is easy enough for the man to say. He doesn't know Y'sato like he does. Haven't seen how his eyes lit up in his presence, nor heard his laugh. A beautiful and light-hearted thing whenever G'raha regaled him with some of his funnier stories from his time in Sharlayan or when they swam laps around the submerged crystals in the Silver Tear Lake, splashing water in each other faces, fooling around, carefree as one could be.

Or seen the understanding and pain reflected so clearly in his eyes when G'raha told him about the tribal days of his youth. How he was made fun of and bullied for his Allagan eye and in turn Y'sato shared some of his own experiences with bullying and harassment. Him cause of his moon keeper traits, being of mixed heritage. This shared hardship brought them closer together, a special kinship forming between them G'raha has never experienced before or since.

Y'sato was the first to see him for who he truly is, and it compelled G'raha to kiss him, to make love to him under the stars. He knows the way his fingers feel in his fur, the warmth of his skin pressed against his, the taste of his lips, the way he gave himself over to him wholly and fully, eyes shining with the purest joy, the purest bliss in the aftermath...

He swallows thickly. No to Biggs, the people of the keep, they know Y'sato only as a corpse. A lifeless thing...devoid of the spark that made him...him.

They will never understand. Can never hope to grasp how devastated seeing that one phasmascape image alone makes him feel. Just the thought of it, those lifeless eyes staring at nothing, the way he had just been laying there in a heap all limp, has G'raha choke up again, chest squeezing tight.

"...We should head back. Toshi is probably worried enough as it is and while there isn't much wildlife to worry about around these parts these days one can never know with scavengers looking for scraps."

Again G'raha doesn't respond, even as Biggs gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze before finally letting go. The man rises to his feet but G'raha still feels no urge to move, to even look up, silent tears streaking down his face. It isn't until Biggs gently grabs him around one of his arms, urging him to stand G'raha finally complies but he remains despondent, his downcast gaze never straying from the ground. From there he doesn't pay attention to much of anything, his thoughts on Y'sato and Y'sato alone and the horrible gaping void in his chest.

...I wish they never woke me up.

Chapter Text

"Hells Chief! I told you showing him that image would be a bad idea but you insisted! You knew him being a scholar he would feel inclined to look. I should-!"

"It was a necessity for the greater good Toshi. You know as well as I everything that's at stake, the path he must walk. I am confident he will come around given time, however. Just-"

"Necessity!? The poor man is completely heartbroken. Just look at him. He doesn't even eat."

Loud agitated voices drift up from downstairs clear as day but G'raha doesn't really follow, or pay them much heed. He is back in his room lying curled up in his bed, his back towards the door. His hood is pulled over his eyes, his legs tucked up to his chest, tail curled around lying on top of them under the sweep of his cloak. How many bells have passed or even what time it is, is of no consequence to him anymore. All he is aware of is the hollowness in his chest. The ache has dulled somewhat but still, it rises to the surface in resurgent fresh waves making him choke up every time. He thought bells ago he had no more tears to spend but his body begs to differ. Even now he feels it, the familiar burning in his eyes. The prickle of incoming tears. Trembling he presses his face into his already tear-stained pillow, allowing them to flow freely.

He hasn't even been able to find reprieve in sleep. How can he when his heart still wrenches so painfully in his chest, the image of Y'sato's lifeless body still so vivid in his mind's eye? He fears even if he manages to fall asleep all he will dream of his friend being dead or dying...of Black Rose. Him forced to pay witness to the horrible scene of Y'sato gasping for breaths that won't come, terror shining so clearly in his widened eyes as his body, at last, fails him, crumpling to the ground in a heap, and there he would grow still, eyes staring into the sky as his very life drains away, leaving him nothing but an empty husk. Just another dead body on the battlefield. 

What thoughts passed through his mind as he died? Did he even know what hit him? Was he in pain? Did he suffer?

G'raha lets out a shuddering breath, curling further into himself. These are questions that will never be answered, and he hates it. Hates waking up to this hellscape of a world with his entire being! He just wants all of this to end. For this horrible nightmare to end. He hasn't even bothered to turn on the light on his nightstand, Y'sato's journal lying next to it which he still can't bring himself to open. Who put it there however eludes him and frankly, he doesn't care.

Footsteps echo down the hall, moving towards his room but he remains lying just as still, even when the door to his room is abruptly pushed open with a loud creak, putting his already curled-up form awash with cold artificial bright light. G'raha just curls into himself tighter, hands pulling his hood further down over his face. Whatever they want with him he just wants to be left alone. He has already seen too much. Heard too much.

Hidden under his hood as it is, one of his ears still twitches to the sound of an annoyed huff. Whoever is standing in the doorway regarding him is clearly not pleased and from the familiar breathy sound to judge he can already start to surmise who it is and the realization has his stomach tighten into icy knots

No...Not now...Please, just leave me be...

"You have been laying there for two whole blasted days. For how much longer are you going to mope around?" Again he hears the annoyed huff, followed by quick, light footsteps as K'delika barges into the room. "Look at you. Acting like you are the only one who has lost something. So what the Warrior of Light is dead? He died ages ago alongside everyone else so get up. You're wasting precious time."

The way she callously talks about Y'sato like he is nothing, just another nameless dead man consigned to history hits a nerve. A sore nerve. Resentment flaring to life G'raha whips around to face her, already pushing himself upright in his bed. His teary red-rimmed eyes partly hidden under his hood he glares in her direction, the unearthly red of his irises cutting and sharp.

"I still don't know what I have done to earn your ire but I'm getting sick of it! And he has a name. It's Sato. You will do well to remember it."

"Tch, oh yes the vaunted savior of old. Well, guess what, he failed in the end, dooming us all. You saw yourself how he ended up. No better than the rest, so stop moping and get your ass-"

Something within G'raha which is already seething surges to the surface, overflows. Without thinking he rushes to his feet, eyes flashing. "You don't know him! You know nothing about him!"

Ignoring the way his blood pounds, boiling and hot in his veins he doesn't stop there. Tail lashing he marches up to her, his face mere ilms away from hers, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glares her down, his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles turn white, trembling. All he knows is he is fed up, fed up with this person and her never-ending disdain for him and her callous attitude. 

"You don't know how it feels." He says, nearly shouts in her face, his ears pinned back under his hood, jaw clenched. "To see someone you hold dear, lying dead before you like that. So just stop-"

He is not allowed to finish. Before he can do anything to defend himself callused, cracked palms push roughly against his chest, shoves him backwards. A sharp exhale escapes his lungs from the sheer, unexpected impact, tail flailing around in vain to regain his balance but is of no use, hindered by his cloak as it is. The back of his knees hit the side of his bed with a loud thump. Next, he finds himself lying half-splayed, half-sitting on the well-worn mattress, his back leaning against the wall. He looks up just in time to see her fiery eyes glare down at him, her lower lip quivering.

"The hells you know!" G'raha is taken aback by the unexpected hurt in her voice. He can only look on wide-eyed as she trembles, her tail lashing agitatedly behind her, tears in her eyes. "I have lost everything!"

With that, she storms out of the room slamming the door shut behind her with enough force to rattle his nightstand. Once more G'raha is left in the pitch dark. For a moment he just lays there, catching his breath. Fury is still seething under the surface like flames sputtering from burning coals but he can tell it is slowly abating, as well as his pounding, quickened pulse. With a shaky breath, he closes his eyes, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

Regret claws at his heart. In his grief, he failed to consider others might hurt like he himself still does and by doing so he thoughtlessly lashed out. If only...

He halts his train of thought right there. No. She has been disdainful of me from the start. She knows I am hurting and yet... She did not need to say those words. She did not need to be so...callous.

He presses his lips together, forming a small pout, his brows furrowing. Yes, he shouldn't feel bad. This is all on her. He...has done no wrong.

His eyes still closed he remains as he is, half slumped, half laying against the cold stone wall behind him, hood now obscuring half of his face, arms hanging limply at his sides. He feels...utterly spent. A telltale ache starts blooming behind his eyes spreading to his forehead and he knows it is because of the ceaseless crying, the aching, the hurt. He cannot even recall the last time he has had anything to eat, to drink, and yet...he can't bring himself to move, to care.

He only opens his eyes and raises his head slightly when his ears catch the familiar creak of the door opening once more. This time far more gently. Squinting against the bright light, he offers a quick peek from beneath his hood to see who the new visitor is, only to relax when he sees the familiar silhouette of a kind Au Ra man entering.

Oh...Toshi...

He hides his weary gaze under the shadows of his hood again, but otherwise, he doesn't move. Even when his caretaker switches on the light on his nightstand and sets something down on it G'raha remains motionless. Silence hangs in the room, thick and suffocating. He can feel the scrutinizing gaze of the man on him, clearly in a bid to try to gauge his mental state. Furthermore, Toshi bends slightly, as if he is trying to get a glimpse of his eyes hidden under his cowl as they are but they are completely obscured by shadow. G'raha gives no indication he is even aware of his presence.

"G'raha I...I need to apologize. I knew what our Chief wanted to achieve with those phasmascapes. I knew and yet I...I went along with it all the same. I should have said something. Intervened in some way but... I didn't."

A soft rustle of clothing follows. From beneath his cowl, G'raha glimpses Toshi kneeling before him, bending his head. His loose ponytail spills over one of his shoulders, the blond strands matted and split at the ends in the artificial light. 

There is something wounded, a tinge of deepest regret in Toshi's voice as he lays plain his plea. "I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me."

The corner of G'raha's mouth twists, dimples his cheek...It is already too late...

"Just keep her away from me..." G'raha manages to murmur out at last, his voice listless. He is so tired...he just wants to be left alone.

"I-" Toshi starts, but then locks up, still kneeling on the floor. "As you wish. I know she hasn't been the kindest to you." A rustle of clothing as he gets back to his feet. "But I want you to know she has her reasons. She struggles to come to terms with the inevitability that we all face, not helped by the fact she has already lost so much. She...she has always been one to lash out in the face of grief."

G'raha presses his lips together, trying to feel some pity, to find some semblance of empathy but he comes up empty. He has nothing left to give. Whatever hope he had flaring in his chest long since having burnt out, turned to ash. 

All that remains is this hollow feeling, thoughts of Y'sato's fate the only thing capable of getting a rise out of him, to make him feel anything. Gaze still glued to his lap his fingers tighten around the sheets, blunt nails dragging on the soft fabric.

Dully he is aware of the man walking over to his nightstand to pick up whatever he placed there earlier. Shortly the heavy footsteps returns to his side.

"...I can't force you to eat but you should drink something at least," Toshi says while holding something out for him. Tilting his head back slightly so he can peek up at what the man wants to offer him G'raha sees it's a cup, a cup filled with water.

"My thanks..." G'raha says in the same listless voice as he brings the rim of the cup up to his cracked, dry lips. The cool water does much to soothe his parched throat, a dryness he had stopped paying attention to several bells ago. Without a word he hungrily empties the cup then hands it back to Toshi, still not meeting the man's gaze.

Still despondent, unwilling to move unless it's absolutely necessary, his ears track Toshi's motions as he places the cup back on the nightstand with a light thud. He expects the man to leave but instead, he lingers to G'raha's slight annoyance. Still, he doesn't make it known, remaining just as motionless, looking down into his lap. The only sign hinting of his growing vexation is a twitch of an ear, going unnoticed hidden under his hood as it is. Then Toshi speaks.

"As your caretaker, it falls to me to look after your well-being first and foremost, so I want you to be honest with me. Have you been able to sleep at all?"

..No.

Silently G'raha mulls over Toshi's words, still not moving. He wants nothing more than to be left alone but a part of him, a small lonely part of him deep within wants so desperately to reach out. To reach for help. For reassurance. For comfort.

Choking he slowly shakes his head. "I...I can't. All I see when I close my eyes is...him...laying dead before me." He swallows thickly, finally tilting his head back enough so he can finally look Toshi in the eye. He does nothing to hide how he truly feels from showing in his eyes, the vivid crimson carrying such...hurt. Anguished. "I can't- It's too much to bear. Please...help me..."

He hates how his voice cracks on a rising whimper, how pitiful he has to appear, and yet all he wants is comfort. For someone, anyone to ease the horrible aching in his chest, to make him feel less hollow. Again tears well up in his eyes unbidden, blurring his vision. Their raw burn once more reminds him of what he has lost, of the harsh truth of this reality he has found himself waking up to, and how powerless he is, how futile it all is.

Unable to breathe through the pounding tightness of his throat, to even make a sound he squeezes his eyes shut, mouth quivering. Tears streaming down his cheeks he can do nothing, nothing to stop the way his face contorts, and he hates it, curses his inability to do anything with all he got. 

Not wanting to be seen like this he bows his head, crumbling in on himself, but he is stilled by familiar warm hands falling on his shoulders, gentle and steadying.

"G'raha, look at me."

Shuddering, struggling to rein his emotions under control G'raha forces himself to do as he is told, forcing his eyes open. What meets him is a face beaming with such kindness and understanding he for a moment forgets how to breathe.

"I know...I know how you are feeling. What you are going through. More than you will ever know, but...all is yet not lost. All you need is to believe. Believe in yourself, in our cause. There is a way to undo all of this I assure you. You can yet save him. As long as you live there is still hope."

G'raha heard similar words from their Chief earlier but these...they carry something. Something that was lacking from Bigg's words, a reassurance he needed so desperately to hear. Toshi's words..they feel warm, understanding. A true understanding of how he is feeling and for the first time since he first beheld that cursed phasmascape image he feels a warmth encompass him. For the first time, he feels genuinely cared for and-

He doesn't think. He is unable to. As of its own accord, his body leans forward into Toshi's arms, a stifled sob escaping him as he clutches at the man's tattered coat so fiercely, so desperately, his forehead coming to rest just below his collarbone as Toshi kneels to accommodate his smaller height. G'raha's head throbs and achingly so but try as he might he can't stop the flow of tears. The hollowness in his chest is still this wide chasm threatening to swallow him whole and yet...he feels like he finally has a lifeline. Something to cling on to. Before he can fully stifle it, a sob echoing the resounding ache in his heart breaks free. Already a part of him rebels against it, to lay everything bare, but Toshi is so gentle and patient with him it is hard to keep everything in. To not shatter into pieces.

Which is not made any easier when such kindness is followed up by Toshi hugging him, his arms encircling G'raha's back and shoulders, holding on to him so gently, reassuringly like one would a dear friend. Then he hears his voice in his ear, soothing, encouraging.  "It's alright. Just let it out. Let it all out."

The gentleness, the assurance, it becomes too much. Unable to do aught else, G'raha bows his head against Toshi's shoulder, his gentle yet steadying arms encircling him holding him close the only thing that keeps him upright. It hurts the tightness of his throat, the way it constricts around his every ragged breath. Neither does it help he's so acutely aware of his heartbeat, his pulse pounding so insistently he can feel it choking him. A discordant rhythm that clashes with his shallow breathing that mingles with the burn of his hot tears on his cheeks.

Yet it is nothing compared to the enormity he is feeling inside, how his chest squeezes so painfully, his heart trapped in a vice. To how much he misses him, to how much he wishes Y'sato was here, alive sitting next to him, holding him in his arms like this. He can almost smell him, feel his fingers in his hair, his fur, hear his laugh and teasing remarks...

In that moment he wishes so fervently he joined him, died at his side. At least then Y'sato wouldn't have died alone, and he himself would be spared this pain, this relentless ache. He would sleep at his side for eternity buried beneath the earth instead of being the one left behind.

The realization hits him, hard and cold. He...is always the one being left behind...

It rips itself free from his lungs before he can do anything to stop it. A keening cry, raw, and heartbreaking. It carries all the hurt, all the anguish he can still feel eating him up from the inside. Y'sato meant the world to him and now...

There is nothing left but dust and unfulfilled promises.

Forgive me, Sato...Please...forgive me...

He has no idea how long he stays like that, time itself long having ceased all meaning, but he cries until he finds his voice hoarse with no more tears to spend, his throat raw. Trembling he can do naught but remain there in Toshi's arms. At least for a moment. Sniffling he finally straightens, feeling Toshi respectfully letting go of him as he does so. Not looking the man in the eye G'raha raises an arm to dry his tears off on his sleeve. His hood is still somehow draped over his head but left askew.

"My-my apologies." He finally croaks out, his voice still much too hoarse for his liking.

"Think nothing of it. How are you feeling? Better I hope?"

G'raha can only give him a weak nod, eyes again obscured by the hood as he looks down into his hands. He thought he felt utterly spent before but now...now he struggles to just remain seated upright, his eyes burning, his head throbbing, a heavy feeling weighing him down in his chest, and yet there is this strange relief washing over him. Still, it's not enough to raise his spirits. Furthermore, he feels himself starting to sway a bit to the side where he sits but Toshi is quick to steady him, hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Without even needing to ask him G'raha finds himself already being guided to lay back down on his bed and he wordlessly complies, not having the strength to argue. Now lying on his side, he blinks puffy red-rimmed eyes blearily at the light beaming from his nightstand. He is so exhausted and yet a part of him still refuses to settle. Reprieve. He so desperately wants reprieve. He looks up at Toshi as his words draws his attention, straining to focus.

"I will speak more with the Chief. See if we can't come to some sort of agreement. Meanwhile, you should try to get some rest."

G'raha only blinks at him, a pleading look in his eyes. "Please...I...I can't get the image out of my head...please..."

To his relief, Toshi quickly catches on to his meaning.

"...Of course. As a healer, I know a variety of healing spells among other things. I can help you along if that is your wish."

Thank you...

G'raha closes his burning, teary eyes, and shortly after he hears his caretaker utter a spell under his breath. He knows what it promises and he will give himself over to its sleepy pull fully and wholeheartedly. In this, he doesn't need to wait for long. Already he can feel it, a comforting warmth washing over him, sprouting from the very center of his chest, the feeling akin to the comforting breeze on the first day of spring he felt in his youth. It spreads throughout his entire being, his senses dulling alongside the pulsating, hypnotic flow, dimly aware of himself relaxing further into the mattress...

He is asleep before Toshi can even flick off the light.

Chapter Text

Dreams find him, vague and featureless, but at least there is no pain. No horrors or dead lifeless eyes to haunt him.

Instead, there is this...warmth. An all-encompassing familiar warmth. Of warm skin against his, of lips pressed and gliding against his own in a most tantalizing caress and all so delightfully soft G'raha scarce remembers how to breathe. He knows these lips, the taste of them, and the realization has him eager for more. 

Chasing the feel of that gentle, warm plushness G'raha cannot find it within himself to protest as they move away to mouth a path down the span of his neck, pausing to trace the pattern of one of his Archon tattoos, and with such loving attention he cannot help but surrender to the sensation with all that he is. He shudders, presses up into that eager warmth. A soft moan escapes him, not aware he has his eyes closed. All he knows is the sensation of having the one he holds most dear so close, pressing his back down into something soft. A mattress?

Not given time to dwell on it fingers rake through his hair, blunt nails a soothing yet stirring scratch against his scalp in the space just between his ears. G'raha purrs, a low rumble in his throat as he tilts his head back in response, offering his neck fully to his love to do with as he wishes, his ears pressed back into his pillow in submission.

Sato...I'm yours.

A burst of laughter, rich and full of life fills his ears. Relishing it he hums in contentment as he feels Y'sato's fingers splay out on his chest over his heart to feel his heartbeat. As if to fulfill his wordless request there is a scrape of teeth against his skin followed by the wetness of a slightly rough tongue.  G'raha leans eagerly into it, wanting so badly for Y'sato to continue, but the scene shifts. 

Now he is on top of him, fine yet slightly coarse sand under the palm of his left hand, his head bowed against his love's shoulder, but more than that it is the sensation he feels in his right hand that truly grabs his attention. There's the silk of him, velvety yet firm, clear as day beneath his fingertips, eager for his touch and he hears it so clearly, the adoration in Y'sato's voice as he moans next to his ear. A beautiful sound he would give anything to hear again. Such love sparks to life in his chest from hearing it alone, stoked even further when he hears it in the whispered utterances of his name, everything bordering on a broken plea.

'"Raha, stay...Please, stay." 

Those words, the deep yearning behind them. He feels it in his heart. Cold and sharp, twisting like a knife. Unforgiving. A deep regret he cannot shake. Unable to do aught else he pulls Y'sato into his arms, fingers splayed between his shoulder blades as he presses his face into the crook of his neck. Warm, Y'sato, he is so warm.

Alive.

"I will, my love. This time, I will make it right. I won't lock myself in the Tower."

His tail trembling as it curls closer he doesn't let go. He hates this, this brokenness in Y'sato's voice, the hurt, curses his inability to do anything to comfort him.

His inability to...save him.

No, he dares not think the thought. This time it will be different. He is here with him now is he not? Safe and sound safely nestled in his arms, the moon and stars above their only witnesses. There is no Calamity. No death or decay or broken promises. Just them. 

I left you behind once, and I will not do so again. G'raha clings to Y'sato tighter, feels the play of muscle under his fingertips as his friend does the same. A desperate, trembling embrace. 

Ears still fanned back G'raha buries his nose into Y'sato's hair, kisses the silken fur behind one of his pinned-back ears. I gave you a promise and I intend to uphold it. I will journey at your side, behold the secret you wanted to show me in the Tangle,  He swallows thickly, the intensity of his vibrant red gaze hidden behind closed eyelids as he pinches his eyes tight. 

I swear it. 

-.-

His eyes open to darkness. Blinking he struggles to get his bearings until he recalls where he is.

..Oh...that is right...Toshi...he...

Overtaken by the urge to yawn G'raha groggily shifts over to his back, letting out a deep sigh. Although he was finally able to sleep he still feels just as exhausted, a weight in his chest he is unable to shake but for a comfort, he cannot remember having had any...upsetting dreams. In truth, it is quite the contrary. While he can't remember much there is this sensation of warmth, of silken fur under his fingertips and a voice in his ear that all feels so strangely familiar, and yet he struggles to place them. Still, it is clear to him his slumber has been a relatively peaceful one and blessedly so, and for that he knows he owes his caretaker. 

I...I should thank him...For the assistance. I don't think I would have been able to get much rest otherwise.

His senses still weighted by grogginess he rubs his fingers at his tired eyes. While he has gotten some much-needed sleep, his eyes still feel just as sore...puffy and he doubts the sensation will pass anytime soon. As much as he has been crying he is surprised they haven't dried out completely. Drawing a breath he slowly pushes himself upright but there he stops. It is...difficult, a part of him screaming to just lay back down and hope for blissful oblivion to claim him once more, but another part feels compelled, compelled to seek out the truth behind the words both the Chief and Toshi told him.

'There is a way to undo all of this. To turn back the hands of time...To alter fate...'

Feeling like his muscles are made of lead he slings his legs over the edge of the bed, then blindly fumbles in the dark for the light switch. He flinches when the sudden bright artificial light assaults his eyes, long having grown adjusted to the pitch-black darkness of his room. Squinting he hides underneath his hood until his eyes adjust somewhat, but the light helps. Helps him feel a bit more stable, a bit more at ease.

Finally feeling comfortable enough to look around the room, his eyes are drawn towards something lying on the nightstand. Something that he had almost forgotten, something timeworn but precious all the same...Y'sato's journal.

And it is a reminder...

Immediately G'raha averts his gaze. His dream, everything that has come to pass, resurfaces and with startling, crystal-clear clarity. The comfortable yet familiar warmth, the silken fur under his fingertips, the voice singing his praises in his ear was all Y'sato and with it, he realizes-

I-I dreamt of him! 

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. This...doesn't really help making him feel much better. In fact, it makes him feel worse, knowing his dream was birthed in part from the last night he spent with him down by the lake, and now...

Now it only serves to drag him down further, reminding him of the futility of being unable to do anything for his fallen friend.

Unable to quench it, to do anything to still the rushing tide he bows his head, curls in on himself. Once more the agonizing pain rips through him, the ever-persistent ache flooding through his entire being from where his beloved friend should be. The horrible chasm in his chest widens and he pinches his eyes shut tighter in response, bringing a hand to his heart. He clutches at the fabric right above the hollow feeling, his hand trembling. Y'sato's journal, should he-

No...not yet...It is still too fresh...I...I cannot-

It takes all of his willpower not to crumble to pieces right then and there, his breaths coming out in short and ragged gasps.

'All is yet not lost. All you need is to believe.'

G'raha forces himself to stand, even as he trembles, his hand still clutching so tightly around the fabric he fears it might tear, his head ducked under the hood as he grits his teeth. He holds on to them, clings to Toshi's words so desperately as he takes a staggering step forward, almost stumbling under the crushing weight in his chest, but he catches himself. He has to do this. To tear himself free from the thorny, shadowy vines that have crept up all around him, ensnaring his entire being.

One step, then followed by another. For each step, he feels the weight lessen by a tiny margin. Bit by bit, piece by piece, until he reaches the door. Leaning heavily towards it, still clutching at his chest he grabs the handle. So close and yet so far...He can feel it. The void closing in on him again...Dull, lifeless eyes staring at nothing bubbles back up to the forefront of his mind's eye and...

'He can yet be saved.'

Feeling a burst of newfound resolve G'raha's eyes snaps open. He nearly wrings the door handle off the door as it flies open, rattling on its hinges. He stumbles forward landing roughly on his hands and knees.

Pick yourself up. Keep walking. It's...it's what he would have done...Believe in him...believe in yourself, G'raha Tia!

With a ragged breath, he pushes himself off the floor. His palms sting after hitting the stone floor so roughly but it is nothing compared to the hollowness, the gaping void he still feels widening in his chest, but he bites his teeth together and keeps walking, a fierce look of determination burning within the vivid crimson of his eyes still shadowed by his hood.

I am an Archon! A Student of Baldesion! And as a student, it is my duty to not balk at the truth. No matter how bleak...or hopeless. I will not. I cannot!

Tears stream down his cheeks but G'raha keeps walking, keeps forging on, his eyes smoldering like hot coals despite the tears. He has to keep moving, find the Chief or Toshi before this newfound fire burning within him is extinguished by the chasm still threatening to swallow him whole.

He passes a handful of people milling about in the halls but he pays them no heed, even when he can feel their perplexed gazes follow him. Nothing else matters but the truth. If Y'sato can still be saved, he wants to hear it. All of it.

He rounds a corner near bumping into some poor hyuran woman who gasps loudly upon seeing his hooded determined self appear out of nowhere but G'raha doesn't stop. Cannot stop. His ears obscured under the hood he pans them around quickly listening out for the familiar voices of either the Chief or Toshi. The fire burning within him starts to wane he can tell, fighting a losing battle against his grief following in his wake, slithering like shadowy tendrils right at his heels.

"How is he holding up? I know we should allow him all the time he needs to come to terms with his situation and...I know I put him in a rough spot, but I would like to start discussing our work with him in earnest. The sooner the better."

"Last I checked in on him he was still asleep so I let him be. Gods knows he needs his rest.  You should have seen him last night...I still don't agree with your methods...It utterly broke him."

There!

There is no questioning those voices. One deep and gruff the other with a warm slight timbre to it. G'raha doesn't hesitate and with a renewed spark lightening up his eyes, he finds himself sprinting down the hall for the room he can so clearly still hear them talking in. A room far to the left of the room where he had initially first met their Chief.

The shadows are close, hounding him. They are coiling around his heart. An icy feeling, the empty chasm in his chest still not stopping its relentless widening but G'raha's fierce determination is stronger. With a final jolt of adrenaline he bolts into the room, startling both the Chief and Toshi.

"G'raha!"

Panting he stumbles on his feet but before he can collapse completely someone grabs him by his shoulders the moment his knees hit the floor. He doesn't need to look up to realize it is Toshi.

"What't-whats the matter? Did you have a nightmare? Perhaps I can-"

G'raha doesn't allow him to finish. He clutches onto him with a desperate grip. "I would hear it all. Sato...How he can yet be saved." He pauses, struggling to catch his breath. He raises his head to look at Toshi, his hood partly obscuring his eyes. "Please...tell me."

"Bu-but you have hardly eaten. At least-"

"Please!" G'raha begs, doing nothing to hide his desperation, his face tear-streaked. "I need to know! Please I-"

"And as your caretaker, I insist you have something to eat first."

The sudden stern authority in his voice gives G'raha pause. Breath catching in his throat he lowers his head, gritting his teeth. In his wild, frenzied desperate hunt for the truth, he failed to consider the man would make sure to see to his other more important needs first. Toshi is his caretaker first and foremost after all. A healer. This is ingrained in his very nature.

Deflated only two words come to mind. "My...my apologies."

In this moment G'raha finds himself immensely grateful his hood is still up, shadowing his face. What a sore sight he must have made otherwise. His eyes all red and puffy, dark circles clinging under them, his cheeks all tear-streaked, ears drooping...

Still sitting on his knees, and with nothing else going for him G'raha starts to succumb to the wide chasm in his chest, to the encroaching shadows that hounded his steps, but a comforting squeeze on his shoulders grabs his attention.

"No apology is needed. You have the right to know and we will be sure to tell you everything in due course." Toshi looks to their Chief as if for confirmation. G'raha however still keeps his gaze downcast, not looking at any of them. He fails to see Biggs nod his approval.

"But first let's get some food in you," Toshi continues, "Can you stand?"

To this all G'raha can offer is a weak nod, and feeling Toshi's hands leave his shoulders he finally looks up at the man. Although still stern-faced faced he is smiling. An amicable smile, extending a hand and G'raha grabs it, allowing himself to be pulled back onto his feet. Toshi's hand. It is so warm, and it helps. Helps making him feel a bit more at ease.

To be truthful with himself he still doesn't feel hungry. Food is the furthest thing on his mind but on this matter, he now knows Toshi can no longer be swayed.

His eyes still shadowed by his hood he allows himself to be guided over to a nearby table, looking as derelict and worn like the rest of their furniture. Their Chief assures him he will be true to his word and share everything once he has eaten. Taking a seat G'raha is still eager to get answers, to understand what both he and Toshi had meant exactly with their words about how all of this can still be undone. About turning back the hands of time, how to alter fate itself.

'You can yet save him'

He clings to those words as he waits, a quiet determination burning in vibrant red irises. He is a scholar, a historian and for now, he knows it best to bide his time as he has been conditioned. Everything will be revealed this time. Of this, he has no doubt.

His eyes narrows, fingers tightening around the worn hem of his cloak.

I will make sure of it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The food offered to him wasn't much different from the bland fare he has been served so far during his stay at their keep, but G'raha ate it all the same, not really having a say in the matter. Once finished he was asked to join both Toshi and Biggs back in the board room. A reluctance claws at his chest at the mere thought of stepping his foot in there again. The last time he had been in there after all he paid witness to things he can never unsee...The phasmascapes...Sato...he-

Needless to say, those cursed frames are the first thing he looks for when he enters the room, his eyes still shrouded by the shadows of his hood, but he glimpses no trace of them. Of course, they have been hidden away. To which location and by whom G'raha doesn't know and to be truthful with himself he would be more than happy to never lay his eyes on them ever again.

The room itself doesn't look much different from the last time he visited it. The blackboard still stands off to the far corner, mathematical equations and the same drawing depicting the Crystal Tower still scrawled on it in stark white chalk. Beside it the still fully functional Allagan node still hovers in place, its low droning hum strangely comforting to G'raha's ears. The harsh artificial light from the strung-up lamps still illuminates the room with their cold glare. Something that makes G'raha feel even more grateful for opting to keep his hood up, its shadow offering much reprieve to his still sore eyes. The only thing different is the amount of salvaged scraps in one of the storage boxes, looking like more has been dumped in, and quite haphazardly at that.

"Please, have a seat."

Wordlessly G'raha does as he is told. He walks over to the lone chair he found himself sitting in two days prior during their first meeting and once more their seating arrangements reflect it, with the Chief sitting opposite of him with Toshi essentially being his right hand. For a blessing, G'raha notes K'delika is nowhere to be seen, Toshi having honored his wish.

G'raha knows with his hood up under this amount of harsh white light he probably looks like some sort of shady dealer the way his face is still mostly obscured by deep shadows but he can't bring himself to fully reveal his face. Not yet. He doesn't want them to see, doesn't want anyone to see how heartbroken he still is, how deeply seeing the image of his friend laying so still and lifeless before him still affects him.

He raises a hand to his chest. The chasm, the hollow feeling, it is still there. Beckoning, churning. It is ever there simmering under the surface, made even worse by his current surroundings but as long as he remains sitting there under the light with Toshi in the room with him he can tolerate it. The quiet determination from earlier still burns in his eyes, resolute. He won't leave this room until he has heard everything, and he means everything.

But first, there is something he needs to know.

"Pray tell...those phasmascapes...How many of your number exactly has...beheld them?"

Try as he might G'raha can't hide the contempt from bleeding into his voice as he utters the name of those cursed frames. That is all they are to him now, for showing him such a cruel, cold thing. The thought of anyone using such technology to document...such a scene...makes his skin crawl.

Biggs is the one to answer, all business as usual. "Only a chosen few. To my knowledge only myself, Toshi, and Delika have beheld them. At least in our order. For the greater good, we decided to keep them confidential due to well, their subject matter as you well know."

One of G'raha's ears twitches and a scowl forms on his face, marring his features. Not that anyone can see his expression but they don't need to. The aura he exudes is enough to chill the room. For a moment G'raha wants nothing but to destroy them himself. The thought of the only image of Y'sato existing in this future being of him dead...like that...sickens him. Already he feels it. A low churning in his stomach. 

He still resents the Chief, for even having considered showing him those images. Even now he struggles to dispel the image from his mind. Yet there is another thing he is burning to know.

"Was...was he ever buried?"

While he can't see their Chief's face from under his cowl he can hear the creak of the chair as the man leans forward. "I'm afraid not. As you saw for yourself the deaths were far too numerous. Too many corpses. Documenting the event by taking those phasmascapes was all they could do..."

G'raha looks down into his lap, the shadows deepening under his hood. So he can't even visit his grave to pay his respects. It would be a small comfort but still. His ears droop from the thought, heart sinking. He realizes this means...Y'sato was just left out to rot like everyone else...could there still-

Overcome with nausea he quickly squeezes his eyes shut from the thought, his tail lashing. No, he won't go there. He refuses. To see him dead was already heartbreaking enough. He knows what happens to the dead if left out for too long and there have been two centuries and-

"We have however erected a small memorial of sorts over at a crystallized tree our records say was once known as Rathefrost. It isn't much but it is something. If you wish you can pay it a visit later. I believe it will do you some good." Biggs continues and G'raha lets out a small gasp, his eyes snapping open realizing he has been holding his breath to fight the bile creeping up his throat. However, the mention of a memorial piques his interest. 

"A memorial?" 

"Indeed. It felt only right to honor the man who still serves as our guiding light. Everyone here, in this keep, has lost something dear to them but the hope for a better tomorrow, a brighter future keeps us going."

At this, G'raha raises his head and dares peek at the Chief from under the shadows of his hood. The Chief has his full attention now and he feels compelled to voice his thoughts, his voice bordering on a whisper, afraid his ears are playing tricks on him. 

"But how? You told me that everyone here is a lost cause. That this world is beyond saving."

G'raha doesn't fail to notice the smile lifting the corners of the man's lips. "While the man himself is long dead his deeds live on, immortalized in stories and song. They light our torch in the darkness, emboldening us. Take a walk around our keep and you will be sure to hear them. To see the hope they instill with your own eyes."

To this G'raha can only blink. The chief's words sparks something to life within him. It is clear to him now these people have yet to lose hope despite their circumstances, despite a chosen few having looked at those dreaded phasmascapes and struggling to get up in the morning they still manage to put one foot in front of the other.

He lowers his gaze, tries to get a feeling of the tiny spark trying to grab a hold inside him. It is fleeting, barely tangible, and yet...it is there.

'You can yet save him'

Emboldened G'raha's gaze shoots up and he sits straighter in his chair. It is time.

"You said there is still a way to undo all of this. To alter fate itself and that I somehow are meant to play a part in all of this...That I can yet save him so pray tell me. Tell me everything. There has been enough secrecy."

"Of course." Biggs starts. "I hope you excuse us. We just didn't want you to feel too overwhelmed during our first meeting. Besides while you still might not agree, showing you those phasmascapes was an essential step in making you fully understand the full scope of Black Rose and the dire straits we still find ourselves in. I now however believe you are ready to hear everything about our mission and your role in all of this."

G'raha's ear twitches again upon hearing the man mention the phasmascapes but he holds his tongue and perks his ears, his hood shifting slightly.

Much akin to their first meeting, he listens carefully as Biggs tells him in much the same deliberate and patient manner as before with the occasional input from Toshi about the true purpose and goal of their work. Of how their illustrious founder Cid Garlond and his fellows dedicated their lives to pursuing all manner of solutions, hoping to stay the unending tides of war. One such solution was rooted in a theory that united several fundamental principles discovered over the course of the Warrior of Light's many adventures, one of how one could leap through time and space itself through the rift all thanks to said Warrior's exploits in defeating both Alexander and Omega. Perfecting that idea took their entire lifetimes however and it was left up to the future generations to follow their example, their work, to decide if they could ever bring the theory to fruition.

But hope was feeble, fleeting, beset on all fronts by misery, thievery, and murder. They speak of people falling to despair but while those succumbed, others raised their voices and joined the cause. All in a bid to see the Eight Umbral Calamity averted, to never come to pass. Those very people's descendants are the ones G'raha is talking to now. They confirm the Crystal Tower already has the necessary power to do the translocation as vast a reservoir of aether it is. Some of its functions just needs to be augmented and it is here G'raha's expertise in everything Allagan will come in. 

Furthermore, he is told of their scholars having largely established the phenomena underpinning the rejoining hence identifying the amassing of Light on the shard known as the First as the cause of the Eight Umbral Calamity which consigned with them finally figuring out how to wake him, the Tower's caretaker. Biggs says it is imperative that G'raha alone must travel back in time with the Crystal Tower to the First sometime before the Calamity struck, with the next step being the most crucial of all. He needs to find a way to summon The Warrior of Light there before Black Rose is unleashed...before he meets his untimely end, before the rejoining can even begin, their scholars positing to even have a chance to stop the Light from amassing on the First, someone of the Warrior's caliber will be needed. Someone with the blessing of light.

But the road ahead is a long one still. They need to calculate exactly how far back in time he will have to go and also G'raha needs to know exactly when to summon Y'sato to the First. They will also need to calculate carefully how to time the leap, aiming to give G'raha a couple of decades on the First at least to prepare, since he needs time to figure out how to fulfill his mission. They only got this one chance and for this, they need to find more reports. Anything to help pin down the exact time he will need in order to summon the Warrior of Light to the First.

"This is the only way," Toshi says, clearly having noticed how G'raha sits motionless in his chair, his mouth hanging open from sheer disbelief. "This is the only way we may yet save him, save everyone."

"We know we ask a lot of you," Biggs interjects before G'raha can say anything, even think. "No, we ask you to shoulder the heaviest burden of all, but you are the only one who can carry all of our hopes and dreams. The only one who can deliver our message."

Ho-hold on...

G'raha sinks back in his chair, the weight of everything they have just told him slowly descending on his shoulders, pressing him down into his seat. Rejoinings...Shards...Time travel...The rift. He isn't unfamiliar with these terms as a scholar and yet...Everything he has just heard. This entire operation borders on the miraculous. He...he can scarcely even start to begin to fathom what they are suggesting...What he has to do. What he is expected to do...

He feels their eyes on him, knows they are talking to him but G'raha is too caught up in his whirling thoughts to pay them any heed. To undo the Calamity. To travel back in time and space. To a different shard, a different world entirely through the rift then to somehow find a way to summon Y'sato to that world, and he will be entirely on his own...What if...

What if something goes wrong with the time travel? If what he recalls from what he learned about time theory and its relevancy in how it flows through space and how everyone's existence is fundamentally bound to it is correct this-

It finally dawns on him, the most chilling fact of all.  In order to undo the future he currently finds himself in they would also undo themselves, and in extension...he himself would-

Terror shining in his eyes from the horrible realization he looks to Biggs and then Toshi. They yet can't see his eyes due to his hood but his countenance doesn't betray him. A cold sweat grips him, goosebumps crawling over his skin. Despite the deep chill running down his spine he manages to find his voice, the way it shakes at the edges bespeaking his horror.

"You...If-if I succeed you will all be undone. This future world...Even my current self. I-" He swallows thickly. He is trembling now. Bereft of anything else to cling to he grabs onto his cloak in a bid to try stilling his shaking hands. "I...Are you quite certain? Is this...Is this truly your wish?"

Biggs is the one to speak, his voice soft. "Like I told you before this world and us with it are already doomed. All of us here have long accepted it. It's only a matter of time."

G'raha's head still lowered he doesn't notice Toshi rising from his seat, doesn't notice him walking over to him, doesn't notice his presence until he feels a familiar hand land on his shoulder.

"You don't need to decide right away. I...I know it is a lot for us to ask. This burden. We don't expect you to take it up readily." There is a comforting squeeze. "Also know that we can't force you. This is your choice and yours alone to make, but please, do give it your due consideration."

"When you feel ready to give us your answer whatever it may be we will be waiting here, at the keep, but please do not tarry overlong. As I said. It's only a matter of time." With that Biggs rises to his feet and shortly after G'raha is aware of Toshi leaving his side after a final comforting squeeze on his shoulder. And that's that. Left alone with the whirling maelstrom of thoughts still whirring relentlessly inside his head, he is left to his own devices. He can scarcely believe everything he has just been told.

This is the only way he can be saved. To save everyone and yet...It entails so much sacrifice. So much uncertainty...I don't...I don't know if I can...

He squeezes his eyes shut under the weight of it all. He doesn't need this. Not right now, even when he did want to seek out the truth, but his heart. It can't handle it. Again he feels it. The hollow chasm expanding in his chest and furthermore, the very shadows of the room are stifling, suffocating, encroaching on his very being.

He can almost hear them...whispering. He quickly shakes his head in a desperate bid to dispel them. He knows it is all born from his imagination and yet...

Unable to handle the pressure he shakily rises to his feet and nearly sprints out of the room. He can't handle it anymore. This room has granted him naught but misery and heartache.

Heedless of where he is going he almost bumps into some unfortunate soul in his blind rush but he only hesitates for a few heartbeats before he is off again. This whole keep is starting to feel stifling, shadows hounding him around every corner so he runs towards the only exit he knows of and...

He finds himself awash in brilliant daylight.

Taken aback by the blinding radiance he skids to a sudden halt. For a blessing, he can finally breathe. His cowl is still shadowing his eyes but still it takes him a moment to adjust to the sudden bright light as he seizes the moment to catch his breath. It is then his ears first catches it.

Obscured under the hood as they are his keen hearing still doesn't fail to hear people whisper about him. He is unable to tell exactly what they are whispering about but it bothers him all the same, an incessant prickling in his skin. Straightening he notices the culprits, two fellow Ironworks workers standing off to the side, their eyes on him. A young hyuran woman and an older Elezen man of a stocky build.

There is judgment in their demeanor but also...reverence. He is the strange man with the strange eyes from the past who is the only one currently alive who has seen the Warrior of Light himself, alive, in the flesh. Even knew him. He is the one who is expected to carry forth with all of their hopes, their dreams, to bring salvation to their dying star. Under such scrutiny, G'raha realizes he hasn't exactly made the best first impression of himself. Almost everyone if not all has observed him being nothing but a despondent and heartbroken mess since he was first let out of his room.

For a very good reason...And from a doing not entirely my own.

He presses his lips together at the memory and pulls the hood even further down over his eyes. It is all still too fresh. He needs time to think. To decompress...He-

He needs to leave the keep. To get away from prying eyes. Away from the judging whispers, their misplaced reverence.

I don't deserve it...I don't deserve any of it!

How can he carry forth their dreams and hopes, being their beacon when he still feels so...broken?

Aimlessly his feet carry him away from the keep, the former House of Splendours, not paying attention to his surroundings until he reaches one of the gates, and there he stops. This gate...is not the one he sprinted so recklessly through in the dark leading to the Crystal Tower. No, this gate. He knows where it leads.

The memory of an imposing Castrum of Garlean make floods to the forefront of his mind. Of a swampy tangle filled with tentacled monstrosities, and past that tangle...Rathefrost.

He recalls what Biggs told him, about them having erected a memorial of sorts at its roots in the name of the Warrior of Light.

For a moment he lingers, feeling on it. His chest still feels so heavy. A hollow... One G'raha fears will never be filled. To be made whole again. A part of him still feels fit to crumble into pieces any second, to let go, to lay down and curl into himself on this very spot. To allow himself to be swallowed up by the dark void still eating him up from the inside. It would be so easy. To give in...The path he must walk. The only path. It is so steep, and he will have to walk it alone...He don't...He still doesn't-

Sato I...I need you. 

His earnest plea reaches deaf ears. It is the harsh, undeniable truth. This time he isn't there to guide him. To take him on an adventure, to protect him, or to offer him any guidance or soothing reassurances. No, in this he is all alone, weighted by a decision he is not sure if he will ever be ready to make.

It announces itself before he can do anything to stop it and in response, G'raha raises his hand to his heart. He is tired of this crushing weight in his chest, the ever-persistent ache, the hurt. He tries to reach out for the fleeting spark he could almost grasp earlier but it's gone. His lower lip quivering he looks up to the sky, beholding a familiar azure hue, free of clouds. It looks just like the day when he spent one long lovely afternoon with Y'sato at his side down by the lake both dressed in nothing but their swimming trunks...

The irony of being able to behold this beautiful, yet strangely nostalgic sight isn't lost on him. That despite how broken he feels inside, despite the state of the world he currently finds himself in, the sun can still shine so brilliantly, mocking in all its blazing glory. Its rays envelop him like a warm blanket and yet the warmth offers no comfort.

Just...keep walking. It's...it's what he would have done.

Once more shadowing his face under his hood he takes a step forward through the gate. It is difficult, everything within him screaming to just let go, but he takes another step soon followed by another. Right now all that is spurring him on is his thoughts of Y'sato. Of visiting his memorial at Rathefrost, to pay his respects.

He can do that much at least.

Chapter Text

It is a bit of a walk but G'raha walks it all the same. Each footstep is heavier than the last and his surroundings aren't helping much in emboldening him. Much like when he ran closer to the Crystal Tower the earth is barren, dead. Any kind of vegetation long having withered away. Even the large corrupted crystal that once stood alight in such a fiery vibrant hue amidst the remains of the old Revenant's Toll camp itself stands dead, its potent aether long having burnt out. Now its once blue tips are almost transparent, much akin to frosted glass, and naught remains of the dilapidated camp itself. It is a depressing sight, much akin to all of the other darkened crystals dotting the landscape like empty, silent husks. G'raha still remembers all so clearly how luminous and full of life they once were, aglow in the cool night, eerie yet beautiful in their otherworldly splendor but now...

There is nothing, no birdsong to be heard or any wildlife to be seen, no low humming of crystallized aether thrumming in the air. Just...silence. A deafening, smothering silence, the scratch of G'raha's soles as they hit the dirt the only thing piercing through the deathly stillness. It unnerves him, all of his hairs standing on end. After all, to him, it still feels like only a couple of days ago this place was teeming with life, danger lurking behind every corner. A fact still so ingrained in him he keeps an eye out for danger even now. 

Not that he needs to he finds as the Garlean Castrum, or what remains of it comes into sight. G'raha didn't stray into these parts often, but even he knew to keep a wide berth from the Garlean soldiers and their ilk, but now, the imposing structure in the distance is nothing but a rusted skeleton of twisted and bent metal. 

His footsteps slow to a halt. A restless energy prickles at his skin, has his ears twitch under his hood as something twists in his gut. The Garlean Empire...they are the ones behind all this. They were the ones who started their meaningless conquest, who encroached on Erozea, invaded her lands... and ultimately unleashed Black Rose, who has played a part in not just one but two Calamities.

So much death, so much suffering, and all for nothing. 

G'raha's hands clench into tight fists at his sides, his lips drawing back into a snarl as he bites his teeth together with so much force he trembles. They are the ones responsible...for all this senseless death...for this slowly dying world...All because they were never satisfied with their lot. Even his birth land, Corvos fell to their conquest and now they-

They are the ones who killed you...killed everyone. Krile, Rammboes, Cid, Biggs, Wedge...In the end, all of them met an untimely end no one asked for. At their hand, you all suffered, and here I am, somehow still drawing breath. I- 

Breath hitching sharp in his throat, he slams a fist into a dead crystal spire jutting out of the cliff side to his left. The side of his hand smarts something fierce from the impact on unyielding stone but it is nothing compared to the blinding fury surging inside. It burns through him, bright and hot and he has to fight himself to not scream at the injustice of it all. It is too late. Far too late, the Garleans having died alongside everyone else centuries ago, their cursed weapon being their undoing. His tail lashing under his cloak G'raha takes a moment to try calm himself, taking deep steadying breaths.

They are long dead...let it go...let it all go...Just...keep walking...

It takes all of willpower but he manages. Fists still clenched at his sides so hard his knuckles have turned white he forces himself to keep going, to keep walking. Head bowed he keeps his crimson still smoldering gaze glued to the ground right in front of him so he doesn't have to look at the Castrum any more than absolutely necessary. The fury still seethes within him boiling and hot but he can feel it slowly abating with every step and before he knows it he finds himself in the Tangle.

He dares look up from under his hood and he finds this place to be just as dead and lifeless as everywhere else. The crystalline ground beneath his feet lacking luster, having gone all dark like the rest with just a few scant rotting husks of once lush and verdant trees still somehow standing, jutting from deep fissures in the rocks. Even the water he knew flooded this swamp just days ago from his perspective has long receded, all dried up. Wordlessly G'raha comes to a slow halt, letting out a deep, dejected sigh. He is so close and yet...treading the path leading to Rathefrost feels like climbing an insurmountable mountain. Easing his tight fists, fingers relaxing he raises his gaze to look for the path. He knows it should be around here somewhere and yet he finds himself unwilling to move, his feet glued to the spot.

This is it then. The sun is still beaming down on him from above but he does not feel it. Even the hot anger still smoldering in his chest grows absent, as if he is detaching himself from it. In its place, the cold hollowness expands further and... Under the immense weight, he sinks to his knees before he can catch himself.

He can't do it. The path he must walk if he is going to have a chance in saving everyone...save him...It's too steep. He isn't Y'sato. Could never hope to hold a candle next to his radiance, his bravery. This was a foolish venture from the start. If only...

If only I hadn't locked myself in the Tower...If only I had remained traveling by your side as I promised you would still-

It rips through him, the horrible guilt, the regret piercing into his already broken heart and he chokes. He wishes, he wishes so desperately he is stronger than this but in the end, this is the person he was destined to be all along. Always the inadequate, powerless, weak G'raha Tia!

Forgive me, Sato. I can't- it is too much...I am not like you. I...I can't...I can't save anyone...

It wells up within him, the crushing weight of his grief, his powerlessness, the guilt. He feels it all press down on him like a heavy shroud, the chasm in his chest now near bottomless. It is too much to bear and finally...he gives in.

He curls up lying on his side right then and there on the dead crystal and there he goes still. Crimson eyes slowly blink, finding himself unable to even cry anymore but he can't bring himself to care. All he knows is he is spent...utterly spent. He curls further in on himself, clutches his arms to his chest, only blinking his burning eyes open once more to get a last look at his surroundings before allowing himself to be swallowed up by blissful oblivion. Perhaps he will dream again. Dream of...him. 

But something catches his eye. A glint.

Intrigued G'raha raises his head slightly. He can barely glimpse it from under the shadows of his hood but it is there not too far from him, glittering in the sunlight. A scintillating dazzling light. The sight of it sparks something within him. Curiosity.

It is a momentous effort, to push himself up, but he manages and his eyes never straying from the object holding his interest he half crawls, half drags himself over to it. His eyes widen when he finally discovers what the object is.

A crystal, or more like a splintered shard of one the size of his hand. It is just as darkened and dead as the rest but there is something with it G'raha can't quite place. Sitting on his knees he reaches out for it with trembling fingers. It is cool to the touch as he expected and yet when he carefully turns it around in his hands he realizes despite it being dead its surface still reflects the sun, refracting it, casting a beautiful display of dappled bright and shadowy shifting blue shapes on the barren ground before him. The shapes, as he gently turns the crystal over move and shifts almost like...water. 

The sight triggers something within him, a spark. This...this is all so strangely familiar. Where has he seen-

Wait...That day. Sato!

Lips parting in stunned silence G'raha looks up from the dazzling display. He once more looks around the Tangle and it all plays before his mind's eye in starling clarity. A memory from a time now long past.

-.-.-.-.-

The words laid before him doesn't fully sink in. Not this time. On any other day, they would but today is not that day. Aside from the day he earned his marks as an Archon and a Student both G'raha struggles to conceive of any time when he found himself feeling more excited, more thrilled than he is at this very moment. As is his wont he has been cooped up in the tent he shares with Y'sato for the better half of the day, poring over the pages of one of his most beloved books- An in-depth look at the general history of the Allagan Empire. Both its rise, but also its fall. Yet it pales to what awaits him. After all on the morrow, it will finally happen. Y'sato and his band of carefully picked elite adventurers will finally brave the very Crystal Tower itself and this time he has been granted leave to accompany his friend, his inspiration as long as he is careful and keeps his distance. Not wanting to be a burden he does what he can to be prepared. This is a dream come true after all.

The Crystal Tower is at last at my fingertips! Who knows what awaits within? What sights I will behold. This will be just like in the epics of old, heroes standing side by side vanquishing fiends of yore, and this time against an Emperor of ancient Allag himself! Xande.

Truth be told his excitement is already soaring sky high from that notion alone, burning bright in his chest, filling him with such eagerness his tail can't stay still. Even as he sits there with eyes trained on the pages his tail keeps swishing restlessly to and fro behind him, red downy fur sweeping over his fur throw and he isn't alone. Y'sato sits next to him, maintaining his daggers, his tail tapping the furs behind him in a slow contented beat.

This is how it always goes when there is just the two of them in their tent and to G'raha's relief he both looks and acts much recovered. About a week has passed since their venture to the Singing Shards and since then his friend's injury has much improved. It worried him to no end. Just to see him being hit point blank by that voidsent, the sheer impact that sent him flying to smack roughly against jagged crystal, then to fall limply to the ground, motionless already filled him with unspeakable dread. G'raha still remembers it all too clearly. The frenzied pounding of his heart in his chest, the thrumming in his ears, the way the hapalit had turned its attention all on him...

The wave of relief that crashed over him when Y'sato at last did respond to his calls was akin to being awash in the light of holy benediction. His dearest friend. He was alive! 

Together they finished what they started, but the fight short as it was had taken its toll. Even now he struggles to get it out of his mind's eye. The unfocused, dazed look in Y'sato's eyes as he helped support him back to camp, of how he strained to breathe through clenched teeth, clearly being in a great deal of pain...G'raha, he had to be strong, to keep a cool head, for his friend's sake.

The healers were quick to assure him that Y'sato would be fine. Still, it didn't change the fact It had all been too close. Too close for comfort. 

Since then he took it upon himself to be his caretaker of sorts, doing what he could to ease the pain of his throbbing skull, to make sure his nightmares didn't interrupt his much-needed rest. After all, G'raha has discovered that merely holding him, to be there for him scratching him gently behind his ears while he hums a calming melody is enough, soothing him like nothing else.

A fuzzy feeling prickling his skin one of his ears twitches and swivels in Y'sato's direction as said friend pushes himself up to his feet. G'raha looks up from the hefty book resting in his lap just in time to catch his eyes, an eager fondness glinting within the green depths as he smiles.

"I wondered if you are up for another adventure? To make up for the one we had to cut short I mean. It's not far. Just to the Tangle. There is something I want to show you."

G'raha doesn't need to be asked twice. Already he is clapping his book shut, hurriedly getting back up on his feet. "As if you need to ask. Of course!" He nearly jumps at the prospect, but he catches himself, a worried frown drawing his brows together as the excited swish of his tail falters. "Granted you feel well enough of course."

Y'sato is quick to appease his fears, "I am. Don't worry. I wouldn't have told Rammboes I feel ready to brave the tower on the morrow otherwise. Actually, I'm itching to get back out there. As much as I love spending time with you in our tent there is nothing quite like being out in the field. To feel the wind in my hair and to test my mettle against Mor Dhona's fauna, for one. I promise to be more careful this time." With a knowing smile, he takes a step closer, bringing a hand up to cup G'raha's cheek. His fingers are so warm he can't help but lean into the comforting touch with a contented hum. Y'sato's eyes soften alongside his voice. "And with you by my side how can anything go wrong?"

The affection in his eyes in that very moment, the trust. The way he regards him as the most treasured thing is all the reassurance G'raha needs.

Ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks he with a joyful wiggle of his ears, mismatched eyes beaming with unbridled excitement, reaches out for his bow and quiver. There is an eagerness in his step, in the swish of his tail he does nothing to hide. Already in the process of fastening his choice of weapon onto his back, he turns to his friend, a bright smile on his face.

"Then lead the way, my friend. This might turn out to be the adventure of a lifetime!"

Y'sato mirrors his enthusiasm with a radiant smile of his own. "It very well might be. Come on. Daylight is wasting." With an eager flick of his tail, he dons his armor and weapons with practiced ease. In no time at all he stands prepared and with G'raha hot on his heels offering Cid and Rammboes some quick parting words, they are off.

Astride Y'sato's chocobo, him holding the reins as he urges his steed into a trot the trek to the Toll doesn't take long, it being just a part of their journey to the morbol-infested swamp. Both sitting in the saddle makes it a tight fit, but G'raha doesn't mind at all, his hands holding onto Y'sato's bare shoulders for support. Just to be close to him, to feel the warmth of his skin under his fingertips both calms and grounds him like nothing else. Especially so since his friend never shies from his touch, nor his presence.

It helps give him courage. That perhaps one day he will be brave enough to reach out his hand. 

Y'sato leaves his chocobo in the care of one of the stablehands in the stable right by the aetheryte. Seeing they will be heading into territory bordering on the Garelan Castrum he thinks it better to opt for stealth and in this, they are in agreement. Taking a moment to make sure they are good to go, they head past the gate. 

Silence falls over the pair as they walk and in it, as G'raha watches him with a look of deep admiration in his eyes he falls into rumination. Well over a moon has passed since he first was allowed to read his friend's first account of his encounter with Ifrit. Oh, such courage fills him just from merely thinking about it. While Y'sato claims his words to be nothing special, G'raha begs to differ. There is something with his friend's words that captures the event far better than any other.

It is because he has lived it himself. Walked it, breathed it, felt the searing fires licking at his skin. No other account truly compares. 

And isn't that the truth? In all other accounts he has read and heard about Y'sato's numerous deeds, he is painted like this messiah, a figure larger than life, an untouchable savior, and once G'raha looked upon him in much the same way, striving to impress, but now after having known him for a moon and a half, after having spent many a day and night at his side, and even have the privilege to look into his more personal life through his journal, G'raha can confidently say that no, Y'sato is far more than just a hero written down on a page. There is something so human with him, so down to earth beneath all of the accolades bestowed on him. Make no mistake, he is still a living legend, a hero in the flesh, but in the moments they share together, especially in the quieter moments, G'raha can't help but get the feeling he will one day be his equal. 

A smile tugs at the corner of G'raha's mouth at the thought. His gaze is on Y'sato's back now, captivated for a moment by the end of his long red scarf wrapped around his neck catching in the warm breeze. The clouds shadow the sun at random intervals and it is a bit windy but aside from that it's a beautiful day just like any other. Well suited to go out for an excursion such as this. Y'sato is ever donning his black and red ninja armor, his footsteps so muted G'raha swears he wouldn't even have noticed his presence if he already didn't have his eyes on him.

As expected from one trained in the arts of the shinobi.

G'raha isn't too familiar with their order but he has read, and seen enough. Oh, how he loves to see their art in action, and although he has observed his friend using a handful of their mudras a handful of times he has yet to see it all be brought to bear. In truth he still finds himself lamenting not being allowed to join Y'sato for his foray into the Labyrinth of the Ancients guarding the Tower but still, this little excursion leaves him giddy with excitement just like any other. Especially so with Y'sato at his side.

The verdant, lush trees of the Tangle are slowly coming into view, and emboldened G'raha jogs up to walk by his hero's side. It doesn't escape him how blond feline ears swivel around from time to time. His friend already being on the lookout for any potential threats lingering in the vicinity and it is here G'raha once more finds himself captivated by it. The impenetrable look in steely keen eyes, the determined countenance, the way Y'sato carries himself. Confident and reassured, fully trusting in his capabilities. It is everything G'raha wishes he could be himself and more but-

"Raha. If anything sneaks up on us make sure to keep your distance alright? I'll make sure to draw their attention."

"Yes of course. Worry not. This will be just like when we faced down that hapalit. I will keep my distance as well as I can." G'raha manages to say, taken off guard, first now realizing he has been staring. Y'sato is looking at him now, a warm smile on his face and yet G'raha feels...inadequate. It hasn't slipped his notice how Y'sato stands about half a head taller than him, quite tall for miqo'te standards.

And as much as he hates to admit it, he again finds himself a bit envious...He has always been so short. It still eats at him from time to time, the indignity of his struggles in merely obtaining books from the tallest bookshelves back in Old Sharlayan.

Memories from those painful days come back bubbling to the surface, unbidden. How can he even begin to hope he can impress his friend the way he is now? To be more useful? He still feels he could have offered so much more during their encounter with the hapalit, even when Y'sato reassured him he had done far more for him than what one could expect. Furthermore, Y'sato has yet to give any indication he dislikes his company. In truth, it is quite the opposite. Still, there is this nagging thought in the back of his mind. That he can amount for more. Do more, be more. He is also pretty sure Y'sato didn't appreciate the little foolish game of cat and mouse he played with the aethersands for the aether claws before they were even properly introduced, but again his friend hasn't told him much of anything on the subject. Instead of expected annoyance there is this familiar warm fondness in his gleaming bright eyes now G'raha still struggles to place whenever Y'sato meets his own. One he can see even now.

One thing is crystal clear to him, however. He wants to be at his side, to keep going on adventures like this with him, to carry this warmth his mere presence brings within his heart always.

Lost in his thoughts and his eyes on Y'sato as they are he fails to notice they are on the very outskirts of the Tangle until he steps into a deep muddy puddle. Surprised at the sudden shift in texture, his feline ears perk right up as he looks down at the offending clumps of mud now sticking to the once pristine white fur lining circling the ankle of his boot. His displeasure must have shown on his face, cause Y'sato's laughter is quick to fill his ears. A warm, carefree thing, rich in his chest. G'raha looks to him just in time to catch the mirth glimmering in his eyes, his tail swishing. 

"Never thought I would see you pout at some mud." 

Trying his best not to seem indignant G'raha crosses his arms over his chest, his proud ears still fanned back slightly as he faces away from him. "I am not. 'Tis just, I spent the better part of the morning making sure my gear is up to the task, and this fur is from an actual Great White Torama coeurl and well, it will take several bells just to get the fur white again. " Despite himself, he lets out a dejected sigh, hands falling back to his sides as his gaze follows. One of his ears twitches, realizing how silly he must look in the eyes of his friend. G'raha has yet to admit it, but he bought these archer boots and bracers specifically to try to impress him once he learned the Warrior of Light himself would be hired for the expedition. They cost him no small amount of Gil, and he worked tirelessly at any venue he qualified for to earn that extra bit of coin. Of course, Y'sato doesn't know that. Instead, he was told he hunted the beast down himself. Cheeks tinted pink G'raha recalls how he with not just a little bravado boasted about vanquishing not just one but two of the mighty, legendary beasts thanks to his exemplary marksmanship and this just mere moments after they were first acquainted. 

'Sharlayan has never seen a better marksman.'  He boasted to all and sundry. Arms held out wide he looked to the sky, mismatched eyes all asparkle. Heedless of the consequences he turned towards the Warrior with a wide grin, aiming to do anything to impress. 

To prove myself worthy.

'Behold!'  With those words he drew his bow and knocked an arrow back in one practiced fluid motion. Taking aim he let it fly, the sharp arrow point barely nicking the singular silvery earring hanging from Y'sato's left ear, making it jingle before burrowing deep into a wooden storage box behind him with a loud thwack. 

Full of himself he awaited accolades, but instead he was scolded by Rammboes for imprudent and reckless use of a weapon of war in their camp. 

'What were you thinking! Firing upon the Warrior of Light like that. Put the bow down and go apologize right this instant.'

His hands clench into tight fists from the memory, of how Y'sato had looked at him in that moment, eyes wide with his ears pinned back, tail all tense with all hairs standing on end, swaying low at his feet. Foolish. Just utterly foolish. It struck him later that night, that if his aim wasn't true, Y'sato would- 

"Hey, is everything alright? You seem...out of sorts today." A gentle touch on his shoulder, the one unmarked by his tattoo draws him out of his ruminations. Ears twitching, tail flicking to life G'raha is quick to gather his wits. Forcing a smile he looks to Y'sato, it faltering on the edges when he sees the clear worry writ in his eyes, in the set of his ears. 

"I am. Worry not." He reassures by touching his arm, covering his hand with his. Looking back down at his muddied boot, G'raha shakes the larger clumps sticking to the fur off. They splatter to the ground with a sedate squelch, "Tis nothing that a good rinse in the lake won't amend later. Come, my friend. Adventure awaits!" With renewed vigor and an excited swish of his tail, he takes the lead this time, looking back just in time to see Y'sato smile at him, ever so fondly. Fleet of foot as he is, he sidesteps the puddle like nothing. 

"If you say so." Y'sato stands next to him now, the gentle smile never leaving his face. It is infectious, and with it, G'raha can tell his own grows into something far more genuine, affectionate. A smile not born of bravado, or of masking how he truly feels, but something that he can truly call his. 

"Now, what I want to show you isn't far from here. We don't even need to step into the swampier more dangerous parts. We just-" What Y'sato was meaning to say gets swallowed up by the way his breath abruptly hitches in his throat. In that instant, the fond look on his face changes, falls away. A look of alarm flashes through vibrant green irises, his eyes no longer on G'raha, and said young historian can only watch dumbfounded as vertical pupils much akin to his own constrict for a fraction then dilate from whatever horrible sight his friend is seeing just past G'raha's shoulder, his ears drawing back. His gaze is so intense, a look of pure terror he has never seen on his friend's face freezing G'raha to the spot, the fur at the base of his tail already starting to bristle. It finally dawns on him something is lurking nearby behind him and...he hears it. A slithering wet sound, uncomfortably close. It is followed by a deep rumbling roar which has his ears immediately flatten back against his head.

"Quick behind me!" Y'sato doesn't waste a breath and is already grabbing G'raha by his shoulder, roughly pulling him to stand behind him. Struggling to catch his bearings G'raha hears the unmistakable sound of sleek blades being unsheathed and he looks back to see Y'sato standing in a protective stance in front of him, silver daggers already in hand, glinting in the sunlight. But more than that he finally gets to lay his eyes on the origin of the horrible sounds.

And he instinctively takes a step back, mismatched eyes wide. This creature...he has only ever seen depictions of it in books... Dread already churns low in his stomach from the sight, all hairs standing on end as his tail lashes.

Before him a slithering mass of slimy tentacles fast approaches, towering, its color a sickly dark green, blending in well amongst the humid foliage of the swamp. Its face or what is supposed to be a face is nothing but a huge gaping maw filled with jagged yellowed teeth. It is already upon them before they can even think about making a run for it, drool and slime sticking to and drooping from its teeth, from the roof of its mouth, and yet as horrifying as it looks it is the rancid smell that gets to G'raha the most. Of rot and decay. It burns in his nose, his eyes watering as he bends over, clutching a hand to his mouth. He can already feel it, the tell-tale prickle of bile creeping up his throat. How can Y'sato stand this? This pervasive all-consuming stench already has his head spin. 

"Raha, look out!"

It happens so fast. One moment he is standing fighting his hardest not to retch, and in the next, he is shoved to the side as a thud of something heavy slams into the spot where he just stood. He hits the ground roughly with a grunt, his bare shoulder being scraped up on the coarse root of a tree there it partly sticks up from the earthen, soggy ground. G'raha quickly blinks his watery eyes as he pushes himself up on his knees, straining to get a hold of his bearings. Without thinking he immediately starts looking for the horrible monstrosity, Y'sato, and-

Something big and green and slimy nearly swipes him in the face. Instinctively he ducks, feeling droplets of slime fall on his ears, sticking to the silken fur. There are clear sounds of struggle now. Wet squelchy sounds of what must be Y'sato stabbing and slicing his daggers into this...this...thing. And its roar, near deafening has G'raha pin his ears back down again covering them with his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut.

This overpowering stench, this presence. This is nothing like the hapalit, or any monstrosity he has ever faced. Every fiber, every instinct screams at him to get up and make a run for it. To save his own skin. It would be so easy to heed it, to submit to the way his heart hammers against its confines within his ribcage, a thunderous beat that reverberates through his entire body, matching the rhythm of his shallow, ragged breathing. The frenzied haze clouding his mind threatening to override all reason is almost overwhelming.

His tail thumps into the ground, hard. No, he will not flee. He cannot! Will never turn tail and run leaving Y'sato to fight this thing all on his own when he needs him the most. Even as the storied hero he is, as strong as he is, even he  has his limits G'raha well knows.

Once more he sees his friend being dashed against the crystal before his mind's eye, going all limp. His eyes dazed and unfocused in the aftermath, straining to even breathe...

With a ragged breath, G'raha pushes himself back to his feet despite the stench coming off this thing making him want to vomit. In one swift motion, he draws his bow, knocks an arrow, and eyes still watery he seeks out his quarry. He can only dream of ever being as proficient in the martial arts as Y'sato, but he is a good marksman at least.

Drawing a deep, purposeful breath through slightly parted lips to better handle the pervasive stench hanging thick in the air he takes aim, even as his fingers tremble slightly. Y'sato has the full attention of the beast on him now, his blade work and fleet footedness so quick G'raha struggles to keep up with him, but keep up he must. He doesn't want to hit him. Cannot hit him.

With a careful aim, bowstring drawn taunt he bides his time until...He sees it. With a keen eye, he spots his window as his friend leaps up to stab the morbol on the top of its head. Letting out a breath G'raha allows the arrow to fly. It shrieks through the air with scarcely enough time to blink before it sinks deep into sodden flesh. Right where one of its slimy tentacles meets its body. 

A thunderous roar fills the air as it flails around and Y'sato uses his momentum to leap back, letting go of his daggers momentarily as he does a quick series of signs with his hands before just as deftly landing on his feet, snatching his blades out of the air before they can even hit the ground. A volatile surge fills the air, the crackling of static alone making all hairs on the back of G'raha's neck stand on end. A crack of thunder rends the air, a bright flash and G'raha squints his eyes from the sheer intensity of it all.

He immediately recognizes the technique having seen Y'sato use it before on occasion. The mudra known as raiton, but this. He finds himself trembling in terror and awe both from the sheer velocity, the intensity of it all. Such...power.

Another roar rips through the air, but G'raha detects something else, the unmistakable smell of something burning. He glimpses it, the smoldering green, oozing flesh exposed just by the corner of its lower mandible where Y'sato's raiton struck. A weak spot.

This is my chance!

G'raha doesn't hesitate. Before Y'sato can leap in again to continue his fierce assault he lets another arrow fly and it strikes true, piercing deep. His ears flatten from the high-pitched shriek of agony, but his heart soars nevertheless. He hit it just where he intended, and from the sounds of it, he hurt it good.

Elated he quickly reaches for another arrow but something is amiss. As soon as he has a new arrow knocked he discovers to his horror the slithering, roaring monstrosity turns its attention over to him, its maw opened wide as the twitching mass of tentacles leaps towards him. It literally jumps! His heart skips a beat as time itself flows to a standstill, not believing what he is seeing. 

It all happens so quickly. The slithering terror is already upon him. He knows he should move, do something but his feet are frozen, eyes wide as he stares right into the open maw.

"Raha, move!" Someone slams into him, shoves him roughly aside just in time to dodge another trashing tentacle, from the gnashing teeth closing around him. Losing his grip around his bow G'raha once more finds himself sprawled out on the ground on his back. Frustration grips him, his tail thumping into the mud, sticking to the downy, red fur. Better. He must do better!

Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the mud clinging to his clothes, his fur he locates his bow. As soon as he has it within his grip he knocks another arrow and whips around to face their quarry.

And there he freezes. Y'sato, he is on his knee, struggling to catch his breath. The horrible tentacled mass towers over him. It looks completely unaffected no matter how much his friend has fought to bring it down.

Putrid, sickly green gas starts gathering in its horrid maw, and G'raha knows what this means. He has read numerous articles about the topic after all. Of the signature vile poisonous breath endemic to morbols and the horrible effects it has, and his dearest friend is sitting within its range completely at its mercy.

Such fear heats his skin, courses through his veins in a cold burst. He does not think as he calls his name, his voice frantic.

"Sato!"

His friend flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. He won't budge. He won't do anything but sit there. To just take it. G'raha doesn't think. He won't sit by witnessing his friend being struck down again, leaving him before him injured or worse in the aftermath, barely able to remain conscious. Never again on his watch. He cannot!

Going against Y'sato's wishes he runs within range. Fuelled by adrenaline he unleashes a barrage of arrows, sending them all shrieking through the air. His bowstring sings, each of them striking true, embedding themselves within its sodden flesh in a chorus of sickening squelchy thuds, piercing through slimy, rancid flesh, sinking deep. Tentacles twitch as silence falls over the swamp...

Did I...Did I kill it? 

For a hopeful, triumphant moment, G'raha lowers his bow, an arrow knocked as he takes a careful step forward, the sole of his boot sinking slightly into the mud. Tension hangs thick in the air as his keen eyes don't stray from his quarry. If he killed it does that mean-

His triumph...is short-lived. With a piercing screech, the morbol trashes, tentacles whipping the mud, splattering it over the sodden ground, clumps of sodden earth hitting G'raha's cheek, his hair, everywhere it can reach making him flinch. He hardly has time to think, to attempt to wipe it off before the monstrosity is already upon him, vile poison dripping from its jagged teeth as it moves with an uncanny speed. 

Once more everything slows to a standstill. He can see Y'sato, finally spurred to action, his movements frantic as he plunges his daggers into sodden putrid flesh in its back and yet it has no effect. In response, the green sickly-looking gas finally spills from the gaping maw.

Every fiber of G'raha's being screams at him to run. To do something but his legs again betray him.

It hits his senses like wildfire. One moment he is able to breathe, the next...all he knows is an all-consuming cloying stinging sensation filling his nose, his mouth, his eyes. They widen as they completely brim over with tears, but it is nothing, nothing compared to the searing sensation he can feel burn on his tongue, burning down the inside of his throat, the way it starts to painfully squeeze, squeezing so tight in response. He staggers, his muscles already starting to lose all strength. His bow drops to the ground but it's no longer of any consequence, his hands already clawing desperately at his throat as he gags.

"Raha!"

He knows the voice belongs to Y'sato's but it's completely overshadowed by this need. This overpowering need to just breathe. His head spins, eyes still wide. He gasps but no breath enters his lungs, in its place, there is nothing but this burning, searing, unbearable pain. His heart hammers wildly in his chest in his desperation and although he cannot see him he tries to reach out for Y'sato, his hands reaching out blindly in the direction he believes his friend to be.

Sato...He-help me!...I...I don't want to-

He's unable to finish the thought. Eyes rolling back his knees buckle, his muscles convulsing...

He doesn't even feel the impact with the ground.

-.-.-

A searing pain, overwhelming, and something tasting the most foul being dumped down his throat is all he knows, impeding his ability to breathe. He coughs, sputters, a whimper escaping him. In that panicked moment, he's not certain if he is alive or dead. Everything is so distant, cold, even breathing being an immense effort, his lungs burning. Where-

"Raha, I know it tastes foul...you're hurting, but you...drink it. Please." 

There are fingers in his hair, gentle, familiar. G'raha's eyes flutter open to the soothing touch, to the familiar voice. The sight that meets him is a blurred mess of warm browns and reds, but the presence standing next to him, he knows it, and that alone brings him peace. 

Sato...

Someone feeds him more of the foul, bitter liquid, but with Y'sato's comforting touch in his hair, G'raha wordlessly complies, even as he struggles to keep his eyes open. Tired, he is so very tired...

"That's it." His friend encourages still running his fingers through his hair. It combined with the bitterness on his tongue, the burning prickling sensation running through his veins, his muscles, has him shiver. There is no conscious thought, just instinct as he seeks out Y'sato's comforting touch, in how he leans into the sensation of him scratching him behind one of his ears. He's not aware of the sound he is making, nor the alarm in Y'sato's voice as he steadily grows weaker. 

"No, rest. Save your strength. You need it."

His eyes drifts shut...

And he knows no more. 

-.-.-

Burning...A burning sensation in the back of his throat is the first thing he is aware of as he stirs back to lucidity. Then a breath, a bit labored, raspy...He realizes...it is coming from him.

Wait the monstrosity! Sato-I...is he-

His eyes snap open with a gasp and it is only due to all of his muscles still being so drained he doesn't shoot up right then and there. G'raha's chest heaves, his lungs burning, but one thing is clear to him in that very instant. He can finally breathe.

"Raha!" A face comes into focus, bright green eyes filled with such fear and worry G'raha has never seen. It grips his heart. Y'sato's ears are drawn back as he hovers above him all tense, his eyes quickly searching G'raha's face and it is then he finally realizes he isn't outside in the Tangle. In fact, he isn't outside at all, first now growing aware of the soft yet firm mattress under his back, of the plush pillow beneath his head This...this is somewhere in the Toll, and he is wearing more simple clothes made of...cotton? Looking around briefly he sees other beds to his left and right, a simple wooden chair drawn up to his bed on his right, a tall ceiling above, the room lit up by low warm candlelight and flickering oil lamps. Is this..is he, in the headquarters of the Scions?

"Wh-what happened?" He coughs as he speaks, first now realizing how hoarse his voice sounds. He swallows thickly, trying to ignore the persistent soreness in his throat. The burning. The last thing he can remember is the tentacled monstrosity looking his way and...and an overwhelming cloying burning sensation overwhelming his senses, seizing his lungs, robbing him of the ability to breathe.

"You...you were hit by its vile breath." Y'sato is still hovering above him and G'raha realizes his hands are on his shoulders. The fear is still so palpable in his eyes, the tense set of his ears. It even leaks into his voice as he continues. "It...was a morbol. I have seen-You almost-" Y'sato chokes, quickly looking away to the side but G'raha can feel the way he trembles from where he still holds onto his shoulders. The pain in his voice isn't lost on him. Y'sato he...has seen someone die to a morbol's breath and it wasn't pretty.

G'raha doesn't know how to respond. This side of him. This side of his friend is one he has never seen before and it stuns him into silence. Y'sato's eyes are on his again but he quickly averts his gaze as he still trembling sits back in his chair.

"I couldn't get to you fast enough. You-you were choking, completely seizing up and-" Y'sato refuses to look up from his lap, his bare hands tightening around the fabric of his pants so hard G'raha sees his knuckles turn white. "I used an antidote I had on me to try save you but... you didn't stir, barely even breathing. I rushed here with you as fast as I could but you stopped breathing and-"

G'raha can only watch and listen to Y'sato's account all stunned. He can tell his friend is trying to be strong for his sake but his voice falters, now a broken thing filled with the immense fear he is still feeling. His ears are still pinned flat against his head and he refuses to look G'raha in the eye.

"Luckily, Y'sthola wasn't out on a mission and thanks to her assistance and Urianger whom she called to her aid they managed to stabilize you."

He goes quiet, leaving the words hanging, but G'raha can still feel it, the terror, the fear still radiating off of him in waves. Can hear it in the way his breath sharply hitches in his throat, sees it in the way a single tear slips free, landing on the back of his hand.

It hurts to watch. He should do something. Say something. Anything.

"Sato I..." G'raha begins, but he stops still not knowing quite what to say. His voice still sounds so hoarse, his throat tight. It is a struggle to talk, to even move and his breaths still comes out too raspy and labored for his liking. The sounds of it do him no favors. In truth, it only makes things worse, as his friend's chest heaves, shudders. 

"I thought I lost you...I feared you wouldn't wake..."

Y'sato's voice sounds so small in that moment G'raha feels his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He realizes he has been careless. He could have done something...moved away from the noxious green gas but he didn't. Instead...he has burdened Y'sato. Cut him deeper than any blade.

His friend is still not looking at him, his head bowed making it hard for G'raha to make out his eyes, hidden behind his bangs as they are, but he sees it. Another tear dropping down to join the one already on the back of one of his trembling hands. He looks so hurt...broken. Furthermore his clothes, his hair...He looks more bedraggled than G'raha has ever seen him, his hair a disheveled mess sticking up in odd directions, mud clinging to his clothes, and something dark green sticks to his skin in splotched, splattered patterns...morbol blood.

But most distressing of all the quiet confidence and assuredness G'raha has known him to always exude...is gone.

It is...he feels something within him shift. He wants to reach out. To do anything to comfort his friend. The words come to him easily.

"Sato, I'm fine, truly. All thanks to you." He offers him a reassuring smile, one Y'sato doesn't see, his head bowed looking down into his lap as he still is, his hands still gripping onto the fabric of his pants so fiercely, trembling but G'raha smiles warmly nevertheless. He knows if it wasn't for Y'sato he would have been a dead man now. "I would surely be dead if you had not come to my aid, so truly, thank you."

His words, his reassurance doesn't have the effects he hoped for. Instead of Y'sato raising his head to look at him he remains despondent, his ears still drawn back against his head beginning to droop.

"I almost got you killed!" His voice comes out harsh, bordering on a shout and it takes G'raha by surprise, his ears pressing back into his pillow. The hurt in his friend's voice cuts through the air between them like a knife. "I know. I well know the Tangle is notorious for its morbols, and yet I thought...I thought we would be fine. That I could protect you in case we were attacked, but again I faltered. I failed you." He chokes once more and this time he does not continue but he doesn't need to. G'raha already knows. Can already hear the unspoken words, the plea in his voice.

Y'sato chokes again, but he finds his voice, managing to force out a rueful. "I'm sorry."

Sato...

G'raha hesitates. It hurts him...to see his friend so distraught. What was meant to be a little fun excursion shared between friends almost ended in tragedy. G'raha breathes in, a small inhale before letting it out. While his throat still feels tight, a burning sensation still lingering on the back of his tongue he believes he will recover in due time given adequate rest. His muscles scream in protest as he slowly pushes himself up but he ignores it. His friend, he needs him.

Once he sits upright he looks to his friend. Mismatched eyes still on Y'sato's trembling form, his bowed head, his drooping ears, G'raha knows what he must do.

He doesn't want Y'sato to blame himself. After all G'raha himself opted to accompany him, opted to join in on the fighting, and let loose those arrows. Smiling he reaches out, slightly callused fingertips finally coming to rest on Y'sato's cheek. A gentle touch.

The reaction is immediate. Eyes wide Y'sato's head snaps up to look at him and G'raha sees them, the unshed tears shimmering in his eyes, the raw fear and guilt, and in response, he smiles. Warm, and reassuring.

Seeing him like this further solidifies to him that despite all the tales he has heard about the Warrior of Light and his deeds...Of the Eikon slayer, The Champion of Erozea...Ultima's bane...He is a normal person at his core. Just as human as everyone else, with fears and hurts and wants of his own, and right now he is hurting so badly.

And G'raha wants to amend that. In any way he can.

"Tis all right. You have nothing to apologize for." He says gently, his voice so soft, so warm. His gaze never strays from Y'sato's, wanting to prove to him he will be there for him always. His touch lingers on his cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of one of his Seeker arrows markings under one of his eyes. They have always been more pronounced than his, a shade darker in color. Something borne of his mixed heritage perhaps? It does not matter. Y'sato is beautiful just the way he is.

And Y'sato he is still looking at him with those eyes holding so much hurt and distress. G'raha is still taken aback by it all, and yet this...makes it easier. Emboldened G'raha allows the full weight of his palm to press lightly onto his cheek, taking heart he does not flinch away from his touch. He can feel the jagged old scar of his there so clearly under his palm. A scar whose origin he has yet to learn, but it does not matter.

He likes Y'sato just the way he is.

"And please, don't blame yourself so. You kept its attention on yourself well enough. It was I who chose to walk within its range, not heeding your warnings. I choose to join the fray. I am the one who was not fast enough, so really I should be the one to apologize." G'raha punctuates each word, holding Y'sato's gaze as he speaks. He smiles again. A bright smile, an earnest look in his eyes. "So forgive me, Sato. For frightening you so. It is clear it struck deep." He chuckles nervously, bowing his head. "In a sense, I suppose this makes us even. Don't you agree?"

His words, his kindness. He can tell from the minute twitching of his friend's ears and the way his lower lip trembles they all struck home.

With a shuddering breath, Y'sato leans into his touch, closing his eyes as his face crumples. Tears streak down his cheeks, hitting the side of G'raha's thumb from where his hand still cradles his cheek but he doesn't pull away. This feels...While seeing his friend being so distraught still makes his heart ache, the fact that he alone can offer his friend such comfort...that Y'sato...The Fabled Warrior of Light himself allows himself to be this vulnerable around him...It has his heart swell. Never in his wildest dreams did G'raha ever dare imagine that someone so storied, so capable and strong...could still be so human...So down to earth...Within reach...

In this moment he is a man, just like everyone else. 

Wordlessly Y'sato leans forward, his forehead coming to rest against G'raha's shoulder. G'raha doesn't hesitate. He wraps his arms around his friend, hugging him close. No words are needed. It feeling like the most natural thing to do in the world he reaches up to cradle the back of Y'sato's head, his fingers running through his hair so gently, so soothingly. There is a dampness clinging to the soft strands, his armor being in no better shape, the dampness seeping into his cotton shirt but G'raha doesn't mind. Doesn't mind at all.

Y'sato is alive, they both are, and that's all that truly matters. 

A sob wrenches itself free from his friend. A heartbreaking sound, his breath a hot burst against the skin on the side of G'raha's neck as his friend clings to him with all he got, his grip so desperate as he cries in earnest. He trembles, tail curling close to his leg. He both sounds and looks so small, so broken as he buries his face further into the crook of his neck, but G'raha says nothing even when his heart aches so badly for him. Every sob, every hitched breath, every tear staining his skin rending his heart in twain.

I am here, Sato. I am here. Tis all right. Just let it out.

Feeling tears burn behind his own eyes he just holds him tighter as he gently starts to scratch him behind one of his drooping, trembling ears, aiming to soothe in any way he can, fighting the way his own ears start to droop.

He is too choked up to speak, too overwhelmed to do aught else but he hopes him just being there for him hugging him close, is enough.

Silence stretches on between them for what feels like an eternity, but he doesn't mind. He lets Y'sato lean on him for as long and as much as he needs, only lowering his arms when Y'sato eventually pulls away, sniffling. He quickly runs a hand over his puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks in an attempt to wipe away his tears, clearly feeling self-conscious as he turns away but G'raha can already tell he is doing much better. His ears have returned much to their normal relaxed position although still drooping slightly and his hands are no longer clutching around the fabric of his pants so tightly.

"Thank you..." Y'sato finally says, meeting G'raha's eyes a bit sheepishly. They are still shimmering from unshed tears but the fear and hurt in them are gone, replaced with gratitude and the fondness G'raha long has found himself to appreciate. He smiles at him in response, eyes shining.

"Think not of it. You would have done the same for me." Of that he has no doubt, seeing how much Y'sato has already done for him. Praising his singing, hugging him close in their tent, inviting him for adventures. Going for late afternoon swims in the lake. Racing to see who is the fastest. Spending long nights under the stars just laughing and joking around carefree as one can be.

And now G'raha owes him his life.

G'raha's tail flicks. Such warmth floods in his chest. What he has with Y'sato, their connection. He is his first true friend aside from Krile and he won't trade it for anything in the whole world, and while he knows this event cut it close. Way too close for comfort, he yet finds himself having no regrets. If being so reckless saved Y'sato from a similar fate that he himself suffered, he would do it again. Gladly and without hesitation.

A tremulous smile graces Y'sato's lips. One that touches his still-shimmering teary eyes and it immediately draws G'raha's attention, worry sparking to life in his chest.

"Sato? Is aught amiss?"

"No. I'm just happy. So immensely happy." Another tear escapes and he is quick in wiping it away, sniffling, but his smile. His radiant, genuine smile remains.

Still worried G'raha grabs the opportunity to look more closely at Y'sato's garb. Despite having fought toe to toe single-handedly with a morbol for the most part he still looks relatively unscathed. Aside from his hair still being damp and disheveled and his armor still covered with mud and the remains of what G'raha surmised to be morbol blood judging from the, well stench that still clings to them both, there is hardly a scratch on him. Not visible to his discerning eye at least. G'raha knows he is The Warrior of Light and that he has slayed many a primal but...that morbol, that monstrosity was so...horrifyingly strong to him, and he knows the sight of it affected Y'sato. The sheer terror he saw so clearly in his eyes, freezing him to the spot. G'raha already knows he doesn't want to see it. Never again.

In many ways, he still struggles to comprehend it. How could Y'sato face that thing, undaunted when just the sight of it terrified him so?

"The morbol. Pray tell. What...happened to it?" He finally asks although he thinks he already knows the answer. He severely doubts Y'sato managed to make his escape with his unconscious dying self in his hands.

"It's dead...I made sure of it." There is a dark note in his voice as Y'sato says the last part. One that sends a chill down G'raha's spine. He sees it reflected even in his eyes. A dark emotion, contempt, hatred. G'raha recalls it, how potent that one lighting mudra was, how it made every hair stand on end...He can see it vividly, the smoldering sliced-up heap of what once was a morbol left to rot in the Tangle...

He praises his lucky stars he is on Y'sato's good side.

Still, it has another question rise to the surface. Most adventurers would find themselves hard-pressed to fight a morbol on their own. Even less hope to defeat it. G'raha hesitates, bringing his knuckles to his lips...No he has to ask. Has to find out the source behind Y'sato's strength, his immense fortitude.

"There is something I have wanted to ask. How do you do it? I mean.." He pauses gathering his thoughts before he once more looks Y'sato in the eye. "What is the source behind your power? I know you are gifted with Hydealyn's blessing and the Echo both but...Your mudra. I could not help but notice its potency. I feel there has to be something more to it. I would be ever grateful if you would enlighten me."

G'raha coughs, his voice still much too hoarse but in this endeavor, he will prevail. He has been curious for moons and after having seen Y'sato in action himself on numerous occasions his curiosity now burns brighter than ever.

Bright green eyes regard him for a moment but G'raha meets his gaze unflinchingly. As if coming to a silent understanding Y'sato brings a hand to the center of his chest. G'raha glimpses it then, a spark of the most resplendent light shimmering under his palm. It grows in intensity and materializing into his hand...there is a crystal.

G'raha's eyes immediately grow wide. He knows what his eyes are beholding but it is something he has only ever read about in fables...In old myths.

That is...That is a Crystal of Light!

Y'sato gently lowers his hand, the blue luminous crystal now resting comfortably in his palm, his fingers cradling it with such reverent care G'raha has ever only seen him do to him. He finds himself captivated by the sight, looking on, transfixed. The crystal is pristine, flawless, its radiance without parallel. Never in his life did he ever think he would be lucky enough to behold one and not this close, held out before him like this.

"It is-it is magnificent." He says breathlessly, too stunned to find words. G'raha manages to tear his eyes away long enough to meet Y'sato's. His friend is smiling at him, a knowing gentle smile, his eyes lit up by the light of the crystal. 

"Where...How...how did you acquire it?"

"From overcoming trials bid by Hydealyn herself."

His explanation alone is noteworthy, but G'raha finds himself even more stunned when Y'sato follows up his words by offering him the crystal, the warm, knowing smile still on his lips.

"You-you cannot possibly mean. It is yours...A Crystal of Light will only accept the one who has rightfully earned it I-"

"I know," Y'sato says. "But if you like you can have a closer look. I trust you."

The magnitude of Y'sato's last words hits G'raha like a surging deluge. That he, the Warrior of Light trusts him enough to...Him being just a lowly Archon and Student both, to personally behold, to even touch a Crystal of Light. It is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. A once in a lifetime opportunity.

His hands trembling G'raha reaches out for the legendary crystal. He can already feel its potent aether, can feel it hum against his skin scarce before he has even been able to lay a finger on it. With great reverence and care, he holds it in his hands as Y'sato lets go of it and already G'raha is overwhelmed by the sheer...power it exudes. It is pulsating with light, its energies already coursing through him. Pure light, shimmering, all-encompassing in its brilliance, and yet it is a comforting feeling. Warm...much like the faceted, smooth surface of the crystal itself feels against his skin. He also feels something else. Like he's being submerged in a hot spring, gentle water currents swirling all around him and in that very moment, he realizes this shining blue crystal is aligned with water.

"This-this is truly marvelous! You don't know how much this means to-" And there G'raha's voice falters. In his excitement, he looked up to the owner of the crystal just to find him staring into space. In fact, Y'sato stares right through him, his eyes widening and G'raha watches with growing concern as vertical pupils dilate overtaking the bright green of his irises, followed with his mouth falling open in stunned silence, lips quivering. Even his ears twitch slightly, perking up. The sight unnerves G'raha enough he almost drops the crystal he's still holding in his hands.

"Sato? What's wrong? Is aught amiss?"

His friend quickly blinks, the growing panic in G'raha's voice seeming to have snapped him out of whatever trance he had just found himself lost in, but it does nothing to still the worry clawing at G'raha's heart. Y'sato's pupils are still so dilated and G'raha is once more reminded of his friend's mixed heritage, his pupils able to dilate faster than what is common for most sun Seekers, the dark depths almost round already. A sight he still hasn't grown quite used to.

"I-I'm fine just-" Y'sato says as he squeezes his eyes shut but the slight quiver in his voice isn't lost on G'raha..."It's...it's hard to explain but you holding that crystal. It feels like you...you're reaching into my very soul...cradling it."

G'raha's eyebrows shoot up and so does his ears.

What!?

Not believing what he just heard he looks back down at the crystal. Y'sato...could he have known? No...the way he behaves begs to differ. In that moment G'raha wants nothing but to hand the crystal back feeling he has overstepped his bounds. He is about to do just that, handing back the crystal but Y'sato raises a hand.

"It's-its alright...It's not an unwelcome feeling. Just a bit...strange is all."

G'raha doesn't miss noticing the fondness on his face at his words, paired with...something else. Something smoldering, something passionate burns in the very depths of his eyes. Y'sato raises a hand to his chest, smiling, his gaze now downcast.

What his friend is feeling in this very moment is so abundantly clear to him. Still, G'raha needs confirmation.

"Did...did you know?"

Y'sato shakes his head.

"You-you mean...I am the first? To ever hold this crystal?"

"And I'm happy you're the one. Truly"

Y'sato's eyes are on his again and G'raha has to avert his gaze. Those eyes, those dark still dilated pupils hold such a...potent mix of emotions in that very moment G'raha is afraid he will find himself drowning in their depths if he looks into them for but a moment longer.

Feeling the unmistakable tingly warmth creep into his cheeks G'raha looks down at the legendary gem still resting in his hands. To think he simply holding this crystal could elicit such a response from his friend. The question then is, why? His eyes narrow in thought as he studies the radiant crystal more closely, seeing the aether swirl amidst its blinding radiance. The shapes are hard to make out at first but G'raha thinks he can make out meteors or...shooting stars? He knows these crystals are gifts from Hydealyn herself and Y'sato materialized it from his very being...G'raha's brows raise slightly and he looks back over to Y'sato. He is still sitting there, his eyes regarding him with such warm affection, tail swishing to and fro behind him, slowly but rhythmically, never resting long on either side of his seat. Could it be? Could the crystal... have bonded to his very soul?

Well, 'tis just a theory, but...from his reaction to judge it is highly likely...

His tail flicks. Curiosity getting the better of him he experimentally runs the pad of his index finger over the smooth flawless surface, the movement slow and deliberate as he watches him with the keenest interest.

Y'sato's response is immediate. His breath hitches sharp in his throat, his tail stuttering in its contented swishing as he grips his seat. There is such fervor in his gaze as he looks at G'raha. A deep-seated want burning within, his pupils dilating further, leaving just thin green rings behind...

The sight has such heat pulse within him, thrilling him to no end. Deep and low, settling somewhere in his groin, a rising ache. Once more his tail flicks, the downy tip quivering, he himself already shifting closer to his friend, his gaze falling to his parted lips. Were they always so... soft-looking? Enticing? Nervously, he quickly licks his own lower lip. They are already so close, noses almost touching. Perhaps he should-Perhaps it wouldn't hurt if he-

But there, G'raha catches himself. No this isn't right! He has already overstepped his bounds, held the crystal for way too long, used it to be intimate with his friend in ways he never dared imagine. The way Y'sato looks at him. Such want, such unbridled passion. This is not the time, nor the place. He cannot-

Swallowing thickly, heart racing, G'raha almost shoves the crystal back into Y'sato's hands, feeling sheepish and not just a little embarrassed, his tail unable to stay still there it thumps rapidly into the bedding, but at least Y'sato hasn't found the experience a bad one. Quite the opposite in fact. Freed from whatever hold him holding the crystal had on him, Y'sato is already starting to look a bit more level-headed, his senses seemingly no longer flooding over from a surge of strong emotions and it puts G'raha's heart more at ease, still not quite sure what to do with himself, or the aching pulse he feels below. Discreetly he crosses his legs, moving his tail to rest in his lap. Anything to hide any proof so he doesn't embarrass himself further. 

"I...My apologies. I do not know what came over me." He can't bring himself to meet Y'sato's eyes. Not yet. A part of him still can't believe he has just if by Y'sato's account to go by, reached into his very soul...Cradled it, caressed it, saw him starting to come undone at his fingertips...

His cock, traitorous as it proves itself to be, twitches hopefully at the thought, and in response G'raha crosses his legs further, tail drawing closer, praying his friend won't notice. He cannot deny, that he has had certain...feelings surge up within him when Y'sato looks at him or touches him in a certain way, and now to see his friend react so strongly to him touching what is essentially a part of him...

Cease the thought. We are both just riled up from the near-death encounter surely. Emotions are high...It is natural to seek comfort. To find relief. That is all this is. Nothing more, so calm yourself. 

Caught in his thoughts as he is, G'raha doesn't notice as Y'sato returns his crystal to its rightful place, a fluster in his voice as he looks down at himself. There is an unmistakable red tint in his cheeks as he smiles shyly, ears fanned back. "I...it's alright, truly. I...I don't know what happened either." 

"I...I think it would be wise for us to just forget any of this happened."

Y'sato just nods, still not looking him in the eye, "Agreed." 

It takes him a moment, all of his focus on willing the unwanted tight, fullness in his pants away, the sensation starting to become uncomfortable. Managing to calm his erratic heartbeat somewhat G'raha finds the courage to regard him again. Y'sato's pupils while still pretty much dilated are slowly shrinking back down to their regular size, his crystal now fully merged back with his soul where it belongs. Good. Means he can return to the task at hand, and put this little silly incident behind them.

He frowns, ears twitching. Even with Her blessing and that remarkable Crystal of Light he can tell there must be another factor to his strength. Something...deeper. G'raha knows Y'sato isn't immune to fear... He after all witnessed it for himself. Saw it so clearly in his eyes...

Shifting slightly on the bed he looks down at his hands, unsure. No, he needs to ask. Taking a deep, cleansing breath he looks up to look his friend in the eye. "There was something else I was meaning to ask. The overwhelming stench of the morbol...was what made you unable to move earlier correct?" 

To this Y'sato just nods, ears attentive, knowing G'raha has more on his heart. It is all the incentive he needs. 

"So then, my real question is: Have you...ever felt so paralyzed by fear you find yourself unable to go on? I mean even when you froze in terror in the face of that morbol you still found the strength to vanquish it, to stand your ground...Same with the primals you have slain, showing such bravery, such...courage...How do you do it?"

A knowing look graces Y'sato's face, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of course I do—more than once I have felt it to the very pit of my stomach. You even saw for yourself earlier," He pauses and leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he looks down into his lap. "Truthfully, if you hadn't let loose those arrows that vile breath would have hit me. I was frozen in fear, but you coming to my aid emboldened me." His wistful expression doesn't last long, with a flick of his tail his lips twitch into a knowing smile, eyes again back on mismatched ones, and what G'raha sees there has him glued to his seat, a fluttery tingling warmth washing over him.  

Y'sato continues, his voice still so warm, such appreciation shining in his eyes G'raha forgets how to breathe.

"It's people like you who give me the strength to push myself back up on my feet, to forge on regardless of how dire a situation becomes. Something to protect. If I hadn't, you would have died. Both of us would have died."

G'raha knows his friend only means well, but it doesn't change the fact he burdened him, frightened him to his core. Ears drooping, his hands tighten around his pants. "It heartens me to hear you say so, but I merely did what felt right, and see where it led to," he sighs, looking down at himself, his sick clothes, the stench of morbol still sticking to him, his braid all undone. "I am no hero. In the end, you were the one who had to come to my rescue." 

There's a brush of a finger on his chin, and the unexpected though gentle gesture brings G'raha's eyes back to Y'sato, russet ears perking back up. His friend still smiles at him with that same knowing, warm smile, eyes alight. 

"But Raha, don't you see? You already have the makings of one. You knew untold terror and yet you found the strength to go on and to put others before yourself. If that isn't heroic I don't know what to tell you." He pauses, bringing a hand to his heart, his gaze downcast. In that moment he looks older and wiser than G'raha has ever seen him. "But I will tell you this. A reminder should you ever doubt yourself. Courage...is not the absence of fear, but the strength to overcome it."

This is...It is just like in the epics!

In that instant a chill envelopes his entire being, his eyes widening, his skin all atingle. He can feel it. Something stirring within his very being, a soul-deep resonance...

Courage...to overcome the insurmountable...

Something...to protect...

G'raha looks down into his lap, his hands trembling slightly. He thinks he finally understands. To stand one's ground no matter the terror. The overwhelming odds. He had knocked his arrow, taken aim. Emboldened by Y'sato's presence as always yes but still...he could have fled...left Y'sato behind to fend for himself but instead...he once more chose to fight, to run to his rescue just like he did with the hapalit weeks prior. All in a bid so he could keep continuing to adventure at his side, to see him live. 

And that reminds him of...

His eyes lightening up he looks at him, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Pray tell, my friend. What exactly is the secret you were going to show me?"

To this, Y'sato chuckles, a glint in his eye. "If I told you it would no longer be a secret would it? How about once you have recovered I'll show you? I promise I will be more vigilant this time."

G'raha can only smile back to him in turn, a wide vibrant smile, ears wiggling. "I will hold you to it."

-.-.-

Crimson eyes blinks slowly, the world gradually coming back into focus as he regains his bearings, echoes from the memory still ringing clearly in his mind. G'raha still finds himself sitting there on his knees, in the Tangle, his cowl shrouding his eyes from the sun still beaming down on him from above. Eyes wide, stunned he looks down at the dead crystal still cradled so tenderly in his hands. How...how could he have forgotten? Those words...helped spur him into sealing himself in the Tower in the first place...To seek out and fulfill his destiny.

Courage...The strength to overcome...

He clutches the crystal tightly to his chest, trembling. The flickering spark from before...he can feel it come to life within him once more. It is fickle at first but it takes hold and a light...a light is lit within him. Small and flickering but it is there, tangible. For the first time since he beheld the accursed phasmascapes, G'raha can finally see him. Y'sato, alive,  his bright green eyes full of hope and dreams for the future as he stands radiant before him, a smile so vibrant it rivals the sun. His lower lip quivering G'raha raises his head. In that instant, he knows. He knows what he must do.

With renewed strength he rises to his feet, crystal still held so tightly against his heart his hands tremble from the sheer intensity of the surge of emotions welling within him. The fire is back in his eyes, the crimson depths burning with steely determination. Without hesitation, he heads for the path leading to Rathefrost. His footfalls are heavy at first but the weight, the crushing weight in his chest already feels a little lesser, the wide hollow chasm already closing.

Thank you, Sato. For everything. I see now what I must do. I won't squander the moments we shared, my gift!

Dead crystal is unyielding under his feet as the ground rises to an incline, but G'raha still doesn't slow his quickened pace. In truth, he never had the opportunity to visit Rathefrost, although he did read about it, and when standing at the shores of the lake at their spot he could see it in the distance standing on top of the cliff, overlooking Midgardsorm and in the distance, the Crystal Tower. 

The incline grows steeper, a slope, and it's increasingly harder to get a good foothold on the smooth crystal under his feet, but G'raha forges on, resolved. When thinking on it, he and Y'sato never visited these parts of Mor Dhona again after the incident with the morbol. Between their duties for the expedition, and Y'sato still helping out the Scions on occasion there never was the time. It strikes him as he reaches the top of the steep incline. Could Rathefrost have been the secret he wanted to show him? 

No, it seems too, obvious. Too much out in the open. The eerie glow from the tree and its glimmering resplendent leaves catching on the sunlight could be seen even from the camp, and it and the scholar's mark are both, or well were, he corrects in his mind, well-known landmarks in Mor Dhona. Something that is made abundantly clear to him when he at last is able to lay his eyes on the fabled tree. 

Much like the rest of Mor Dhona's crystal it too stands dead, a dimmed nearly translucent thing, and although G'raha never had the opportunity to look closer at it before, he can already tell it must have been magnificent. A breathtaking otherworldly sight. Now it is just an empty husk, all of its leaves long having fallen, not a trace of them to be seen. The stone holding the scholar's mark stands before it, but even it has faded with time, a sign that even the Twelve has forsaken them. 

That sight alone has G'raha's tail falter, the fire burning within him fading slightly as he once more looks to the cloudless blue sky. It furthermore hammers in just how dire things have become. If even the Gods have forsaken them, how could there be any hope? 

But there is, feeble as it is, and his eyes at last find what he came here for. 

Y'sato's memorial isn't an extravagant thing, but G'raha can tell from the way the grey rocks and loose dimmed shards of crystal are stacked, that the Ironworks laid them down with utmost care and reverence. The sight alone already moves him, his heart squeezing in his chest. It's located right next to the stone carrying the scholar's mark to its left at the roots of Rathefrost. His legs still burning from the effort of climbing the steep incline, G'raha steps closer. This is it, this is the closest he will ever have to a tombstone for his long-departed dearest friend. 

Trepidation filling him, he closes his eyes, and with a purposeful breath, he kneels before the small stack of stone and translucent crystal, crystal shard still held tight to his chest. 

His fingers reach out for the words he can see chiseled into the largest rock forming its foundation before it really sinks in, but there is no mistaking it. This name, it is his, and the words on the stone simply reads: 

'In memory of our world's greatest ally and friend, we bestow this to you, Y'sato Igarashi. May the light of your legacy ever burn bright.' 

A lump forms in G'raha's throat, his fingers trembling as callused fingertips trace his friend's name, the engravings in the stone slightly rough under his skin. Something with it has caught his attention and doubly so. 

Igarashi...You...claimed a surname of your own...

Still trembling G'raha pulls his hand back, eyes transfixed on the name writ out in full before him. For a Seeker man born in a tribe to adopt a surname of his own, is highly unusual, to say the least, and if his memory serves him right Y'sato did introduce himself as a Tia the first time they met. 

He brings his trembling knuckles to his lips, eyes downcast there they are still shaded by his hood. There was...much he didn't know about Y'sato even back then, and so much more that happened after he locked himself in the Tower. Something happened that spurred him to take up a surname surely, and of those G'raha can only think of a small handful of instances. 

The realization slams into him, hard and cold. Could Y'sato have found someone? Taken up their name as his own?

He bites into his skin, one of his knuckles held between his teeth as he trembles. A strange possessiveness washes over him, and with such vehemence it has all of the fur on his tail bristle as it lashes under his cloak. It feels wrong. For Y'sato to be with someone else than him, is-

Earthen darkened blue is unforgiving under his fist as he slams it into the ground, his other hand tightening around the crystal still held to his heart. He pinches his eyes tight, the lump in his throat almost choking him. 

It matters not! I sealed myself away. Believed deep in my heart that was the last time I saw you. I have no right to claim you for my own, to deny you your happiness. Not after I-

His immense guilt sweeps over him like a heavy shroud, almost extinguishing the flickering light still burning within him. Resentful tears stir, and it is only by merit of choking them back, holding on to the crystal so fiercely, that they don't fall to the ground. Still a few slip free, streaking down his cheeks, but he is quick to catch them with the back of a hand, sniffling. 

No, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Not until he knows for certain. He looks back to the memorial before him. Shame heats his cheeks. This, this is not how he should comport himself before a memorial of all things, and least of all one dedicated to his dearest friend. 

"Forgive me, Sato," He says, rubbing a hand over his burning, teary eyes, his hood shifting slightly. "I didn't mean to begrudge you your happiness. 'Tis just, it has been a lot the last couple of days and-" The painful lump grows tighter, and it is an effort to breathe, to even talk but he needs to say this. To lay his heart bare. "I miss you, I miss you so much." 

The admission has his heart fit to burst, the tightness in his throat overbearing, but he swallows back against it, forces himself to speak through the tears blurring his sight, past his trembling lips. Such fire burns in Allagan red irises as he looks to his memorial, at his name. "I won't let the times we spent together be for naught. This second chance given me. I will walk the path no matter how steep. You will live again, Sato. I swear it!”

His very being burning with such fierce resolve he has ever known he suffuses the dead shard of crystal in his hands with aether, making it glow a vibrant luminous blue light. It is a pale imitation of a Crystal of Light, but this bounty of aether, he offers to him, his dearest friend. 

My love...

Gingerly he places it in front of Y'sato's memorial, its light washing over his name in a soothing glow. G'raha bows his head and brings a loose fist to his forehead, his skin brushing against the hem of his hood as he offers a solemn prayer. The Twelve may no longer be around to hear them, but in his heart of hearts, he hopes they will reach Y'sato, wherever he may be still drifting deep down somewhere in the lifestream... 

"I...I know I might never be able to make it up to you. Or to even properly apologize.” He squeezes his eyes shut, his ears drooping under the hood, “But as long as you will live…I…I am fine with it. It will be my way of paying recompense.”

And he knows that might very well be the truth, but so be it. This path, he will walk, no matter the cost! 

It is an effort but he manages to push himself back up on his feet. Pulling the hood a bit further down over his eyes he spares the memorial and the luminous crystal a final glance, its light lighting up his path, being his beacon, his guide. He has found his answer. 

Merely walking back is simply not enough. Spurred on by the fire lit within G'raha starts running towards the keep. He is the only shot they have, he is the key. He alone is the only one who can finish what the others have started and toiled so long for.

I won't let everything they have achieved be for naught! They need me, and in this, I will deliver. 

His lungs burn from the exertion but he doesn't stop, cannot stop. Not until he reaches the House of Splendours and upon running through the gates he immediately seeks out Biggs and Toshi. There is something he wants to know before he is ready to give them his answer.

People gasp loudly and look at him in surprise as his resolved hooded self rushes past, but he only has eyes for his destination. His newfound purpose. 

And the people of the keep are not the only ones taken aback by his shift in demeanor. Both Biggs and Toshi are taken by surprise as G'raha once more barges into the room they occupy themselves in. He doesn't give them time to even speak.

"A message. You said you wanted to give him a message. I would like to hear it!"

Toshi just blinks at him, clearly still taken aback but Biggs is quick to recover, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Ah yes. Our message. If you succeed we want you to tell him this," He pauses, as if to compose himself, then turns to look straight at G'raha, still smiling. "The light of your legacy was our torch in the darkness. Burn bright again...and live."

Those words... G'raha feels it. The flickering light in his chest born from his memories bursts outwards in an all-encompassing blinding warm light, pushing aside the cold dark void inside of him.

Next, he feels him, Y'sato's presence as if he's standing there right at his side as he used to, so tangible G'raha swears if he was to turn his head he would see him smiling at him, alive and as vibrant as ever. Like he never died in the first place, bright green eyes regarding him with such fondness, a wordless adoration. And with it, there's the quiet confidence, the trust in his capabilities, and his faith in his comrades no matter what may stand in his way.

Tears well up in G'raha's eyes but these are different. They come from somewhere warm, from the radiant light lit in his heart... A shudder running through his frame he pulls back his hood and despite the weariness, the dark circles still clinging to his puffy, teary eyes, they radiate so much hope it nearly lights up the entire room. He smiles just as brightly, ears wiggling with such joy as a tear slips free.

"I will see the message delivered. On this, you have my word."

Chapter Text

Acrid smoke fills the air, burns in his nose and lungs as he runs as fast as his legs can carry him out of the once proud house belonging to the Fortemps. Around him and following in his wake there are screams, chaos, shouts of displaced, desperate men and women. The city is being overrun, a clouded darkened sky hanging overhead like a thick oppressive veil. Stray snowflakes dance amidst glowing embers and pitch-black billows of smoke.

Once this city must have been quite a sight to behold judging from what remains of its architecture, but now it is naught but a flaming, smoking ruin.

"Quick. To the airship!" Biggs's voice is almost inaudible amidst the loud explosions with enough power to rattle the very fundament they stand.  Struggling to remain on his feet G'raha doesn't need to be asked twice.

Gunshots ring through the air and with such startling suddenness, his ears instinctively pin back, the fur on his tail bristling. He knows Biggs are covering their escape the best he can, and for now, he trusts in the aged roegadyn's judgment. That said G'raha doesn't come unharmed. Just days after he accepted their mission he was handed a makeshift ironworks patented metallic bow and a quiver of arrows, but as it stands a gun is more effective and Biggs gave him the explicit order of not engaging unless absolutely necessary. He is crucial to their operations after all. If he falls, everything they have toiled so hard for, will be in vain.

Something he tries his best not to dwell on as he runs down a sloping pathway, trying not to stumble on any pieces of rumble in his path or slip on thin ice. Another gunshot rings out, but he doesn't dare look back. Can't look back. Eyes forward he swiftly locates their airship, anchored at what he has surmised must once have been Ishgard's airship landing, although what remains of it is nothing but a cracked, derelict pathway, the rest having crumbled into the nothingness that awaits below. An ironworks hand is standing on the standby, all set to take off as soon as they are both safely on board. Just the sight of them has a hopeful spark flare to life in his chest. 

Not far now. We can make it!

His hood managing to remain on his head despite his haste, his heartbeat pounding alongside the frantic thuds of his footfalls he doesn't take stock of much happening around him. All he cares about is getting to the airship safely, to get out of this hellscape before any of the warring masses can get to them. Such...blood thirst. Such...violence surrounds him. G'raha has never seen the like. Dread pools low in his stomach from the very notion alone, not helped by what his keen nose can pick up. Amongst the smoke and soot, there is this unmistakable underlying metallic tinge of blood permeating the place.

The nausea announces itself as he runs down a stony stairway, but he forces it back. He has to keep moving, and trust Biggs to be able to fend for himself. More gunshots ring out from somewhere behind him. Good, means their Chief is still alive.

His heart leaps in his chest when his foot catches on something at the end of the darkened stairway. Something soft, yet firm. Flailing, his tail shooting out from under his cloak in an attempt to regain his balance he manages just before he can faceplant with the cold, unforgiving ground. Heart still racing like it is fit to burst free from its confines any second, G'raha turns to look at what almost sent him sprawling to the floor, still panting and wide-eyed, his breaths leaving him in puffs of fine white mist.

The sight that greets him has him immediately regret his decision, his blood running cold in his veins. Before him, lies a corpse. Elezen it looks like, a young woman, her long blond hair matted and streaked with dirt and soot. She's just lying there on her back, dull blue eyes unseeing as she stares up at nothing, all limp with her arms splayed out at her sides, a rusted dagger held in stiffened fingers in her right hand. A pool of blood has formed under her clothed, tattered form, streaks her pale skin, having splattered across her cheeks. Looking to her chest it is clear what killed her. A sword stabbed clean through the heart, a gaping wound left in its wake.

G'raha quickly averts his gaze, his mouth a trembling thin line. He has seen bodies before, although from Allagan clones and beasts. Not to mention the horrible images the phasmascapes showed him, and of one person in particular but this...

It is...too stark. Too up close and personal, and what makes it worse is she doesn't look much older than he is. For anyone to meet such an end. It's senseless, unjustifiable, wrong.

He grits his teeth, hand clutching at his chest so hard his fingers tremble, his tail all tense. If he had gotten here earlier perhaps he could-

"G'raha! We mustn't linger."

Biggs's sudden voice has his eyes snap open. He didn't realize he even had them closed. In fact, their Chief is standing right in front of him, gun in hand, a clear look of strain on his face. Sparing the corpse a quick glance Biggs reaches out for his shoulder. A comforting touch but G'raha feels anything but.

"There was nothing you could do for her alright? I know it is tough, but it does you no good to dwell."

To this G'raha can only nod, not meeting Biggs eye, obscured behind his shades as they still are. It still bothers him. How powerless he still is in the grand scope of things. 

Biggs claps his shoulder, seemingly understanding. "Now come on. The sooner we leave this place the better."

Again G'raha can only nod, the cold dread still constricting around his heart like a snake. He knows their Chief has the right of it, but still, he wishes so fervently it wasn't so. That none of this came to pass.

The both of them manage to get on their airship without further incident. Well, aside from a few of the desperate masses unleashing arrows on their fleeing craft, but none of them hit their mark. His eyes shadowed under his hood, G'raha can only look on with a conflicted, yet determined expression. They got their hands on what they came for, and for now, that is enough.

-.-.-

Days come and pass him by in a blur, his time spent helping out where he can by reading over the reports they have managed to get their hands on during their foray. Scarce they might be, but every scrap of information they can find is worth their weight in gold. Back at the keep the rest of the crew are already putting their plans in motion, and to aid them in doing so G'raha granted them full access to the Crystal Tower. True enough, its main gates were already opened, a necessary step that led to his awakening, but in order to start their augmentation of the Tower giving them full access is paramount. Especially so the lower levels Biggs stressed, the very center of it serving as the place that will house the machine that will translocate the Tower and G'raha both through time and space. A machine that has already gotten a name, aptly named Tycoon. 

Even back then he helped out where he could by reading over the records they already had archived, and otherwise made himself useful, lending a hand where it was needed. Long days morphed into a week and weeks into a month and as it stands a moon and a half have passed since G'raha gladly took on the burden of traveling to the past, to the First, to carry on the message, of everyone's dreams and hopes. To see them all saved. A decision he initially was optimistic about, but now, well.

To say it bluntly Biggs and Toshi weren't lying.

Hood still pulled over his head, shadowing his face G'raha currently finds himself standing on the deck of their well-used airship, crimson eyes regarding the landscape before him. For the last week, he and Biggs have traversed most of Erozea in search of anything that can pinpoint exactly when G'raha will need to summon the Warrior of Light to the First but reports are scarce and the ravages of the land are far greater than he could have ever imagined. He thought the current state of Mor Dhona to be dire enough but no matter where he looks what meets his eyes are all the same. The same death and decay. Of rot, of long withered dead trees, dried up riverbeds, barren dead earth, city-states left in disarray, and...strife. Endless strife and in its wake, there are bodies. So many bodies. He never got the opportunity to visit Ishgard back then and as it now stands it is naught but a smoking heap of charred stone and rubble. He and Biggs barely managed to escape the city, hounded at every step by the desperate warring masses. It had all been so palpable, the despair in their eyes, the desperate looks on their sunken blood-splattered faces, and...then there was the corpse. That poor young woman with nothing to defend herself with than a rusted dagger.

The sight of her lifeless body, the way she had been brutally murdered, still weights on him. If only he had been there. Saved her somehow. It was clear from her dress she was no soldier. With his skills at marksmanship, he could have downed her assailant with nary a scratch to himself, and perhaps they could have recruited her to their cause. If only...

He bites into his lip, hard, tail bristling. He reminds himself of what Biggs told him. It will do him no good to dwell. 

Focus on your mission. If you succeed everything will be undone. No one will need to suffer...

The cold nip in the air helps ground him and in response he hugs his arms tighter around his shivering form, feline russet ears pinning closer to his head under the warmth offered from his hood. At least their foray into Ishgard wasn't entirely unfruitful. In his arms, he clings to a tome—a memoir written by a noble two centuries ago, a certain Count Edmont de Fortemps. The depiction of a dragon in gold adorns its ornate leather bound cover and below it, its name is written in elegant letters. Heavensward.

From what G'raha has been able to glean from it so far even thinking about attempting to summon Y'sato through the rift around the time of his deeds depicted in the memoirs would be too early. Far too early. To tamper with time and space is already a risky enough venture on its own and there is no telling what may happen if they get the timing wrong. No, he has to keep looking. To keep himself steadfast. They all rely on him after all. People of both the past and the future, the fate of the very star itself. He is not lying to himself. It is...it is an immense burden. He feels it even now, pressing down on him with such momentous force he is amazed he still somehow manages to remain standing, but he will shoulder it. For everyone. For the cherished friend he left behind so long ago.

Sato...

It is the only thing that keeps him going, the fire still lit in his eyes, burning like a torch.

The darkened dim crystal landscape of Mor Dhona finally comes into view, the Crystal Tower in all its radiant glory standing in the far distance, a constant reminder of the long journey G'raha will have to embark on sometime in the near future. It is only a matter of time after all until desperation will drive vagrants into Mor Dhona, in an attempt to plunder their keep and if given the chance, the very Tower itself.

G'raha's eyes narrow, his jaw tight. He won't let that happen. Cannot allow that to happen! The Tower is the main key to their master plan, and as its Keeper, it falls to him to keep it safe, and keep it safe he must until the fated day.

The airship's engine slowly grinds to a halt as it finally lands in the plaza where the aetheryte once stood, the blue humming crystal long having dimmed and grown dark much like everything else, falling into disrepair. There is still daylight out but no sun, its rays unable to penetrate the thick layer of clouds, the skies grey and dreary but yet it isn't putting a damper on the high spirits of the ironworks workers still milling about, toiling for a better future. The keep is bustling with activity and G'raha knows he finally accepting his duty is a large part of it. They all look up to him now, with a reverence he still doesn't find himself worthy of.

Well almost all of them. As G'raha's feet meet the well-worn cobblestone after exiting the airship he feels her icy glare on him. K'delika. She is standing off to the side leaning against a wall, her arms crossed against her chest. Her eyes are filled with the same displeasure as always, a frown pursing her lips. He also doesn't fail to notice the way her tail flicks agitatedly, thumping into the wall behind her at regular intervals. She's not putting in any effort in hiding her obvious grievances with him, but to her credit, she has kept her distance from him for the last month, more or less. G'raha lingers for a moment, hesitant. He has yet to speak to her since she barged into his room and to be honest with himself he still can't bring himself to fully forgive her for the callous things she said about Y'sato and yet there is a drive within him. To try to make amends. This world already has so little of it.

"Biggs, may I leave this in your care? There is something I must do." G'raha turns to the Chief who has just disembarked the airship behind him.

"Of course. I will make sure to archive it with the rest. If you should have need of me later I will be in the boardroom."

G'raha gives him a polite smile as he hands over the tome. "Glad to hear it. You have my thanks, my friend." He can still feel her gaze on him and pulling back his hood he turns to face her, his ears perking up now they are free from the confinement of his hood. The smile is still on his lips but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. With a flick of his tail, he walks up to the fellow Seeker, coming to a halt just out of arms reach. The tension that hangs in the air between them is thick enough to be cut through with a knife and it brings him pause. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts he takes a steadying breath, then looks up to meet her gaze head-on.

"I still don't know what I have done to earn your ire but I want you to know I-"

"Tch, spare me your pity. I know Toshi told you and I don't want to be reminded of any of it." K'delika almost hisses at him, her ears drawn back but G'raha isn't deterred. He will at least try to apologize to her for lashing out at her that day.

"All he ever told me was that you lost someone dear to you. Truly I...I know how it feels." G'raha closes his eyes as he brings a hand up to his chest. He can still feel it, the heartache like a vice squeezing around the beating organ if he stops and thinks about it long enough, but the fire burning within him like a beacon is stronger. He opens his eyes to regard her once more, and this time his smile does reach his eyes. "And that is why I feel I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that...said those words. I...I hope you will forgive me."

Instead of accepting or even considering his honest apology, K'delika crinkles her nose at him as if she just smelled something bad. "And as I just told you I don't want to be reminded of it. You don't owe me anything!"

G'raha's ears flatten instinctively from the harsh bite in her voice. She is standing almost in his face now, amber eyes flaring like wildfire, and even though she's about the same height as him she's still as intimidating as ever.

"Just focus on your goddamn duty and save us all. It's the only reason you're here after all." And with that, she turns on her heel with a last angry lash of her tail. G'raha watches her rapidly disappearing form in stunned silence and yet he doesn't find himself being too surprised. She has shown her clear disdain for him from the start and yet he still struggles to fathom what he ever did to earn such ire.

Well...it does not matter. No one can say I didn't at least try.

He raises his eyes to the sky, in the direction he knows the Crystal Tower to be even when it from his current vantage point is obscured behind a rocky wall. Even from this distance, he can feel his connection to it. It is faint but there is this tingle in his fingertips. One he has slowly grown more and more accustomed to by the day. It is all still so new to him, to be its caretaker, even after having spent so many years being locked in stasis. He just hopes it will be enough. That he will be given enough time to truly master all of its capabilities, and unveil its many secrets once he arrives on the First.

Have faith, G'raha. Have faith in yourself. In them.

Sighing he lowers his gaze, looking down at the cold, grey cobblestone at his feet. Yes, he has to believe. In his mission, in the light of hope still shining so vibrantly within him born from his love of his dear departed friend, his guiding star. His star will chart his course. It and the memories of his ancestors long past. Steely determination back in his eyes he turns on his heel as he heads back to the House of Splendours. To do what exactly he still doesn't know. He must have scoured over every record found within its walls at least thrice by now and yet he feels like he is missing something, something crucial. Dark circles are still visible under his eyes and yet he can't bring himself to sleep. He can't even remember the last time he paid his room a visit. Tiredly he rubs a hand over his burning eyes, his tail hanging listless under his cloak and his ears fare no better drooping as they now are. Perhaps...perhaps some rest would do him some good, but his mind is still racing. No, he has to keep looking. Needs to find what he has overlooked.

His poorly hidden exhaustion doesn't go unnoticed. Scarcely before G'raha has even taken one step into the area he formerly knew as the markets he hears a voice call out for him and he immediately recognizes it.

...Toshi.

Turning he sees the familiar face of the resident healer and even through his mounting fatigue G'raha doesn't fail to notice the worry writ clearly in his eyes.

"G'raha, you...It looks like you haven't been able to sleep at all. Did something happen on your journey?"

"Nothing I won't recover from. I feel fine, I assure you." G'raha assures him with a smile as the imposing au ra comes to a stop before him, trying his best not to look as run-down as he feels, even perking his ears slightly but a slight droop still weights them down.

Toshi doesn't look convinced, his eyes narrowing. "So you say but your countenance betray you. As your caretaker, I insist you go and try to get some rest at least." He pauses, looking into something in the distance, then looks back down at G'raha. This time his voice is softer, gentler, a smile upturning the corners of his lips. "After all it wouldn't do for the one carrying all of our hopes and dreams to burn out ere he can even begin."

Something in his voice, the gentle look on his face has G'raha's eyes widen, his ears perking up. And he feels it, the heavy burden on his shoulders pressing him down lessening by a tiny fraction. He bows his head in response, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In his determined pursuit of anything that can help him pinpoint when to summon Y'sato, he has wholly neglected himself. He is their only hope after all, Y'sato's only hope, and with it he realizes-

I don't need to shoulder it alone. At least not yet.

"...Thanks Toshi. I...I was so focused on my mission, so wholly lost in the cause I failed to see how I have been treating myself." G'raha looks up to the healer then, the immense gratitude he's feeling reflected in his tired eyes, a warmth, radiant and pure. "I will do as you ask, try and get some rest."

A warm hand lands on his shoulder, soothing yet reassuring. "And I am glad to hear it. Will you be good on your own this time? If needed I know just the spell."

G'raha smiles at him knowingly. He still hasn't forgotten how that sleep spell helped him finally settle on that day, but no. This time he should be able to get some much-needed rest on his own merit.

"Thanks for the offer, but it won't be necessary. I should be good on my own this time I think."

To this, Toshi smiles warmly at him. "As you wish. Let me know however if you should have need of my services."

"I will. Rest assured." And with that G'raha is left to his own devices once more. Crimson eyes follow his caretaker's tall, retreating form as he walks over to a group of ironworks workers nearby. It is clear to G'raha that even though he is the main focus, Toshi also helps look after everyone's else well-being. That someone with such compassion and selflessness still exists in this broken world, gives him heart. After all, Toshi was there for him, reached out for him, and offered him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it the most, and for that, G'raha will ever be grateful.

He does as bid and starts retreating to his room. Whispers and looks of reverence still follow in his wake as he walks through familiar halls, up familiar stairways but G'raha pays them no heed. He tries to remember when he last laid down to get some rest but he comes up empty. The days are all muddled together, time itself long having ceased all meaning for him, but in the end, it is not important. Already a part of him is burning about the prospect of resuming his search as soon as he has rested his mind, granted he will be able to stop his racing thoughts long enough to be able to drift off in the first place.

Thoughts still churning in his mind he absentmindedly opens the door to his room, but as its chill washes over him he pauses, crimson eyes staring into the dark gloom. The room is as uninviting as always. Dark, cold, windowless. The very atmosphere of it still heavily reminds him of heartbreak. Of grief. Of laying curled up into a ball on that very bed, unable to find reprieve, unable to get that horrid image out of his mind, of crying his eyes out...

G'raha freezes right there at the threshold. He remembers now why he has avoided returning to this room for the last couple of weeks. He can already feel it, the shadows beckoning, dark tendrils only kept at bay from the light beaming through the opened door from the hallway. The hollow feeling is still there in his chest but it's not as wide or deep as before and it's only by the strength of the light still burning bright within him he doesn't slam the door shut right then and there.

His tail seeks refuge between his legs, ears drawing back. Surely there are other places he could try to get some much-needed rest but the hustle and bustle and voices of the workers toiling below will surely disturb him and...

Perhaps...perhaps turning on the light will put my heart more at ease...

Taking a deep, steadying breath G'raha takes his first step into the room. It is stifling, the darkness pressing in on him from all sides but determined he makes his way over to his nightstand. He reaches for the light switch, the bulb flickers to life, and...

His breath catches in his throat. There lying on the wooden scratched surface, untouched...is Y'sato's journal.

Ho-how could I have forgotten!

G'raha's eyes are still wide as he looks at the worn leather bound cover, the faded red jaguar claw engraved in its middle. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, the rush of blood all he can hear in his ears. It is all still so fresh, a raw wound and yet he doesn't avert his eyes this time. This journal might be the one thing he has overlooked, the missing key holding the answers he has spent the last handful of weeks seeking so fervently for.

Shaking he reaches out for it with trembling fingers. The leather feels as worn and scuffed under his fingertips as the last time he held it. Cradling it with such reverent care, as if it's made of glass G'raha sinks down on the edge of his bed. This is the moment of truth. Swallowing thickly he tries to steady his fraying nerves. This is the first time the entirety of the contents of Y'sato's journal is accessible to him and that realization makes his head spin. So far he has only read a handful of its entries as permitted to him by the man himself, and since those entries were penned the rest of its volume must surely have grown. G'raha always respected his friend's wishes and boundaries and now...Now he can't even ask his permission.

He squeezes his eyes shut, a sharp pain, raw and cold piercing through his heart. It hits him with such vehemence he covers his mouth with a hand, choking back a sob.

Sato I...forgive me. I...I need to take a look.

In that moment G'raha can see it, the pointed, unimpressed look in his direction, the way one of Y'sato's ears flicks in annoyance, his tail swishing behind him, but he relents all the same, leafing through his journal for something he feels comfortable enough with to share. The memory of that first time he allowed him to read something from his journal brings tears to G'raha's eyes and yet a chuckle escapes him. A heartfelt sound. A bit choked but genuine.

I...I will take that as a yes.

Opening his eyes he with the practiced care conditioned into him as a scholar, gently opens the journal. The time-worn pages are far more yellowed and brittle than G'raha remembers but the writing, the achingly familiar scrawly handwriting of Y'sato's remains readable. Just to lay his eyes on it again has fresh tears well in his eyes, choking up but he wills himself to continue despite the painful lump forming in his throat. With great care, a look of deep concentration in his eyes, he leafs through the pages, discovering things he never knew about his friend.

In one of the first entries, there are mentions of exile. Of being exiled from his tribe but details surrounding it are sparse, almost nonexistent. One thing stands out clearly to G'raha though from the way the words are more haphazardly scrawled, as if in a hurry. Whatever event led to him being cast out from his tribe cut him deep. G'raha can see it, feel the remorse bleed off the page. The heavy guilt being portrayed therein is enough for G'raha to look away from the journal, closing his eyes. This...this all feels much too personal. Like he is intruding on thoughts he shouldn't and yet he finds intrigue and not just a little curiosity rise within him. In all the time he got to spend with Y'ato, getting to know him on a level few others did, he never gave G'raha any indication of hurting this much. All G'raha knows is he was being bullied and harassed for his mixed heritage. Could there... be something deeper? Something even he was feeling too ashamed and gutted over to not even pen it down in his journal...

He well recalls his friend had his moments, where the world itself seemed to fall away, his eyes far-seeing, wide with fear, him standing there all frozen as if gripped with terror. A sight that had terrified him, but Y'sato had always been loath to talk about it when asked, and now...G'raha might never know.

Opening his eyes he looks back to the journal. He will dwell more on this later once he has read everything in full. As he keeps leafing through the yellowed worn pages he finds the entries he has read about. Of Y'sato's encounters with Ifrit, Titan, and Garuda. Amidst them there are entries about his time with the Scions, his foray into the Labyrinth of the Ancients, the Crystal Tower, of his time adventuring with G'raha, of how happy it made him, the last being an entry detailing the outcomes of the morbol attack and how relieved he was, and then...nothing but a handful of blank pages. Nothing about their venture into the World of Darkness or of how he felt or what he did the following days after G'raha sealed himself away and that alone troubles him. Trembling he as carefully as his nerves will allow turns the pages.

Following them there are mentions of betrayal in Ul'dah, then of being taken in by house Fortemps in Ishgard when everyone else turned their backs on him.

Betrayal...

His eyes on the word G'raha pauses, an oddly familiar unsettling feeling constricting around his heart. In a sense he did the very same did he not? He gave Y'sato promises he knew he wouldn't keep, kissed him, led him on, and let him believe he would be there at his side always. Not quite in the same vein as what Y'sato depicts in his retelling of what went down in Uldah with the poisoning of the Sultana, but it must have cut him deep. Even now he can see it. Within his words, there is so much hurt.

Unable to look at it anymore, it feeling much too private G'raha once more turns the page, and from there entries grow more and more scarce. There are mentions of Ascians, of a thousand-year-long war with dragons until a longer segment catches his eye, one detailing a certain House Fortemps knight.

'Haurchefant, he makes me feel safe in a way I haven't since...well, since I was with you Raha. Still, as kind as he is I know he harbors feelings for me. He made it quite clear actually on numerous occasions, but I always brushed them aside. It was...difficult since I didn't want to hurt him, but he always respected my boundaries. I think he knows my heart lies elsewhere now. Maybe not so weird after the week I was bedridden, feverish, and falling into delirium crying your name. Embarrassing to think about now really, but it is what it is. I neglected myself cause I still miss you and the Scions so badly and it took Haurchefant with the help from Alphinaud and Tataru to make me finally see it. Together they helped pull me through and for that, I will always be grateful.

'Truly, I value their friendship, and me and Haurchefant are on good terms and I intend to keep it that way. Being around him makes me feel safe, like a home in a sense, and is just what I needed after the fallout with the banquet and losing you. You would have loved meeting him I'm sure. I can already see it with you two trying to one-up each other with your antics. With you two by my side we would be unstoppable. I couldn't ask for better allies.'

'Ishgard is so beautiful. I wish you were here to see it. '

"Sato, I-"

Choking up, trembling G'raha runs his fingers over the page, a featherlight touch. Y'sato...he missed him so much he fell ill, severely ill from the sounds of it. There is such a deep longing in his words, even when he talks about Haurchefant warmly, regarding him as a great friend, even going so far as to wish they met. Ishgard back then must have been so beautiful. Nothing like the smoldering ruin he visited days past with corpses and rubble lining up the streets, just a mere shadow of what it once was. Once more the image of the unfortunate elezen woman lying before him lifeless plays before his mind's eye and he grips onto the journal tighter, ears fanning back as his chest heaves.

No, focus on the task at hand. There is nothing you can do for her. Focus...

It is an immense effort, but he manages to get his breathing under control, suppressing the sick feeling curdling in his stomach. Looking back down into the journal in an attempt to ground himself it still doesn't lessen the roiling undercurrent of emotion he feels hound him almost every day—guilt, of deepest regret. 

He...never got to see it, experience Ishgard for himself how it should be in truth. Again it grips him, the fervent desire he never locked himself in the Tower. Even after the betrayal in Ul'dha, G'raha would have been there at his side alongside Alphinaud and Tataru. They would have met Haurchefant together and fought against the dragons—even the Ascian. No one would dare stand in their path.

In that moment G'raha wishes so dearly he could reach out to him, pull him into a tight embrace like he did that day in the Scion's headquarters, and- He grits his teeth, tail curling tightly around his thigh. No, it is already far too late. As things stand Y'sato is nothing but a ghost that lingers never far from his thoughts. As he is, and in this endeavor, G'raha is alone.

His fingers trembling he turns the page. What greets him are accounts, brief as they are of his foray into Dravania with Alphinaud, Estinien, and Ysaile. The two last names do ring a bell, especially Estinien. In no small detail were his deeds recounted in the memoirs written down in Heavensward,  in how the Azure Dragoon in his quest for vengeance was consumed by hatred and possessed by the shade of Nidhogg himself, and how the Warrior of Light alone fought the dread wyrm on the bridge, a fight as trying as it was grueling and how as the dust settled him with the aid of Alphinaud freed Estinien from the age-old rancor that held him captive, and at Aymeric's behest tossed the accursed eyes into the swirling abyss below.

A tale that still stirs him, although he read about it fairly recently. While Y'sato's accounts here tell G'raha he is not close to the dragoon, it is clear to him he cared enough for the man to save his life, even when everyone else deemed him a lost cause.

The hope he glimpses within, brings a smile to his face, small and tremulous as it might be. Y'sato wasn't alone, and there is a thinly veiled excitement here of meeting Haurchefant again, to tell him what has come to pass. That alone, brings him comfort.

Smile still on his face G'raha turns the page, eager to see what else Y'sato wrote down about his experiences, of his deepening friendship with Haurchefant before the inevitable. Before the knight's death two hundred years ago depicted so heartrendingly in the memoirs he has just gone to such great lengths to obtain, in how it was steeped in the raw, unfiltered grief of a father who had lost his son.

G'raha doesn't know what to expect really, knowing that fact, but to see it, in Y'sato's handwriting...is akin to having a knife twist in his gut. The passage is brief. Just two short sentences, but they say enough.

'He's gone.'

'Zephirin. I will have his heart.'

G'raha squeezes his eyes shut, lips pressing together so hard they tremble. Y'sato had already lost one friend, in him, and for him to lose Haurchefant shortly thereafter, even when G'raha knew thanks to the memoir it was coming, to see these words, the depths of his grief reflected within, sinks its claws into him with a crushing vengeance.

He swallows thickly past the painful lump in his throat. Again he needs a moment to gather himself. Eyes closed he takes deep, steadying breaths. He knows he doesn't need to read everything all at once, that breaks would be beneficial, but he wants, no, needs to know just what came to pass.

Opening his eyes, newfound resolve glinting in vibrant, crimson depths he once more dives in, his tail flicking under his cloak at his side as he carefully reads passage after passage.

'I took his heart. Zephirin, Thordan. They are all dead. I made sure of it.'

There is such a dark emotion laced in his words, one that has G'raha shiver, his stomach sinking.

Such...hatred.

It brings to mind the dark emotion he glimpsed when asking about the fate of the morbol, but this is on a different level, and once more G'raha praises his lucky stars he was always on Y'sato's good side. His lips purses slightly, pressing together. Still, in this, G'raha feels like he can relate. As things stand his contempt for the Garleans is near boundless, and there is no telling what he would do if he got his hands on the main culprit behind it, Varis himself.

G'raha's tail thumps into the mattress, his ears drawing back as a familiar white-hot fury simmers up from below the surface, his hands trembling, but he is quick to catch himself. Let it go. He alongside everyone is long dead. Just...let it go.

Refusing to dwell on it any further, he releases some built-up tension with another hard thump of his tail, his eyes back on the journal. Still, as he reads all he can hear is the rush of blood pounding in his ears, a burning prickling sensation coursing through his skin.

'First Haurchefant, and now Aymeric harbors feelings for me. He professed to me earlier. I...I think I might accept this time. He has always been kind to me, offering me solace after I lost Haurchefant. He and Alphinaud both, but Alphinaud... In his young years he still doesn't fully understand, but Aymeric. He does, and, and I need this.'

G'raha's tense flicking of his tail stutters, his ears still drawn back as he once more reads over the words to make sure he understood them right. So Y'sato ended up with Aymeric? From what he has read of the humble city leader, he was a pragmatic yet noble and virtuous man who put his people's needs before his own first and foremost. Yes, Y'sato would be in good hands, and although a part of him still rebels against the idea of Y'sato being with anyone other than him, it heartens him he found someone who could offer much-needed comfort in his hour of need. Someone who could love him in turn. Besides he has no claim. He relinquished that the day he sealed himself away...

I'm glad you found happiness, Sato. I truly am.

Still, one question remains. One which has one of his ears twitch. Growing feelings for Aymeric aside it doesn't quite explain why Y'sato's surname is Igarashi. From what G'raha could glean from the memoir since he never had the opportunity to meet the man himself, Aymeric was from the respected line of de Borel, and Igarashi sounds fully and truly hingan with its origins. Could he have found someone in the Far East when liberating Doma? Curious. Mulling over the hows and why's of it he absentmindedly turns the page. Regardless of the reason behind it, he hopes Y'sato and Aymeric were happy at least for as long as their relationship lasted.

Only to have those wishes dashed when he reads further.

'It didn't work out. All I can think of when I'm with him is you and all I could feel when he kissed me was your lips on mine and that moment we shared down at the lake that night and I can't take it anymore. It hurt both of us, but I cut it there. It wasn't meant to be.'

'I miss you. I understand why you did what you did, but I wish so badly you didn't have to. And why didn't you tell me? Why lead me on and offer promises you never intended to keep? Why be so kind and open to me when you-'

A scratch of ink follows Y'sato's heartrending admissions, blotched. Despite the age of the journal it's clear to G'raha his friend broke down here. Swallowing thickly, his eyes burning G'raha continues to read, unable to stop. He can't stop.

'I can't stand even looking at the blasted Tower, knowing you are in there somewhere sleeping safe and sound while the world is going to shit, and I can do nothing about it. I can't reach you. The Garleans are stirring again, the Ascians are skulking about doing gods knows what, and I'm tired. So very tired. All I want is you by my side. To go on the adventures we promised.'

' And what makes it worse is I somehow miss you more than I miss Haurchefant. I can go to Mor Dhona and you are right there. You're always right there, and if only I could find a way to tear those damn doors open, you would understand. You would know, and at last I would be able to fulfill my promise to you. The secret in the Tangle, it's still there. I've checked. It's so beautiful, and I wish I could show you.'

A drop falls free, splashes, and soaks into the worn page, smudging the ink. Before he can stop it a pained sound escapes him, one he promptly chokes back as he trembles, biting into his trembling lower lip so hard he almost draws blood. The words blur before his eyes and he puts the journal aside before his tears can ruin anything. Unable to do aught else he buries his face in his hands. Here it is, all the pain and bitterness Y'sato for some reason or other omitted earlier, and it cuts deep, rubs his heart raw. Long gone are the more hopeful, youthful notes of his experiences of his early days with the Scions, of his expedition logs into the Crystal Tower, of his time with G'raha and later Haurchefant. In its place, there is nothing but grief...this deep-seated longing. 

It leaves him in a shuddering breath, the regret clawing into his heart with unrelenting force. What is done, is done. It...wasn't meant to be. 

Still, it hurts, his guilt threatening to crush him. No matter how much he wishes it to be otherwise it won't change the fact.

I did this to you, Sato. Forgive me, please, forgive me.

It takes him a long moment, his ragged breathing and stifled sobs the only sounds filling the silence. Wiping away his tears he once more gathers the opened journal into his lap, his fingers trembling. There is more to discover within it he knows and as much as it pains him, threatens to tear his heart asunder he will read it all until the very end.

He owes Y'sato that much at least.

A brief account of the aftermath of fighting Nidhogg follows, and from there there is precious little written about his personal thoughts on liberating Doma and Ala Mhigo. Something that strikes G'raha as odd. In truth any info on it is almost nonexistent, mostly documenting his boat trip in broad terms and first impressions of Kugane and nothing else. If it wasn't for G'raha having already read about his exploits there thanks to what scant information the Ironworks had already archived he would have been left with the impression Y'sato hadn't done anything noteworthy over there at all. It feels almost like he didn't even bring his journal along, or perhaps didn't find the time to write if the terse way of his writing is anything to go by.

Mulling over this, turning the page he finds nothing of note until approximately a year later with Y'sato mentioning something about him needing to help out with the rebuilding effort at the Doman enclave. Especially so since he had helped the Ala Mhigan refugees settle months prior. Something to do with the rebuilding of a saltery and a treasure hunt into the sunken city of Skalla alongside Alphinaud and Arenvald. There is a more... battle-hardened, world-weary side to his words now that G'raha can't help but notice. Something else happened to him through all his experiences. Something that irrevocably changed him, affected him harder than even the loss of Haurchefant and reading down the page, G'raha discovers why.

'I've lost myself, and Zenos showed me what I was missing. Fighting him, awoke something that's alive in me I don't like one bit. Something I've suppressed for so long. So much blood. So much...violence surrounds me. Then there is this vengeance, this unquenchable hatred in my heart. It needs to go somewhere but where? Killing Garleans, even laying Yotsuyu low offered no release, and no matter how hard I push myself to help others, hearing their praises and seeing their smiles, all I feel is this...emptiness.'

'It seems only violence and the threat of death are the only things capable of making me feel anything anymore and I hate it. Gods I hate it!'

'And I still find myself longing for your friendship, for your soothing touch. I miss you so goddamn much! And I can't help but think were you still here would I feel different? Would things have turned out differently? I don't know. All I know is I want to stop feeling this way. For everything to end.'

'I understand Zenos, and I wish I didn't.'

G'raha pauses, a chill running down his spine. Zenos...he read about him and his role during the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo both, the Garlean crown prince. A cold ruthless murderer without equal, until he met Y'sato that is, laid low by his hand. Still, the passages before him troubles him deeply. It is clear from the way his friends writes alone just how deep the Garlean viceroy managed to worm himself into Y'sato's psyche and that just from their short, brief, exchanges. Furthermore, G'raha realizes just how lonely Y'sato must have felt after he vanquished Shinryu. Despite the Scions being at his side it is clear he shut himself out completely, suffering in silence.

But most of all, his final words gets to him the most.

'I want to stop feeling this way. For everything to end.'

The image of seeing him lying dead on the battlefield once more plays before his mind's eye, and he shudders. Could he have wished-

No, death is not what he wanted. I know this. I see it, even now written plain on the page. What he wanted...was...me. For me to be at his side. And even in this...I failed. I failed you.

This guilt, this horrible crushing guilt wrapping around him like an oppressive shroud, he doubts it will ever truly leave him, but that is how it should be. The weight weighs as it should, presses him down as is just. It is only right after what he did, for leaving him when he needed him most. To not be there to support him through the death of Haurchefant, of his fall in with Zenos. For not being there to be someone to lean on when the world stood against him, coercing him into fighting in wars he had no interest in. The city-states themselves wielding him, using him, like a weapon. That very notion alone has the fur at the base of his tail bristle, a dark glint glimmering in his eyes.

I will see you live again, Sato. I swear it, and this time I hope you will find happiness. No more will you be used as a weapon. You will be free...

Biting his teeth together so hard he trembles G'raha keeps leafing through the journal, wiping away any stray tears before they have a chance to drop down on the pages, his burning gaze transfixed on the age-old writing. Entries keep growing more and more scarce the deeper into it he goes from this point until they just stop altogether, more than half of the journal being completely blank, free of his friend's thoughts. A horrifying realization churns low in G'raha's stomach, his heart sinking. With as much care as his trembling allows he quickly flips the pages back to the two last entries. In the first, there are mentions of the Erozean Alliance preparing for war with the Empire and how Y'sato heeds the call, but as expected there is this strong sense of...unwillingness. Furthermore, there is talk about Garlean troops amassing on a battlefield known as the Ghimlyt Dark. G'raha feels a chill run down his spine and he grips onto the journal tighter. This all consigns disturbingly with the words Biggs and Toshi told him several weeks ago, of the events leading up to The Eight Umbral Calamity, of Black Rose being unleashed.

A cold sweat gripping him, his heart quickening in his chest G'raha not aware he is holding his breath, looks up the final entry. He takes note of the date, mainly the year, and to his increasing horror, he realizes this final entry was penned just about four years after he locked himself in the Tower...

But that's...that explains why...he still looks so young in the-

He squeezes his eyes shut at the memory. Of Y'sato lying lifeless before him, staring at nothing. No, he has to focus, but his heart still wrenches so painfully in his chest. He has realized... This...this is the last entry Y'sato ever penned before he...succumbed to Black Rose...

G'raha almost slams the journal shut right then and there but he catches himself. He has to do this. Needs to do this if he's to hope to ever being able to save his long-departed friend. Taking a deep steadying breath to steel his fragile composure he reads the words laid before him, all so very familiar and achingly so.

'On the morrow, we will be pushing further into Garlean Territory but, to be honest, I'm tired of fighting. Tired of fighting the Empire, of fighting a battle that isn't my own. All I wish is for this pointless war to end, for all the pain and suffering to stop.'

'But this is why I fight. Why I forge on. For those I have lost. For those I can still save.'

'I miss you, Raha. More than you will ever know. Even after all this time hardly a day passes where I am not reminded of you and...it hurts. Like a dull ache ever persisting. Even now a small part of me dares to hope you will somehow be awakened during my lifetime, that we will at last be reunited but until then…If we ever do meet again...and if I survive this war...I have to try to move on.'

'But I want you to know this. I will always treasure the times we shared and hold them dear to my heart. Our afternoons at the lake were ever precious to me and our long talks in our tent and you getting up to all kinds of shenanigans still fills me with the strength needed to put one foot in front of the other. You are here by my side, even now as I write this. It is as you said. Even now you still travel with me, in spirit. You are with me, always. I'm yours and I will always be.'

'I will never forget you, and I hope when you eventually wake, and if you ever get to read this, that you will remember me as the man I was. Not the one I have become...'

'I love you, Raha. More than I can ever fully express.'

'May we meet again on the other side.'

This final entry...Y'sato's words...hits G'raha like nothing else. His breath hitching, a weight so crushing in his chest he can't breathe he can do naught but stare at the page.

Sa-Sato...you-you...I-

The words blurs out before his eyes. He is faintly aware of his lips quivering and-

Tears freely streak down his cheeks, falls onto the worn page, splotching out the ink but all G'raha knows is the crushing weight tearing his heart asunder. He trembles, curling into himself with the now-closed journal held tightly to his chest, rocking it in his shaking arms as he whimpers.

Even after everything that happened to you. Even after what I did, you still found it within yourself to love me.

Of everything he read in his journal, this hurts him the most. For all this time...He well knew how him locking himself in the Tower affected his friend. Knew so very well but to have actually seen the repercussions for himself...How it affected him even years later. To learn that he still loved him it's-

It cuts him deep. Deeper than any blade. He hadn't been blind to how Y'sato felt for him. His feelings for him made abundantly clear on their last night spent together under the stars and yet...

He had gone and went along with it anyway.

I...broke your heart and still you-you-

He bites into his lip, hard, his tail trembling under his cowl as it draws close to his leg, unable to even breathe through the pulsating aching tightness of his throat. He must have begged forgiveness for a thousand times by now and yet it comes to him so naturally, finding himself unable to do aught else. 

Forgive me Sato...please...forgive me...

His breaths comes out in ragged wracking sobs. He has no idea how long he remains sitting hunched over rocking with the journal hugged to his chest, but when he finally opens his eyes and looks down at himself with teary, puffy eyes he discovers much of the fabric of his pants is soaked through with tears in dark, splotched patches. Sniffling he gingerly opens the journal, and to his immense relief, he finds the final entry to not be too ruined by his tears and for that, he is glad, although that spark is quickly drowned out by how the words still echo in his mind just as clear, just as resounding. The weight of it all becomes too much and still trembling he closes it and puts it aside on the nightstand and there he remains, sitting on the edge of the bed, burying his face into his hands.

It eats at him, the finality in Y'sato's final words. As if he had a feeling he would die. War is war and death is an inevitable fact following its wake. G'raha knows this and yet it doesn't sit well with him. Especially since he saw it for himself, how he ended up.

It also doesn't help he can't shake the distinct feeling it was what Y'sato wanted, at least in part. Was it a mercy then, for him to just drop dead like that? Free from his suffering, at last?

Something rebels against that idea so fiercely it has the fur on his tail bristle as it thumps his leg, his stomach churning. He refuses to believe his friend wanted death. No, what he wanted most of all was to see G'raha again, to go on adventures with him, to show him the secret in the Tangle.

And yet, it is clear you had lost hope. If I were there at your side would the outcome have been different? Could I...have saved you?

He again finds himself wondering if he could have done something differently. If he hadn't locked himself in the Tower at the time. If he had remained by Y'sato's side instead he could have found a way to save him somehow. Forestalled the Calamity.

But such musings are of no use. He had no way of knowing at the time. No way of knowing the outcome and yet as much as Y'sato's passing still pains him, nothing pains him more in this moment than knowing that his ultimate decision hurt him. Cut him so deeply.

It brings to mind the last time he saw him, alive, just before he closed the doors to the Tower, having stated his reasons for doing so. Y'sato had looked so distraught, unable to even speak, and it was all G'raha could do not to run over to him, to offer him comfort, to pull him into his arms once more, but he knows if he did he would never have been able to go through with his plan, to fulfill his destiny. 

With a heavy heart, but still having offered him a final smile of reassurance as the doors closed behind him G'raha hoped it would have been enough, the pained, desperate look in Y'sato's eyes the final thing he would ever see of his friend before his centuries-long slumber, but also to help give himself the strength needed to go through with what he knew was the right thing to do in his heart.

And that makes it even worse. G'raha can see it now, the pain, the hurt in his eyes, him crying out for him in the aftermath, and it dawns on him...Even if he succeeds in undoing this doomed future, he can never undo that fact...The heartbreak he caused.

Taking a cleansing breath he wills himself to calm down. Gradually, but surely his pulse slows, and the ache in his heart abates if just by a small margin. His breaths comes out less choked now, his trembling having stilled and G'raha lets his hands fall back to rest in his lap. His duty...his heavy burden weighs down on him heavier than ever but he remains sitting. He must succeed. Has to succeed. He cannot allow that entry to be the last.

"I will do my utmost to save you...To see you live again...I swear it."

His voice is low, pained, and yet brimming with such determination, a steely, unshakable resolve. It leaks into his eyes, the vibrant crimson smoldering like embers as he raises his gaze to look towards the door. Rising to his feet he picks up the journal, hugging it to his chest as he once more pulls his cowl over his head. He will give it his all, no matter how heavy the burden, no matter how trying, no matter the cost. He will see the message delivered.

He flicks off the light, leaves the room.

Sleep doesn't find him until later that night.

Chapter Text

"G'raha?"

A russet feline ear twitches to the soft voice addressing him, distant yet so strangely familiar as it echoes through the sleepy fog but otherwise, he doesn't stir. Gods, he is still so tired. Bled dry and the nothingness that was his mind he wants nothing more than to sink back into its calm embrace. Not that he shows any signs of this outwardly, his breathing evened out, a sedate rhythm.

But try as he might to cling to his slumber his consciousness is already stirring, begrudgingly pulling him back to the surface, and with it, he faintly grows aware of laying curled up on his side on something firm, one of his hands resting on something soft yet worn. A surprised spark flickering to life within him his fingers slightly flexes against it in response, fingertips brushing against the leathery surface, blunt fingernails catching on familiar scuffs and dents.

The feel of it soothes him like nothing else. Immediately he relaxes, letting out a deep sigh. The cherished item that rests safely underneath his palm is nothing but Y'sato's journal.

There is a quiet breath, not a shred of impatience or annoyance to be found as whoever is determined to rouse him tries once more. A warm hand comes to rest on G'raha's shoulder, nudging him slightly. A gentle touch, and at once he knows who's trying to wake him.

Toshi...

G'raha's eyebrows draw together into a disgruntled frown, his ear not squished into his hood serving as his pillow giving another sleepy twitch. Keeping his eyes closed he wills the presence before him away, but it persists. Why does it persist?

Not now, please. Just...just let me sleep.

"G'raha," Toshi calls for him again, his voice just as soft, hand still on his shoulder, "You need to get up. It's time."

Those words alone have his ear perk right up. Wait, time?... Time for what? The Tower is far from fully augmented. The machine is not even built yet, and what about the calculations? I need to-

At once he is far more alert, the fur of his tail bristling as it swishes restlessly against the fabric of his cloak. Already his heart beats faster in his chest, every thud jolting his synapses back to life. There is nothing else to it. The last vestiges of sleep slips from his grasp like smoke.

Blinking tired, burning eyes open he blearily locates Toshi kneeling before him. His kind, blue ones meet his, an apologetic smile on the au ra's lips as he brings his hand back to rest on his raised knee.

"Forgive me for waking you when it is clear you need to rest, but it is already long past noon, and as it stands things are already set in motion."

"Set in motion? What do you mean?" Still groggy, head feeling like it is stuffed with cotton G'raha pushes himself up, rubbing a hand at his eyes only to wince as his shoulder protests at the sudden movement, having been squished into an awkward position for gods knows how long, and with it, everything comes back to him. Right, lying dead asleep curled up next to a storage box in a side room on a cold stony floor isn't one of his brightest ideas, and the rest of his body is quick to protest at him in turn, his muscles aching and sore until he changes position slightly, now sitting with a leg outstretched. 

And to make matters even more embarrassing he finds he has been drooling in his sleep, if the wet dark patch on the side of his hood is anything to go by and the wetness sticking to the corner of his mouth. Ears fanning back, a telltale warmth prickling his cheeks he sheepishly bows his head as he subtly wipes the drool away on his sleeve.

To his relief, Toshi doesn't comment on it. Instead, his smile lifts into a warm reassuring one as he answers his charge's question.

"I've spoken with the Chief. Due to increased scavenger activity observed to the north this morn and from the dire straits you found yourself in Ishgard during your journey, our Chief has deemed it necessary we move our base of operations out to what remains of the Keeper of the Lake. Out there we should be safe. The surrounding lake alone will offer us far better defenses and naturally so. Especially since few of our number know how to fight. Myself included."

"I see..." At his words G'raha looks down to the floor, a pensive look on his face. Toshi's words don't come much as a surprise but they fill him with dread all the same. True enough their current base is well fortified, much akin to a fortress, but like any fortress, it has weaknesses, mainly its three gates. Back at its prime G'raha well remembers they were always guarded by experienced adventurers at all hours, but now it is all they can do to watch one gate at a time, and is usually the one leading to the derelict Garlean Castrum.

Furthermore, Toshi is right in his assessment. Aside from Biggs and himself only four other members of their organization knows how to fend for themselves, their specialized guns hard to come by since the materials needed to make them are in scant supply, not to mention their ammunition. They were the chosen weapons of the machinists of old he was told when asking about them in his curiosity since he had never before seen the like, being much intrigued. Biggs filled him in on their use to the best of his ability, informing him the art has its origins in Ishgard and that it was developed further by the Ironworks, but now to their knowledge, only a few scant true users remain. Especially since aether was originally needed to generate the bullets, the lack of which G'raha has found even affects Toshi.

While their resident healer is well versed when it comes to the now mostly forgotten arts of conjuration, solely focusing more on its restorative aspects than the offensive sides he draws more on his own aether than the land, something that taxes him greatly. A necessary thing drained as the land is of its very life force. G'raha knows this, has seen the signs himself, and yet looking at the aged au ra's face, seeing the strain there in the tired lines around his eyes, his mouth he can tell it is already taking a great toll.

G'raha bites his teeth together, apprehension swirling in his stomach as he looks back down into the floor. It doesn't sit right with him. Not one bit. As kind and selfless as Toshi is, why must he suffer so? G'raha knows what happens to people who draws on nothing but their own life force like that. He has read about its dangers numerous times. His very lifespan will-

A hand landing on his shoulder brings G'raha's eyes back to kind blue ones, ears perking up in surprise. "Worry not. Moving efforts have already begun and we have eyes on the northern gate. Should they spot anything unusual. Anything at all we will all be alerted." Smile still on his face Toshi lowers his hand, but it is more strained around the edges, worn. He averts his gaze. "Forgive us for not letting you know sooner or to take part in the meeting, but as exhausted as you were, I deemed it best to let you sleep. Am I wrong?"

To this G'raha can only smile in turn. Trust the healer to be ever attentive to his needs. "No, you are not, rest assured. Thanks for letting me sleep. I appreciate it. Truly." Still, as genuine as his smile is, G'raha knows it is a bit strained at the edges. To be truthful he feels far from fully rested, and he doubts he ever will be as things stand.

"I am glad to hear it," Toshi says still smiling. Letting go of his shoulder he pushes himself back up on his feet, eyes still on G'raha. "I have prepared something for you to eat in the other room. Is not much, but is needed I am sure."

"You have my thanks." Smile still on his lips G'raha too joins him as he too pushes himself up to his feet. His tired body gives a crack, joints popping as he indulges in a long, luxurious stretch. One that has his tail quiver, him shaking life back into weary bones. Overtaken by a yawn his ears draws back before popping back up into their natural resting position. He really should stop sleeping on the floor, but deep down he knows this isn't the first time, and likely won't be the last.

"You may rest later once everything is settled out on the Lake." Toshi is quick to reassure him, the depths of his exhaustion never escaping his discerning eye.

"I know. Worry not. I'll be fine I assure you. As a Student, I am well accustomed to stretching my limits as it were." Rubbing a hand over his burning eyes G'raha bends to pick up Y'sato's journal. With reverent care, he cradles it in his hands, a warm softness in his gaze as he traces the faded jaguar claw with a fingertip. Never again will he leave this treasured keepsake behind. By merely holding it, looking at it he can feel him, as if Y'sato is standing right there at his side, within reach.

A telltale shimmer in his eyes he just as tenderly and reverent places it within the inner folds of his cloak, right above his heart. There it will be safe. This way Y'sato will be with him always. He presses his palm to it, a fond smile on his face.

My love...

"...When you feel ready head to the boardroom, but please don't tarry long. The food will only remain warm for so long after all. As for me..." Toshi trails off, a deep-seated sorrow lingering in the depths of his eyes, guilt. Averting his gaze he turns to leave. "Now if you will excuse me I got urgent matters to attend to. Our medical supplies, someone needs to take stock." With that he leaves, leaving G'raha confused.

What was all that about? Did I say something wrong?

His tail flicking curiously under his cloak G'raha can just look to the now empty doorway. Something strikes him with the sorrow he just felt radiate off the man. It brings to mind how guilty Toshi had looked when he first handed him the journal, how it manifested again tenfold when he handed him the phasmascapes next. Of how he had knelt before him a couple days later, bowing his head asking for forgiveness. Could he feel responsible still? For the immense grief he played no small part in causing him?

G'raha looks down at himself. Overwhelmed by grief he dismissed his plea that day. All he wanted was to be left alone, and despite his behavior Toshi still found it within himself to care, to even offer him a shoulder to cry on, to make sure he rests and is fed even now.

The corner of his mouth twists, tail lashing behind him as he shuts his eyes tight. I should have a word with him one of these days. To offer my apologies. None of this is his fault.

Letting some pent-up tension out with another lash of his tail he opens his eyes, the vibrant crimson startling in the low light. Blinking the all too familiar prickling sensation away from them he retrieves his bow from where it is propped against the wall to his right, quiver resting beside it with four arrows nestled within. A bow made just for him, from any suitable materials they could find. Securing them to the small harness on his back he at least leaves the room. He will worry about what to tell him later. For now, he should focus on getting some much-needed food in his body even when he doesn't feel hungry.

He struggles to remember when he last was.

-.-.-.-

The food Toshi prepared for him wasn't anything extravagant. Just the same old fare he has subsisted on for the last couple of weeks, the very same bland brown porridge now accompanied with the occasional dried tough strips of meat. Currently finding himself sitting around the fire pit, the flickering flames slowly dying out he finishes chewing and swallowing the final piece of such a strip. A grimace flashes briefly over his face, but otherwise, he says nothing. Nor does he look around the room, ignoring the commotion of two Ironworks members almost dropping the blackboard they are carrying out of the room behind him. 

The food left a bad taste in his mouth, but at least it is filling so he shouldn't complain. At the very least it keeps his body going and in the end is all that matters. Still, from time to time he finds himself missing the savory richness of the 7th Heaven's signature stew or the juicy, satisfying crunch of biting into a fresh ripened red apple. Simple pleasures he once took for granted and now he wonders if such food will ever grace his tongue again. If at the end of everything he will remember how it tasted like at all...

Idle musings that do precious little to serve him. Instead all they do is making him feel more downtrodden, more...empty.

Hollow.

After all of everyone in their organization, he is one of the few who still remembers how it feels like to not want for comforts, to not spend every day toiling, knowing in the end you will die, all of your accomplishments, forgotten.

As a historian, this very notion has his skin crawl, his ears fanning back as he glares into the now empty bowl held in his hands. He well knows not everything is recorded for progeny, that the victors write history, that sometimes tales and stories simply become lost due to lack of someone being able to pen them down or tell them, and as it stands seeing they aim to undo this very future there will be no one to walk in their footsteps, no one to learn of what has come to pass, no one to read about their heroic deeds in dusty tomes long stored away in the dim lighting of a library. No, everything, all of their hopes and dreams of a better future rests squarely on his shoulders, to see the past revitalized. As much as he still struggles to come to terms with it he cannot look away from the harsh truth. 

For this world, and everything in it, there is no future, and to G'raha's growing distress Biggs, Toshi, and everyone at their keep seem oddly content with being forgotten.

G'raha's tail smacks against the stony floor behind him, a furrow in his brow as he glares holes into the bowl. No there must be something he can do. Preserve their legacy somehow, so the lives they lead and their efforts won't be lost to the annals of history. After all, he still has a major part to play. The greatest of all and if the years that lie before him are kind, he will find the time to pen it all down, if only to see their history live on somehow, even if in another world, on a different shard entirely.

This is within my power. I owe them that much at least for what they have given me.

While he hasn't grown particularly close to any of them, save from Toshi perhaps, he cannot deny they are good people one and all. Even K'delika, although he wants nothing but to keep his distance from her. A feeling that is mutual since she outright rejected his apology, and perhaps that is for the best. After all, he will leave them all behind soon enough.

Setting the bowl aside on the floor he pushes himself back to his feet. Gaze downcast, still deep in thought he absentmindedly pulls his hood back over his head, the soft fabric a comforting weight on his ears. For now, he will distract himself with helping out where he can. Even now he hears it, the slightly muffled hustle and bustle of the moving efforts, of distant shouts, and the familiar hum of airship engines. Under his cloak, G'raha's tail flicks. The Keeper of the Lake, their new base of operations does intrigue him. Especially so since the father of dragons, Midgardsorm's sinewy charred corpse still holds the entire structure together. Well, to call it a corpse might be a bit misleading. Thanks to the memoirs left by Count Edmont and their other records, G'raha now knows the great wyrm isn't dead in truth. No, he is merely locked in deep slumber, and that he centuries past now assisted Y'sato with getting to Thordan's lair and furthermore with Omega.

A fact that would be hard to believe if he himself didn't just spend two centuries slumbering within the Tower. This great wyrm is no mere mortal and is far older than even the Ancient Allag Empire itself. What tales such a being could tell him, what guidance and wisdom he could offer. G'raha's heart already soars from the thought.

But there he stops. Such musings avails him not, and for all he knows judging by the state of this world Midgardsorm might have finally perished in truth.

Focus on your mission. This future and everything with it, is already a lost cause...

His jaw tight, a steely determination in his eyes he takes his leave of the room, a room that still heavily reminds him of misery and heartache, of seeing the one he treasures most dead in such a cold, senseless way.

He bows his head, the shadows of his hood obscuring his eyes entirely as an all too familiar feeling weighs on his heart. For a blessing with them moving base, he won't have to visit it any more at least.

Most of his afternoon is spent offering a helping hand where he can by transporting tools, gear, archived books, and any other resources over to their two functional airships, they taking turns moving everything over to their new base in tandem. As luck would have it G'raha is given leave to see to the one fully functional Allagan node himself and lead it to the ship.

A poorly hidden smile on his face he walks at its side, eyes of crimson gleaming with barely contained excitement as he looks down at its scratched white chassis. Busy as he has been he regrettably hasn't found much time to tinker with it, but once at their new base he hopes to steal away a moment or two.

Passing through the entrance way to the house he once again finds the weather to be overcast, a dull gray carrying the promise of rain, but of this, G'raha doesn't really mind. As much as he likes the sun, now it only serves to remind him of what he has lost. Eyes still on the node he swallows hard against the painful lump forming in his throat. This heaviness in his chest, this longing. He doubts it will ever truly fade away.

For ease of transport, room has been made for the airships to land at the former markets and here an airship is currently waiting. According to Biggs, this will be the final trip, most of their most crucial gear and resources already having been ferried across. The man himself stands by its gangplank, overlooking the operations to make sure everything is proceeding as it should. Aside from him and G'raha, few others remain behind. There is the airship pilot ever on standby, a couple of younger hyuran men watching the north gate especially, guns held at the ready. To their great boon, the northern gate leading to Coerthas leads to a narrow passage much akin to a cavern so if anyone is foolish enough to approach they will be seen straight away. Not far from them K'delika helps out by carrying miscellaneous storage boxes and salvage alongside a couple of others, one of them a burly roegadyn. Toshi however is nowhere to be seen, presumably already out on the Lake taking stock of everything.

Mulling over this G'raha ushers the Allagan node to board the ship with a gentle push but there he pauses. Absentmindedly he looks to the distance, to where Rathefrost is located, a far-seeing wistful look in his eyes. Perhaps he should, but no. This is not the time, but still, a part of him wants so badly to visit.

His tail flicks, red downy fur brushing against the fabric of his cloak, unseen but his strange pensive mood doesn't go unnoticed.

"G'raha, is there something on your mind?"

At once the tense movement of his tail stutters, hood shifting on his head as his ears perk up in surprise. Eyes wide he looks to the one who addressed him, Biggs. Shaded as his eyes are behind his glasses G'raha still can't read his eyes, but there is a question in the concerned set of his mouth. One G'raha feels inclined to answer.

He averts his gaze, eyes once more hidden under the shadows of his cowl. Their Chief is a patient man, although strict when it comes to his work, but it can't hurt to lay bare his desires at least. Fingers clenching and unclenching he voices his wish.

"Is nothing of import. 'Tis just, Sato's memorial. Regretfully I have not had the opportunity to visit since that day and as things stand I don't know when or if I will ever get the opportunity to see him again..." Still not looking their Chief in the eye G'raha tugs at the fabric over his chest with a hand, right over Y'sato's journal. Despite himself, his fingers tremble slightly. "It is all I ask. I will be swift I assure you."

There is a beat of silence, G'raha trying his best not to squirm under their Chief's scrutinizing gaze. G'raha knows a lot is at stake, but Y'sato's journal and his memorial are all he has left to remember him by, and after having read the entries within there is a lot within in his heart and on his mind. Emotions and thoughts that yet ache to be released, to spread their wings and rise on the eternal winds so they truly can be processed. Emotions he rather wants to deal with in private.

The tense silence stretches on for so long G'raha can't help but steel himself for his humble request to be denied. It was foolish of him to ask. He should just-

He is snapped out of his thoughts when a familiar sizeable hand lands on his shoulder, and looking up all he sees is a smile, a reassuring one.

"I can tell this is important to you. Alright, we'll wait, but pray make haste and please do be careful. There is no telling when those scavengers might show up."

Already G'raha's heart swells from the prospect. With a warm smile of his own, he nods, unable to stop his appreciation from bleeding into his tail. Already it swishes, his cloak shifting alongside the excited movement.

"I shall. Worry not. I will be back before you know it."

He reaches back quickly to make sure his bow and arrows are all accounted for. Feeling the cool metal and soft fletches of his arrows under his fingertips he takes his leave. The sooner he can pay his respects and tell Y'sato what's on his heart the better.

With a quickened purposeful stride he hurries through the gate and down the path that leads to the Tangle. He makes a point to not look too closely at the derelict Garlean Castrum in the distance this time, but even with his precautions that all too familiar fury still rises within him from the sight alone, simmering just below the surface. Fingers trembling slightly G'raha pulls his hood down further over his eyes. As much as he tries to deny it his heart aches for retribution, to hold someone accountable, to lash out at something, to make it hurt.

It unsettles him these feelings, this fierce contempt he harbors for the now long-dead Empire, it being utterly alien and so unlike anything he has ever felt before. It brings to mind Y'sato's words from his journal. Where do such bottled-up emotions go when the ones responsible for such untold destruction and misery are long gone? When the enemy is already long defeated? At least Y'sato still had the Empire to unleash all his suppressed hatred upon although reluctantly. He still had Varis and the Ascians in his sights, but G'raha has nothing of the sort. Only the dust beneath his feet and the memories of a time now long since passed.

But perhaps it is for the best. Vengeance and killing begets only misery. He discovered that much for himself when he bumped into the corpse of that poor elezen woman in Ishgard... Never again does he want to behold such a dreadful sight. Not as long as he has a say in it.

He has just taken his first steps into the Tangle when something prickles at his nerves, makes his skin crawl. At once he comes to a halt on the dry lusterless ground, all of his senses already sharp and on high alert. He struggles to explain it but he cannot shake this feeling that he shouldn't go further under any circumstances.

One of his ears twitches, furred tip brushing against his hood, both pricked. The eerie deathly silence still cradles this place like always but there is something deeply wrong with it this time, like he is being watched by someone lurking in the shadows.

B-but why? I have been here before and I felt nothing of the sort back then. Did something change?

His eyes widen, pupils dilating as a dreadful possibility makes itself apparent. For as long as he has been here he has spotted no wildlife in the region. Not even a single bird or rodent. It can mean only one thing.

Don't tell me...vagrants have taken up camp somewhere in these surroundings?

All at once every shadow is a potential enemy. The hairs on the back of his neck raise, his ears pinning back flat against his skull as the realization dawns on him. He feels it to the very pit of his stomach, an instinctual urge to run. To turn around and to never look back. He almost yields to that overpowering urge. Under his cloak, his tail bristles, all hairs standing on end as it seeks refuge between his legs. He shouldn't be here. He should be anywhere but here. Already he takes a step back, his fingers trembling.

No, he has to suppress it. Running away in a wild frenzied panic will avail him not. If anything it will leave him an easier target. He knows that much.

Have courage. Remember Sato's words. Courage is not the absence of fear...but the strength to triumph it. I...can do this.

Taking a purposeful, calming breath he pulls back his hood so he can better track any sounds in the vicinity, to better keep an eye out. The vibrant red of his gaze is intense, almost unnerving as he swiftly reaches back for his bow. Ears swiveling, eyes honed with a laser focus he holds it at the ready, an arrow ready to be knocked back at signs of any movement. At least he doesn't come unarmed this time, but he rather wants to take his leave without any altercations. After all, he only has four arrows left...

That said I-I should head back. Going out here when I know scavenger activity has been observed was foolish. Utterly foolish!

Unwilling, no unable to turn his back on the Tangle he starts to slowly backtrack the way he came, every footstep careful and measured, bowstring drawn taut. The rush of blood pounding in his veins and his tense, shallow breathing all he is aware of. Russet ears twitch, him flinching, momentarily losing his focus when the heel of his boot unexpectedly knocks into a loose pebble, sending it skittering over the ground. The sound of it is so loud in the deafening stillness it has his ears instinctively pin back, the very notion of it rubbing his fraying nerves raw. For a fleeting moment his eyes trace the path of the pebble, his focus waning if just for those few heartbeats.

But that brief lapse in focus is enough.

It happens so quickly. Rapid footsteps assault his ears from the left, appearing from behind a rock and whipping around G'raha finds his assailant is already on top of him, a midlander, a man, eyes frenzied, the glint of steel from a raised dagger bearing down.

G'raha doesn't think. He is unable to. The arrow flies from his bow on instinct but it isn't near close enough to hit the mark.

But the raised blade, does.

Mercilessly it splits his skin open, cuts deep into his upper left arm. G'raha flinches, cries out, the sudden piercing, searing pain almost too much to bear. From the startling impact alone he almost drops his bow, and the vagrant sees his chance.

In a split second, the blade bears down on him again, a flash of steel, aimed straight for his chest. He doesn't think. His body moving on its own, driven by nothing but desperation, the pure instinctual will to live G'raha brings up his bow, effectively blocking the blow.

Heedless of the consequences he pushes back, eyes wild, panicked. Taken off guard his assailant stumbles on his feet and seeing his chance G'raha grabs it. He bolts. Unable to hear anything but his blood roaring in his pinned-back ears he doesn't look back. He has to get away, from this madman who wants him dead.

The keep! I must warn the others. If there is one of them there has to be-

A thrown knife whizzes past, almost nicks his ear. Heart pounding G'raha looks back just to see his assailant is already right at his heels. He tackles into him, wrestles him into the ground from behind. It's so startling, so unexpected his bow slips from his grasp, clatters to the ground. Somehow he managed to whirl around just fast enough he lands on his back with a pained grunt, eyes squeezing shut. His ears twitches to the sound of his arrows rattling in his quiver, a deafening sound.

But he is quick to recover. He has to! The blade is already bearing down on him again and unable to do aught else he grabs onto the wrists of his assailant with a fierce iron grip, the blade's bloodied sharp tip just ilms away from piercing his neck. Already he feels it, a drop of his own blood dripping down onto his skin from that very blade. Sluggishly it trails down to the side, streaks over one of his Archon tattoos.

"Please," He pleads, hands trembling as he holds the man at bay with all of his strength, knuckles turned white, "You don't have to do this."

"Shut up!" The man barks back, the look in his brown, bloodshot eyes wild, frenzied, filled with desperation "Just die!"

His assailant doubles down, putting all of his weight on his blade with fierce abandon. G'raha's wound in his arm, sears, burns from the strain, but he doesn't let up, pushing back with all he got. The man straddles his hips further, effectively pinning him to the ground. He has to get away or he will-

He gasps as the tip of the blade presses into the tender skin just above his Adam's apple, a needle-sharp pinprick as it draws blood. A soft choked pained sound escapes him in response, hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes. It can't end here. Not like this. It cannot!

His tail thumps the ground at his side hard, once, twice. Desperation grows inside him with such an intensity he has never felt, a fierce overpowering want to get away, to run, run, run, to live.

Driven by this fierce instinct he gains the newfound strength to push back at his attacker, his teeth clamped together so hard he trembles. Blood freely gushes from the wound in his arm but he pays it no heed. He has to fight back. Give everything he has. No one is here to rescue him this time and if he falls Y'sato will-

I cannot. Will not fail you!

"Get off of me!" The harsh shout ripping itself free is startling even to his ears, his nails digging into his assailant's wrists so hard they are sure to leave deep dents in his skin. Unexpectedly his attacker lets up, removing the knife. G'raha's eyes widens in surprise. Did his appeal reach the man after all?

His relief is short-lived. In a split second, the blade bears down on him again, deep into his shoulder this time. His left. Heart in his throat G'raha gasps, a ragged thing as the sharp, crude blade digs in, deep into his skin and flesh both. It burns, a cold searing pain that threatens to rip him asunder. Struggling to regain his bearings he claws at it uselessly with his fingers, anything to get it away from him, out of him, but his efforts yield him nothing but a mocking deranged smile. His world turns a blinding white as his assailant twists the knife.

He screams, tail thrashing at his side.

"That's what you get for not wanting to go out the easy way. Now suffer! Writhe!"

With more force than is needed the knife is ripped free from his wound, a deranged sadistic glee in his assailant's voice, filled with such pure malice it makes his skin crawl. G'raha's chest heaves, dark spots wobbling in his vision. This-this is not good.

I-I have to do something. Anything or I'll-

He catches it in his peripherals, the glint of the bloodied blade coming down, this time clearly aiming to slit his throat. Once more he brings up his arms and catches the man's wrists. He is not aware of the tears streaking down the sides of his face, or the cold sweat sticking to his neck. All he wants is to live, to flee! He pushes back against his attacker, tries in vain to wrestle himself free from the oppressive weight that straddles him, that presses him down, but there is no budge. The pressure within builds, the fierce desperation flooding throughout his entire being, every nerve ending crackling with electricity, his very skin being on fire, his pounding heartbeat nothing but a rising, deafening crescendo in his chest, his ears. He needs to get away, to run, to live.

G'raha's eyes flashes. I must survive!

A switch, is flipped.

One moment he is fighting for his life, bleeding out on the ground. The next he is somehow on top of his attacker, wrestling the knife out of his hand. Everything is a frenzied noncoherent blur, his body driven by pure instinct. Even his cries are alien to his ears, a fierce, enraged thing, much akin to a cornered animal given no other recourse but to fight. There is no rhyme or reason to the way he wields the knife, to the way he flails it aimlessly around, his eyes wild, untamed. The blade hits the mark he can tell, but if anything they just grace the man's skin, and enrages him further.

G'raha staggers up to his feet, his assailant giving chase, brandishing another knife, fully aiming it for G'raha's stomach. The glint of steel alone is enough to fill him with untold terror.

He doesn't think. In one fluid motion, he brings his dagger forward with both hands as the man bears down upon him.

The knife hits its mark, sinks deep into his assailant's upper chest with a sickening squelch, blood gushing over G'raha's hands. The man staggers back, a wet gurgling gasp escaping him as his knife falls from his hand, clattering to the ground.

The frenzied haze lifting G'raha lets go of the dagger as if it physically burnt him, but the damage is already done. He can only watch as the man sinks to his knees before him, falling to his side. A shudder runs through his tattered clothed frame, hands clawing at the ground in a feeble attempt to get to him. Such fear and hatred gleams in his eyes in that moment, a final ragged breath leaving him as his body finally gives in. There he goes still, arms ceasing their useless movement with a final twitch. Unable to tear his eyes away from the sight G'raha watches as the light leaves the man's eyes. Just like that he is gone, his eyes now unseeing, staring at nothing.

The threat, has passed. 

Panting, shaking, his heart a pounding discordant rhythm in his chest G'raha looks down at his trembling hands, slicked with blood as they are. It is everywhere. Under his nails, in the creases of his palms, his fingers, and it finally dawns on him. 

I-I killed-

"I knew I heard screams. There he is. Get him! Storm their keep!"

He isn't allowed to linger, to even process what he has just done. His ears pricked he hears voices in the distance, and looking up he sees them. More vagrants. Dozens of them. They must have heard the screams. Still trembling G'raha hastily wipes the blood off on his cloak and snatching up his bow he bolts.

Everything is a blur as he hurries back, sprinting past dead, translucent crystal, his pounding heartbeat and the warm slickness sluggishly tricking down his left arm all he is aware of alongside the hurried, frenzied thuds of his footfalls. His blood soaks into the fabric of his cloak over his shoulder but there is no more pain. It is like it is shrouded by a thick, impenetrable fog, distant to be dealt with at some other time. In the back of his mind G'raha knows what this heightened, yet strange lack of sensation is. Adrenaline.

It helps fuel him, drives him to keep moving when he otherwise would find himself unable to. He doesn't pause, nor stop, even as crimson drops steadily drip to the ground from his fingertips leaving a blood trail in his wake.

He rushes recklessly past the gate, vivid crimson eyes wild as he immediately seeks out their Chief who is still standing by the airship. They need to flee right this second. The vagrants, he can still hear them in the distance, looming. Any moment now and they will be right at their doorstep!

"G'raha! By the Twelve what happened to-"

"Vagrants!" G'raha doesn't allow their Chief to finish, barely even aware of the alarmed way he looks at him, how everyone at the keep looks at him wide-eyed or more accurately, at his wounds, "In the Tangle. We have to flee right this second. They are-"

An arrow whizzes right past his ear, having him instinctively duck. It hits a storage box with a loud thwack. Battle cries sound out behind him and already his skin prickles, crawls with unease. He knows all too well they are all heavily outnumbered. They have to flee, right now or they will all be slaughtered. 

Gunshots ring out, the keep erupting into full-blown chaos as desperate men and women storm the keep. Biggs is quick with barking out orders, his voice carrying unflinching authority.

"Leave the rest. Everyone to the ship. Now!"

G'raha doesn't need to be asked twice, but he doesn't board it just yet. He joins their two gunmen by providing cower while the others run to safety. With a purposeful breath, he knocks back an arrow, takes aim.

But there he pauses, a cold sweat gripping him, his fingers trembling. He has shot down Allagan clones before, but these men and women... He is expected to kill them, just like he just killed-

It hits him with such vehemence he covers his mouth with a hand, his eyes squeezing shut. Not that the motion helps with quelling his rising nausea. His hand, reeks of blood, both his own and-

"G'raha, you need to focus!"

A man yells at his side, a gunman, his eyes panicked, but his words are enough. Taking a deep breath, lips trembling as he presses them firmly together G'raha once more takes aim. He has to do this, to protect those he holds most dear. These people would kill him for less, and take sick pleasure in doing so. Something that has just been abundantly proven to him.

He knocks the arrow back, ears drooping as he trembles slightly. If it means he will live to see his mission to completion, if it means everyone will survive, he will do what he must.

Holding his breath, he lets it go. Shrieking through the air his arrow strikes true, burrows deep into a vagrant's chest, a woman. She falls back to the ground in that very instant, already dead.

He knocks another arrow, lets it fly, another kill. It weighs on him, but he looks on, unflinching, even when it hurts, cuts him deep, but deep down he knows if he doesn't do this his and everyone's lives are forfeit.

His final arrow flies, hits the mark. Not an outright kill this time, but it hits the man in his thigh. It is enough.

"Delika!"

A startling cry echoes through the keep, cuts through the chaos and gunshots surrounding them. It carries such a panicked desperation G'raha has never heard, and least of all from this man. He realizes, the voice belongs to their Chief.

Whirling around he realizes why. A ways away from the ship their Chief is giving his all defending, K'delika sits frozen, a vagrant, a young man honing in, sword held at the ready. At once the image of the poor dead elezen woman plays before his mind's eye. K'delika, she has ever been callous, unkind, and unwilling to give him the light of day, but she doesn't deserve such a cruel fate. Already his tail lashes, fur bristling.

Reaching back he grasps for an arrow only for his fingers to close around thin air. The lack of the comforting feel has dread jolt through him, unforgiving and cold. Out of arrows. Eyes frantic he throws a quick glance around. Around him their two gunmen have their hands full already keeping the vagrants at bay away from their ship, quickly running out of ammunition by doing so, Biggs much in the same boat, his expression strained, stained by gunpowder and soot. It is abundantly clear none of them will make it to her in time.

In that instant G'raha knows what he must do.

Heedless of the consequences he rushes in, wielding his bow more like a bludgeoning tool than the refined weapon of precision it is. He swings at the vagrant, said man clearly taken by surprise by the widening of his eyes to judge. G'raha's bow hits him straight on the jaw with a satisfying, resounding crack. The man goes limp in that very instant, his weapon dropping to the ground all useless as he drops unceremoniously to the ground with a pitiful thud.

G'raha doesn't care to look too closely at the state of his downed opponent this time. Now he only cares for the safety of his allies.

Bow still held at the ready in a trembling grip he turns to K'delika who looks up at him with wide, surprised eyes. At a glance, he sees no blood on her. Good, means she is unharmed, but still, he feels compelled to ask her just to make sure.

"K'delika, are you-"

Something whizzes through the air and hits him from the side, a startling impact that nearly knocks the air clean from his lungs. Startled, looking down he sees the leather-wrapped wooden hilt of a blade sticking out from just below his ribs on his right-hand side. Without thinking he pulls the blade free, an all too familiar burning sensation following in its wake, but there is this strange wetness accompanying it this time. Blinking he lets go of the offending object, bringing his hand to the site. G'raha blanches, eyes wide. His hand, it comes away sticky with warm, crimson blood, and there is an alarming amount. Already his fingers are caked with the stuff. 

I-I shouldn't have dropped my guard...

"G'raha!"

The world falls away, his ears deaf to the voices screaming his name, to the gunshots of Biggs downing his assailant before he can even think to toss another dagger, dead before he even hits the ground. All G'raha can do is stare down at his trembling hand. Blood...Why is there so much blood?

He is barely even aware as someone roughly grabs him around his arm, pulling him towards the airship.

"We leave, now!" Biggs's voice rings out, echoing in his ears, followed by a string of gunfire. Stumbling up the gangplank on unsteady feet G'raha is unable to tell if everyone made it out or not. 

With a loud whir, the airship engines shudder to life, and just like that they are already in the air but all G'raha knows is his strength steadily draining from his limbs and the warm feel of blood soaking into his clothes in gushing waves disturbingly aligned to his pounding heartbeat.

"For-forgive-" His knees give out before he can even finish his sentence, his legs useless. He fully expects to fall face-first on the metallic floor, but someone grabs him, guiding him to lie down on his back.

Everything is an incomprehensible, hazy blur, but he can make out Biggs at least, dropping to his knees beside him. With no hesitation, he pushes down onto the wound, hard. It's so unexpected, so wholly raw G'raha sucks in a sharp breath from the pain, burning and prickling through his skin as it is. Once more dark spots wobble in his vision, an encroaching shadow creeping at the edges. In the back of his mind, he knows their Chief only tries to help him, to try to staunch the bleeding. If it is this bad already does it mean-

Am - am I...dying?

"Stay with me, G'raha. Stay awake. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes you hear me? Just focus on my voice. You will be fine. Everything will be fine."

"I-I don't-"

"You have to. Just breathe alright? Nice and slow."

G'raha shudders, his arms lying at his sides, all slack, useless like the rest of him. Bigg's commands are steep requests to follow, between the blood loss and the haze of pain washing over him now his adrenaline is waning. He tries to take a deep breath, but his chest heaves, his breathing much too quick, far too shallow.

"Chief. I- I think he is going into shock. Toshi, we need to bring him to Toshi!"

Wait Toshi! One of his ears twitches to the younger man's voice, a piercing realization hitting him hard enough it cuts through the haze.

Wait. K'delika. Is she-

Still straining to breathe he looks to the side, and there merely fulms away she is sitting on her knees with her tail trembling where she clutches it in her hands, shaken but seemingly no worse for wear. What strikes him the most is the look in her eyes as she meets his gaze. No longer do they burn like torches, filled with contempt whenever she looked his way. No, in its place they are wide, shocked, horrified. Is a look he has never seen on her before, and it already has him stunned. Such terror mars her expression. He already wants it gone. No one...should ever look that terrified.

Another shudder from the airship engines rattles the ship. It shifts him slightly, but he still doesn't move. He is unable to move, his head still turned to the side. The warm, wet spot on his chest soaks into his cloak further. Despite his dire circumstances a strange peace falls over him, his eyelids growing heavy. He sinks deeper into its calm embrace, his eyes half-lidded as everything fades out into blurry shapes. It would be so easy...to just-

"G'raha, look at me. You must stay awake. "

Once more one of his ears twitches. He didn't even realize his eyes were closing. It is an immense effort but he manages to move his head, to look up into the skies above. Although everything is still a blur with wobbling spots and dark edges, faintly he can make out the color. Again his ear twitches, a weak, barely felt motion this time. Was the sky always this...blue?

Sato...you always...liked the blue sky. Skies one could drown in...I remember it...I remember it all so clearly...

"Chief, he is fading."

"G'raha, you must stay awake. Can you hear me?"

Said miqo'te doesn't respond. He doesn't respond to anyone. With a slow blink, he keeps looking into the sky, holding on to the memory of his dear friend sitting at the lakeside at his side, both just admiring the sky, golden locks swaying gently on the breeze. He can almost feel him, reach out to touch his hair, to feel that sublime softness under his fingertips, the silken feel of the fur of his ears.

A finger twitches but other than that he remains disturbingly still.

Panicked voices erupt around him, one barking orders, but they are all so distant, detached, a faint echo. Someone else talks to him, clapping his cheek in a desperate attempt to keep him awake, but he might as well not hear it, nor even feel it. He knows this is a bad sign. That he should hold on, but he finds it hard to care, each breath leaving him more shallow than the last, slowing.

It...it can't end here...I have a mission to fulfill, a promise to uphold...

A shuddering breath leaves him. So weak he for a moment hardly registers it at all. Against his will his eyes go out of focus, flutters shut.

…Sato.

Chapter Text

"-aha. G'raha! Open your eyes. Please!"

"Gods, he's so pale. Don't tell me he's-."

"No! We-we can't lose him."

"Toshi! You have to save him."

"There's so much...blood."

Voices, close and yet so distant echoes in his ears, cuts through the hazy muddle of his mind, but he is unable to act on them. He's unable to act on anything. A muscle twitches, somewhere. If it's in his arm or leg he cannot be sure. He's unable to even lift his head to take stock, to do anything but lie there, but for a blessing, there is no more pain, his body numb, all that registers a faint prickling sensation in his limbs.

He blinks. Somehow his eyes are open, if just by thin slits. Why are they open? A slight furrow in his brow G'raha strains to make sense of it all but it all slips through his fingers like sand before he can truly get a grasp. Try as he might he is unable to pry his heavy eyelids open further, to focus on anything, every motion around him passing him by a blurry mess, a dizzying whorl of browns, reds, and blues. Still, that simple action is a sign of life. One that doesn't go unnoticed.

"G'raha, can you hear me? Hang on. You have to hang on."

"Quick! Bring him here."

Someone gathers him hastily into their arms, talks to him but all he can do is lay in their arms all limp, his head lolling back as he is being lifted off the bloodied floor. From that motion alone his eyes already begins slipping shut, but he forces them back open. Something in the back of his mind tells him falling asleep is not wise right now. It is an effort merely to breathe.

He blinks again, slower this time, eyes far-seeing, unfocused.

To their eyes, he must already seem too far gone.

Is this...how I...die?

Everything moves past him in slow motion and yet not. A frenzied discordance he struggles to comprehend. He should be just as alarmed and distraught over his current state and yet such peace hangs over him much akin to the pale light of a full moon. If this is what it means to die...he does not fear it.

Is this...how it felt for you, Sato? Did you...just drift away as well? No...pain. Just...everlasting peace...

It is a comforting thought, and he once more sinks into it. Into that calm beckoning embrace, deeper, deeper, deeper...

He's not aware of being lowered unto something firm, nor the fear shining so clearly in an aged au ra's eyes as warm familiar hands quickly reaches out for him, their palms already suffused with a soft, gentle blue glow.

"G'raha!"

An anxious yet commanding voice rips through the peace, distant, echoing, but it is enough. At once it drags him back to the surface, but just by a tiny margin. He's unable to recognize it, but it's there, alongside a surge of warmth that floods through him from somewhere in the center of his chest. It is strangely...revitalizing. Blinking his heavy eyelids open a face comes into view, but their identity eludes him, his eyes unable to focus on anything.

"Wh-who..." G'raha rasps, his voice a small, fragile thing, barely audible. Weak.

"Worry not. I'm here. You are in safe hands."

The voice is so soft, comforting, and warm. It reaches something within him. Something vulnerable and small.

Something that wants so desperately to live.

"Ple-please, save-" Straining to speak G'raha tries to voice his earnest plea, but his words slur together, the sounds that escape him utterly unintelligible even to his own ears, his tongue going all thick in his mouth, useless. His tail twitches weakly at his side and with it, fear, primal and deep-rooted coils around his heart, grips him with claws of a nameless dread he cannot see. Nor understand. All he knows is he almost gave in to it, that he still can-

A shudder runs through him, damp hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes. The watery sheen burns across his already blurred vision, distorting the expanse before him in an all-consuming blinding white.

I...I don't...want to die...

"Shh, it's alright. I won't see you leave us like this. I cannot."

The voice of whoever speaks to him rises, filled with such unshakable resolve he has ever heard. With it, the strange revitalizing warmth grows in intensity, washes over him from his chest to the very tip of his ears with a force akin to water springing forth from a deep well. It reminds him of the brisk refreshing gust blowing in from the northern sea at the shores of Sharlayan on a warm summer's day. Strong, undaunted, like the sun rays breaking free through the cracks of a thick layer of clouds, illuminating and giving new life to anything its light can reach. Like a sunflower, G'raha cannot help but arch towards it, seeking its warmth, and with it, he at last recognizes the one who spoke to him so softly, so reassuringly. His very essence is laid bare in his spell, after all, a potent healing spell beyond measure.

Toshi...

And it doesn't end there. Ceaseless his caretaker's spell floods through his entire being in gentle, yet strong waves. A strange, dull tingling in his chest where the thrown knife hit its mark accompanies it, his wound slowly knitting together. It spreads further to his shoulder, where the vagrant stabbed him so savagely. From there it flows down his arm to where that crude blade split his skin open. It is all so...blissful. Strangely comforting. Sedating.

Before he can do anything to stop it his eyes drifts shut, his body relaxing, yielding completely to the sensation of the aether flowing through him, unimpeded, warm. To its sedate, hypnotic rhythm his shallow breathing gradually deepens, extends...

Within moments, he is gone to the world.

-.-.-

There are fingers in his hair, gentle as a hand cradles the back of his head, brushing against his partly undone braid. A familiar hand. The feel of it has a flicker of hope spark to life in his chest. At once his mouth opens, his name escaping slightly chapped lips, his voice still so weak as he struggles to form words.

"Sa- Sato?..."

"...I'm afraid not." There is a hesitance in the voice, almost mournful. Something cool to the touch touches his parted lips, the unexpected sensation having one of his ears twitch, but otherwise he doesn't move, eyes closed. Still, it seems to be enough incentive for whoever holds him so gently to speak to him further.

"I know you are weak but that is why you need to drink this. It's a potion. Be warned, however, it's bitter."

A...potion?

All G'raha can give in response is a low groan, but he complies. Still, even with the warning it doesn't stop his ears from fanning back from the expected bitterness, from the vile taste of sour grapes and vinegar washing over his tongue, from sticking to the roof of his mouth. His brows draw into a frown in distaste, gagging as the blue liquid trickles down his throat, but he gulps down as much as he can muster, feeble mouthfuls at a time.

"Good. Take your time. Slow and easy does it."

Whoever gives him the potion seems to have great experience doing so judging by the slow, measured way they pour it into his mouth, mouthful by small manageable mouthful. They keep at it until the small bottle held to his lips is presumably empty from the way the steady trickle turns into meager scant drops.

One of G'raha's ears twitches to the small clink of glass hitting something made of rock as whoever holds him puts the bottle away. He is so weak, his eyelids weighted down with what feels like lead. His body is fuzzy, distant, feeling like he is floating on clouds but there is no pain. Thankfully there is no pain. Shivering a deep sigh leaves him, sinking even further into the soft firmness he is resting on from that realization alone. He can already feel it, the drowsy effects of the potion tethering at the edge of his consciousness, washing over his body in steady, sluggish pulsating waves. Usually, it wouldn't have this strong an effect on him, but weakened as he is, he feels inclined to heed the sleepy pull, and doubly so.

"I know you are tired, but you should drink this as well. It's water. Worry not. It's safe to drink. It's boiled."

Again something cool touches his lips, and again liquid trickles into his mouth. For a blessing, it doesn't taste bitter this time. In truth, it doesn't taste like much at all. Just a flat, barely-there tinge on his tongue. Water indeed, neither cold, nor hot, but certainly refreshing and it feels so good against his parched throat.

He gulps down as much as he can muster until he feels no longer parched. Some of it spills down the corner of his mouth, but a gentle hand is quick to wipe it away before it can drip off onto his neck. The touch is so gentle, so soothing. A weak groan escapes the back of his throat in response. He tries to peel his heavy eyelids open, but they refuse to budge.

"Pray rest. You need it." The warm, soothing voice says as whoever cradles the back of his head lowers it back to rest on something soft. G'raha doesn't need to be asked twice. Already he gives in. His body, it feels so heavy...

He drifts. Sweet nothingness shrouds him like a blanket as he sinks deeper, deeper into a dreamless slumber.

He remains in this peaceful state until a low crackling teases his ears in the distance, drifting through the hazy murk of his mind, tugging at his consciousness. A distinctive pop of logs shifting has one of his ears twitch, the furred tip brushing against something soft beneath his head.

Is that...firewood?

Groaning he shifts his head slightly, but otherwise, he gives no further incentive of waking. The crackling sound is not the only sound in his vicinity. Straining he hears them in the distance. Voices engaged in hushed conversation, words murmured and muted like they are afraid to disturb his rest. He's unable to catch on to what is being said, not helped by the underlying backdrop of the gentle pitter-patter of rain, but he grows aware of one fact. There is something soft and layered covering him up to his shoulders, keeping him warm. A...blanket?

Wh-what...happened?

Straining to make sense of it all, pushing back at the sluggish hold on his mind his ears detect something else. Heavy-footed footsteps move in his direction and with it, he grows aware of a presence, soothing and calm sitting close by to his left.

The slow footsteps come to a halt, also to his left, and a voice, deep and gruff, speaks. This voice sounds so oddly familiar and yet in his groggy state G'raha struggles to recognize it.

...Who?

"How is he? Any change in his condition?"

A short breath leaves whomever this man is talking to, not quite a sigh, but in low spirits all the same. Worn, tired.

"He has yet to wake in truth I'm afraid, but his pulse is growing stronger. I take that as a good sign."

"That's good to hear at least. Thanks, Toshi, for saving him. For a moment there I thought for sure he was a goner."

There is relief in the gruff man's voice, weary as it is, but more than that G'raha latches on to the name he just spoke.

Wait...Toshi...

Unaware he is listening in, said healer keeps talking to the man, a smile evident in his voice. "The credit isn't all mine, Chief. If you hadn't done all in your power to try stop the bleeding he would have truly been lost to us. You bought us precious time."

Bleeding...precious time...

It returns to him, piece by sluggish piece. Of them making preparations to move out to the Keeper of Lake, of him going to the Tangle for want of visiting Y'sato's memorial for what would very likely be the final time, of the vagrant, the sharp edge of a knife biting into his skin, burrowing deep into his shoulder, their keep stormed by desperate men and women, a knife thrown into his chest...

Chaos and blood, so much blood. He...he was bleeding out...essentially dying on their hands, and then Toshi-

Everything hits him with a cold burst, prickling and relentless. His heart pounds so incessantly in his chest that all he can hear is its throbbing rush in his ears as he shudders. The thunderous beat is a sure reminder he is still alive. Blessedly so, and yet such dread grips him, cold and nameless. His breath catches in his throat. It can leave him. This spark of life coursing through him might go out any second! He has seen it happen before his very eyes after all, how easily life can be snuffed out. Worse yet he took part in extinguishing that flickering flame himself. One moment there was life in those eyes, the next, nothing. Gone. Just like that.

He...he will be next. 

N-no...

A glint of a honed blade flashes in his mind's eye with such startling clarity it has his tail curl towards his leg, trembling, unseen under the covers. The knife! He can still feel it. Feels it even now, a burning, stinging throbbing in his left shoulder, and with it he sees it. The crazed look in his assailant eyes as it burrowed deep, deep into his shoulder, and with such deranged glee it made his skin crawl. He gasps, opening his mouth to cry out to plead to whoever may listen, but his voice refuses to leave him. In its place, there is nothing but a low pitiful whimper from somewhere in the back of his throat. So weak and imperceptible he for a moment doubts he was even heard.

Please! I-I don't want to-

"G'raha?"

A gentle touch, patient as always reaches out for him. G'raha feels them, familiar warm fingertips gently pressing into the pulse point at the side of his neck close to one of his Archon tattoos. Once this touch was a source of great anxiety, but now it helps ground him. Makes him feel seen, heard.

Shuddering, another whimper breaking free he manages to force his heavy eyelids open. What greets him is a blurred tapestry of rusted red and browns, and a face, a pale face framed by white scales and long blond strands comes into view. He blinks, his panic still rising, but he can tell one thing for sure as his vision clears. His eyes, he is able to focus this time.

"Ah, praise Hydealyn. You are awake." The owner of the face above him speaks, relief clear in his kind blue eyes as he smiles warmly, but G'raha feels anything but.

"Are you in any pain? Perhaps I can-"

"Th-the vagrant! The knife. I...I- he wanted to kill me!" G'raha doesn't give him time to finish, eyes wide, frantic, the vivid unearthly red boring into the man sitting before him. Trembling his fingers claw into whatever he is lying on. A soft, yet thin material, blunt nails dragging on the fabric. It does nothing to soothe him. Nothing at all... Around him long shadows loom, first now realizing by the dwindling light the sun is setting. His heart feels fit to leap from his chest from that very notion alone, and he rebels against it, chest heaving. Any moment now they will jump him, slit his throat. He must-

"Hey, hey, it's alright. There are no vagrants here. You are safe. Look at me." Warm steadying hands reaches out for him, halting his movements, G'raha not aware he was trying to sit up. The hands are gentle, making sure not to touch his wounded shoulder nor the wound in his arm. Still, their hold does nothing to soothe him. Instead, they do the opposite. His stomach roils, ears pinning back as his pupils widen from the feel of being thus restrained. All he sees is the vagrant pushing down on him, straddling him, pressing the point of the knife against his throat. It's all too much, his mind nothing but a litany screaming: Get off me, get off me, get off me!

Scrambling he pushes back at the hands, claws at scaly wrists, unable to even speak through the frantic throb of his pulse in his throat, choking him.

"You have to stay still! I did what I could to stop the bleeding, but you are still injured."

Toshi's words do nothing to calm him, his instructions falling on deaf ears. G'raha shudders, his mind still screaming at him to get up, to get away, lest they get to him. Lest they get to everyone. Another figure steps closer, this one far more bulkier than the one holding him down and the sight alone has a choked sound escape him.

"This isn't good. Perhaps I should-" The gruff voice speaks but it is quickly silenced.

"No, leave this to me. Is not the first time." The older voice is oddly calm, collected given the circumstances, resolved blue eyes never leaving G'raha's own. "If you want to help, go fetch some more water if you please. He needs it."

Wordlessly their Chief does as bid, but G'raha's attention is solely on the man before him, or more accurately his hands holding him gently, yet firmly in place. He fights back against their hold even when the wound in his shoulder burns something fierce, every shallow breath like acid on his tongue.

"G'raha, you are safe. Look at me, breathe. Can you do that for me?"

The man still talks to him so calmly, but his grip is ever steadfast. Why, why won't he let him go? No matter how hard he struggles the hands still pin him down despite all his efforts, but he doesn't relent. He cannot! Blood pounds in his ears, drowning out all sound and with it his vision disfigures, blurs, narrowing as if he is looking through a fish eye lens. The sensation is dizzying, nauseating, the pale face above him swimming in and out of focus. His skin tingles, leaving cold pinpricks in their wake. This is it. He is going to die.

No, I cannot. Will not!

"Please, look at me. I need you to-"

"Get off of me!" The shout rips itself free from his throat unthinkingly, lashing out, the frustration in his voice jarring to even his own ears, the sheer panic. He redoubles his efforts, claws further onto scaly wrists, but his body is still so weak, feeling much too heavy. Out of options and desperate to get away his legs kick uselessly at his bedroll, rumpling his blanket, but all his moving about isn't without consequence. A sharp stinging searing burn announces itself from somewhere below his ribs on his right side, swiftly followed by a warm familiar stickiness. His tail thrashes, eyes frantic. They hurt him!

"G'raha!" Someone grabs his face, cupping his cheeks, holding his head firmly in place. He doesn't know who. Doesn't care. All he wants is to get away. To live. To stop hurting. To stop bleeding.

"You are safe, you hear me? You are safe. No one will hurt you."

But you just did!

Heedless of the consequences he keeps fighting, keeps squirming in their hold, his whole body shaking as every fiber of him screams to be let go, overwhelmed by the instinctual need to run. Once more grey spots wobble in his vision, but he still doesn't relent.

His blanket kicked off his chest, Toshi spares a quick glance at the site of G'raha's deepest wound, only for his eyes to widen. He curses under his breath. "Quick, someone bring me more bandages. One of his wounds just reopened."

All at once chaos erupts around him, but G'raha pays it no heed. He is unable to. Still clawing desperately at scaly wrists all he can do is gasp when something sudden and vast slams into him, a spell channeled into him from the very hands still cupping his cheeks. This is nothing like the more soothing gentle warmth he has learned to associate with spells of this kind. Potent aether thrums through his very skin, races along weakened aether channels in an overpowering, crashing surge. Already his eyelids droop, all fight leaving him as his trembling hands fall slack to his sides, boneless. In its place all he is left to do is weakly convulse, everything fading out, growing distant. A small whimper escapes him, pitiful, wounded.

"I...forgive me G'raha, but you need to calm down. I cannot afford you to injure yourself further. Everything will be alright you hear?" There is a slight quaver in the voice, but other than that the man above him remains resolute. Faintly G'raha is aware of one of the man's thumbs gently stroking his cheek, something done in a bid to soothe. In response he shivers, his tail giving the faintest twitch at his side as its frantic lashing at last abates. This is what he yearns for above all. He just wants to feel safe, cared for. He wants...Sato. His touch, his loving embrace...

Trembling he sucks in a deep breath. I...I miss you...I need you...here...

"That's it. Just breathe. You will be fine. For now, just breathe."

The spell shifts into that of a familiar revitalizing warmth, but its prior effects have already taken hold. Unable to resist the sluggish overwhelming pull G'raha at last gives in.

Having fallen into a deep slumber he is unaware of Toshi gently wiping tears away from the corners of his now closed eyes.

-.-

"...You sure he'll be alright? The way he struggled against Toshi...The look in his eyes. I never want to see it again."

"We can only pray, but he seems to be over the worst of it."

Distant voices catch in his ears, stirring him back to wakefulness. They sound...closer somehow, or louder? It is hard to tell, but he at last recognizes one of the voices, gruff and worn sounding.

Biggs?

"Then what about the Tower?" A woman pipes up, the worried pitch in her voice having one of G'raha's ears twitch. "We left the gates open. What if those vagrants get to it?"

"...We can only hope the outer wards will be enough to keep them at bay. As he is there is little to be done, and we can ill afford to take him out there until he's on the mend." 

Their chief continues to speak, but G'raha is already struggling to follow. Everything is still so hazy...his mind still too muddled for his liking, much akin to moving through molasses. It reminds him too much of the sensation of awakening from his stasis. His brows furrows. How...odd. He should have recovered from that state ages ago...

Something rustles to his left, something that sounds like cloth? Furthermore, he senses a presence, calm and collected. A familiar presence. It moves towards him, packs his blanket more snugly around him, taking great care to not touch his left arm or shoulder. 

The gentleness, the careful consideration in every motion. It reminds him, he is still here is he not? Sitting at his side, regarding him ever so fondly, if only in spirit.

Sato...

It compels him to at last open his eyes. It is an effort but he manages to pry his heavy eyelids open. Already he takes that as a good sign. He faintly remembers being so weak he struggled to even down a potion. A tall dark rusted ceiling greets his bleary gaze, and blinking drowsily G'raha notices another thing. Judging by the darkness and the flickering firelight from a still-lit nearby campfire night must have fallen.

Safe, he is safe...

Letting out a deep sigh he lets his eyes fall back closed. His mind still dulled by the sleepy haze he brings a hand up to his chest, over his heart where he knows his beloved friend's journal to be. He needs to feel it, the reassurance he is still there with him in a tangible sense. Once he fulfills his mission he needs to show it to him, to reassure him he only read its contents because he had no other choice.

But there is no journal. Instead, his searching fingertips brush against bare smooth skin and the rough fabric of bandages.

Wait…bandages?

Just like that it all floods back, a discordant cacophony of sounds, images, and sensations. There's a glint of a blade bearing down, crazed eyes peering into his, a mocking grin, a deranged laugh. Cold searing pain saturates everything and there is blood…so much blood…

He forgets how to breathe, his heartbeat nothing but a quickening pounding in his chest. The very ground falls out below him as his eyes snap open, lower lip trembling when his frantic search still yields nothing. Y'sato's journal. He had it on him, didn't he? What happened to his journal?

"...G'raha?"

He doesn't give the concerned man a chance to speak, to even collect himself. Eyes frantic G'raha grabs onto his coat with desperate trembling fingers, the vivid red of his irises piercing in the warm flickering firelight. He hardly even manages to speak through the tightness of his throat.

"H-his journal. Sato's journal. Where-"

"It is here right in my pocket. Safe and sound, see?" His voice soft, calm, and collected like always Toshi holds up a hand to still G'raha's rising panic while simultaneously pulling free the journal from his inner pocket with his other.

G'raha's eyes fall on it in that very instant. What greets him is the achingly familiar sight he has come to cherish more than anything else. The red faded jaguar claw engraved in the middle, the numerous scuffs and dents, those yellowed brittle pages somehow still carrying the faint scent of dust and dirt from roads long traveled, but most importantly it is untouched. By a miraculous twist of fate, no blood mars it or spoils its appearance in any way. It's almost as if Y'sato himself stepped in to protect it, if only to ensure G'raha still would have something to remember him by.

The sight of it being thus untouched, breaks him.

Hands shaking he grabs onto the journal and hugs it to his chest in a trembling, desperate grip. Hot tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and there is nothing, nothing he can do to stop his face from contorting, mouth trembling as he bites his teeth together, ears pressing back into his pillow as he squeezes his eyes shut. His journal, Y'sato, he is alright, the immense relief crashing over him upon discovering that fact leaves him in shuddering ragged sobs.

It finally sinks in that he almost died, and then Y'sato… There would have been no future...He would have failed him again, let him down when he needs him the most. His dearest friend, he would have been gone for good. All of them would, and that icy, unforgiving realization crushes him, sucks all air from him far more than any of the stinging, searing wounds he sustained from that biting blade ever could.

He shudders, chokes, his tears at last spilling free, streaking down the sides of his face into the makeshift pillow underneath his head.

Sato, I-I almost...Forgive me. Please, forgive me.

"Shh, it's alright. You are safe. You will live," A gentle hand reaches out for him, pressing softly right between his drooping ears in a clear bid to soothe, a gesture so achingly familiar G'raha cannot help but lean into it, a stifled sob escaping past trembling lips. This care, this comfort, in that moment he knows who offers it so readily to him. He takes it.

Turning his face towards his caretaker, he cries freely into his pillow, arms still hugging Y'sato's journal in a fierce iron grip against his chest. The wound in his shoulder burns from the strain, but he pays it no heed. The pain is nothing compared to the gaping wound in his chest. To the enormity of what almost came to pass, of what he found himself forced to do. He sees them, desperate men and women before him. If circumstances were different most would have turned out for the better, but now they are dead. Dead at his hand. Struck down by his bow, arrows he let fly.

"It's alright. Just let it out. Breathe. I am here, right at your side." His voice ever soft, Toshi gently runs his fingers over G'raha's hair. G'raha struggles to recall the last time he was this gentle with him, but it brings to memory of being held, held so tenderly as he cried his eyes out into his shoulder. Furthermore, it brings to mind a memory of being held so tenderly at another time. Of soothing fingers in his hair, moving up to stroke the silken fur of his ears by a crackling campfire under a starlit night, a low purr rumbling in his chest as his dearest friend pulled him closer, holding him like the most treasured thing in the entire world...

He would give anything just to feel that way again. 

G'raha has no idea how long he remains this way, crying, sobbing, but eventually his stifled, choked breaths calm, as well as the shuddering heaving of his chest. Embarrassed over his display he quickly turns away and dries his tears off on his blanket, still not letting go of Y'sato's journal. This is the second time he has broken down in front of Toshi, and yet he is so kind and patient with him. So unbelievably kind.

He sniffles, still not looking Toshi in the eye."...For-forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. If anything I'm relieved to see you are back with us."

Toshi's wording, the relief in his voice compels G'raha to at last meet his gaze. What strikes him is the deep worry radiating so clearly through those kind blue eyes as they meet his.

"That said I need to ask. Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?"

G'raha blinks, confused. He isn't quite certain of his current surroundings, but this imposing, yet gentle au ra sitting before him, he knows. Recognition flickering in his eyes he voices his name, "Toshi..."

It is enough. At once, relief crashes over his caretaker, his shoulders slumping, but his eyes, they shine. They shine so brilliantly. "Thank the Twelve." He brings a hand to his chest in an attempt to collect himself before once more looking to G'raha, "You may struggle to recall, but you suffered from a panic attack, reopened one of your wounds. You took me for a vagrant I think. Thought I would hurt you."

G'raha's ears fan back upon hearing the words, eyes widening. It returns to him, how he had fought back against gentle yet firm hands holding him down, of how he had so frantically clawed into scaly wrists in a desperate bid to escape. He was out of his mind, overtaken by sheer panic, only knowing the burning sting of a blade piercing deep into his flesh and the feel of blood on his fingertips...so much blood...

All reason, was lost.

Shame burning his cheeks he quickly averts his gaze, "I...my apologies. I don't- I didn't mean to-"

Toshi raises a hand, "No, if anyone should apologize it should be me. I failed to reach you when you needed me the most. Especially considering the traumatic experience you had just been through. I had to force a potent sleep spell on you I-" Eyes distraught he bows his head, fingers trembling as he grips the tattered and worn fabric of his coat. "I am truly sorry."

The way he strains to keep his composure before him, the way he bows his head is reminiscent of that day he nearly begged him for forgiveness. But there is nothing to forgive. If anything, G'raha knows he is at fault to begin with for venturing to the Tangle in the first place when he well knew danger was creeping closer by the day. He nearly died, traumatized everyone. Toshi doesn't outright say it, but G'raha can see it, sense it clear as day. The guilt literally bleeds off the man.

"Toshi, look at me." He waits until guilt-ridden blue eyes are back on his. Smiling G'raha voices the depths of his gratitude. "There is nothing to forgive. In truth, I should be the one to offer my gratitude. I...was out of my mind. If not for your intervention I would surely be dead by now." He holds his gaze, a softness in his vivid crimson eyes he does nothing to hide, "So thank you. For saving my life."

Seemingly overcome with such genuine kindness on display, Toshi averts his gaze, looking back down into his lap. "You are much too kind."

His smile morphing into a worried frown G'raha looks at Toshi's hands, or mainly his wrists. "Did I hurt you?"

Toshi shakes his head. "Nothing that a quick healing spell couldn't amend, worry not." With a small smile, he reaches out for something out of sight somewhere behind G'raha's head, turning his own head by doing so.

Even in the gentle shifting of the firelight framing his silhouette from behind G'raha cannot help but notice Toshi looks more haggard and poorly than usual. His pale cheeks are even paler, almost sickly. Sunken, gaunt.

Already dread churns low in his stomach from the sight alone. He knows all too well Toshi has drawn on his own aether to cast spells since he learned of the fact a fortnight ago. The sheer amount of aether he must have expended just to stabilize him must have bordered on the astronomical.

Lips pressed firmly together, G'raha at last addresses him, his voice coming out far more grave than he has ever known. "Toshi."

He waits until the healer has his undivided attention on him again. The unexpected tone of G'raha's voice has the man pause whatever he is doing, eyes wide as they meet ones of unearthly red. G'raha lies his worries plain. "I know you draw on your own aether to cast spells. I am not blind to your condition so pray tell me, just how much did saving my life affect you?"

Instead of answering Toshi just averts his gaze, looking down into his lap. Such conflicted emotion swirls in his eyes, being apparent in the tense set of his mouth. It is clear he knows more than he lets on. Something so grave it is better left unspoken.

G'raha's tail bristles, eyes narrowing as he looks on. He doesn't like where this is going. Not one bit. "I need to know the truth. Tell me."

To his growing dread and frustration, Toshi still refuses to meet his gaze. Hands tightening their grip around Y'sato's journal, ears all tense G'raha is about to sit up to strengthen his appeal, but Toshi stills him with a raised hand. His expression more grim than G'raha has ever seen on him, he at last speaks.

"...At this rate, I might last a couple of moons, if that." He still avoids G'raha's gaze as he speaks, his fingers tightening around the tattered fabric of his coat. The way he says it, of how he is still so avoidant about the topic slams into him, harsh and cold. In that moment G'raha realizes, that by saving his life, Toshi has cut short his own.

G'raha's eyes widens, ears drawing back as the horror strikes him in full. "You-you cannot mean-"

"It was a sacrifice I made with no regrets. To see you live, for our beacon of hope to carry on I would gladly lay down my life if asked of me, and so I have."

Toshi's eyes at last look up to meet his, and the sheer strength of his conviction burning within steals away whatever G'raha aimed to say, squeezes the very air out of his lungs. In its place, all he can muster is a breathless voicing of his name.

"Toshi..."

A reassuring hand falls on his shoulder, his right and despite the gravity of his situation Toshi smiles, the brightest and most heartwarming smile G'raha has ever seen.

"Please, do not worry about me. You are the one who must go on, who still has the greatest part to play of us all. Not me. I...I only had a handful of years left to live as it was." He coughs into his sleeve, at last letting G'raha go, but he still looks him unwavering in his eyes, "Know I have the utmost faith in you. You will see your mission to its rightful conclusion. I know it."

G'raha blinks, mind grappling with everything he has just heard, with how content Toshi seems to be to give his life to the cause. There is no regret to be found in his eyes. Only acceptance.

This is wrong on so many levels all G'raha can give is an agitated lash of his tail, the vivid red of his eyes almost aglow in the low light. This is wrong, unjust. If he hadn't gone to the Tangle, if he hadn't run into the vagrant, hadn't dropped his guard and gotten himself so badly hurt, Toshi would still-

This is my fault! All of it. Toshi will die...because of me. I-

"It still doesn't make it right!" His words come out harsher and louder than he intends, his voice distraught, angry. Angry at himself, at the world, at how futile and hopeless it all feels. His tail thumps into the ground, hard. "Nothing that has come to pass, nothing of it is right, or just. None of it."

Tail still lashing, a glower in his eyes he starts to push himself up, aching to do anything to right this wrong, to scream at the universe which seems to be hellbent on making him hurt, to make everyone around him suffer and die while he can do naught but helplessly look on.

"If only I could- I must-"

"G'raha, your wounds. You have to stay still."

Again there are hands on him, Toshi urging him to lay back down. G'raha's eyes meet his, red irises cutting and smoldering like hot coals as they reflect the depths of his anguish, but underneath the anger, there is so much hurt, of deepest regret. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want any of it!

"Unhand me!"

"Please, you have to calm down. I don't wish for your wounds to reopen. You have already lost so much blood. Please..."

Toshi's earnest plea, the thought of him having to expend even more aether when he has already worn himself so thin, essentially dying before him, and yet being so...content with his decision, so utterly at peace...

It is too much. Shuddering G'raha reluctantly complies, his tail trembling as it curls around his leg. Unable to do aught else he hugs Y'sato's journal still held in his arms to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to hold back tears. The journal, is his lifeline, the only thing that helps remind him that somehow everything will be alright. He just needs to believe...

Believe in them. In Sato, the mission, myself...Believe...

It hurts the tightness in his throat, the throbbing in his head, his wounds, especially the one in his shoulder. Taking a deep breath through his nose he forces himself to calm down. To regain control of his emotions. It cannot do for Toshi's sacrifice...to be in vain.

"That's it. Just breathe. In and then out. You will heal, as long as you give it time."

Gradually his breathing slows to a less frantic pace, and with it, Toshi's hands finally leave him. Opening his eyes G'raha finds him still sitting there at his side, somehow looking even more haggard, but the sheer relief on his face, says everything.

The sight of it brings to mind another thing, of a certain member of their order who had looked at him with such horror he had ever seen. G'raha blinks, regret and anger still lingering in the depths of his eyes, but he manages to push his feelings aside. "What about K'delika? Is she well?"

To this, Toshi's face brighten. "She is unharmed, all thanks to you." He turns, looking over his shoulder towards the campfire, and following his line of sight G'raha at least sees her. She's sitting next to Biggs, knees drawn up her chest as she just looks into the fire with a haunted expression, tail curled around her legs but other than that she seems none the worse for wear. That alone is a relief and a weight taken of G'raha's heart.

"Truly, I owe you my deepest gratitude. I know how she has treated you and yet you ran to her defense and so selflessly I-" Again he coughs into his sleeve, but he is quick to recover this time, his eyes on G'raha's "She is everything to me, so thank you. Thank you for saving her, from the bottom of my heart." There is a telltale shimmer in his eyes and the sight of it helps to offset G'raha's feelings of guilt if just by a tiny margin. At the very least, despite his caretaker having to cut short his remaining lifespan in order to save his life, G'raha in turn brought him untold happiness.

And for now, it is enough.

Still, something nags at the back of his mind. In the chaos, and suffering from blood loss as he was he couldn't tell if everyone made it out or not. Still holding on to Y'sato's journal he voices what he is burning to know. "Did...everyone make it?"

Toshi looks down to the side, relief giving way to deep sorrow. "...We lost two. The Chief and our remaining fighters hope to recover their bodies on the morrow but with the vagrants having taken our keep our hopes are slim..."

"I see..." G'raha doesn't need to be told more. The sorrow in Toshi's voice is enough and yet looking at the group seated around the campfire he quickly realizes who is missing. They are down by one gunman and the burly-looking roegadyn is nowhere to be seen. Such shadows clings to the survivors' faces, eyes filled with the deepest sorrow. Overhead even the stars are absent.

Seeing their low spirits... Again it makes him wish he could amount to more. Being skilled solely in the arts of archery when it comes to battle craft he could only do so much. And what makes it worse is he cannot help but wonder if he had trained in the use of a sword and a shield instead would the outcome have become different?

Idle thoughts that do nothing to serve him, something Toshi makes abundantly clear as he moves to pull G'raha's blanket up over his shoulders. Already it helps offset the deep chill of the night air. G'raha shivers in response.

"You should rest. Meager our food supply is, but the Lake might still have some fish roaming in it. It is my hope one or two will be caught one of these days. Any nutrition they could bring would be certain to speed your recovery." He moves to collect whatever he was reaching for earlier. Looking at it, G'raha discovers what it is and already a grimace flashes on his face in distaste. Before him stands two bottles of potions. The blue opaque liquid within shimmers in the orange flickering light.

"This is all we have left, but worry not. You have no need for another until the morrow." Pushing himself up on slightly wobbly legs Toshi brushes some dust off his coat. "Now pray excuse me while I go have some words with everyone. Rightfully so they have all been worried for your health, and immensely so. Someone needs to put their minds at ease." With that, he smiles and turns to make his leave, but G'raha halts him.

"Toshi?"

Said healer stops, but only turns his head to look at him over his shoulder. Somehow his matted hair looks even more lifeless, the blond strands all split and tangled at the ends of his long loose ponytail.

G'raha hesitates, lips pressed together before he looks to the man he has come to see as a dear friend. "Take care of yourself alright? With what time you have left..."

Another smile graces the au ra's lips. "I shall. As I said you do not need to worry."

And that's that. Toshi leaves him there, alone lying on his bedroll with nothing to occupy his mind with but his thoughts.

Still holding Y'sato's journal to his chest he looks back up into the tall rusted ceiling above, something he discovers to be what remains of the Agrius. Even in the flickering firelight, he is able to make out one of Midgardsorms massive sinewy remains still wrapped around it. So they did make it out to the Lake after all...

He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes in the progress. He cannot deny exhaustion still clings to him, his muscles leaden. In the distance, his ears once more detect muted, hushed conversation, clearly in a bid to not disturb him. Managing to pry his heavy eyelids open G'raha turns his head to look to them. Toshi is currently sitting next to Biggs, both with their backs to him, hunched over, weary, and of the two even when all G'raha can make out is their silhouettes against the backdrop of softly undulating flickering flames, G'raha can tell Toshi is the one struggling to stay upright the most.

Pinching his eyes shut he faces away from the campfire. What has come to pass...cannot be undone. At least not yet, and as much as it pains him to see Toshi so weak and bedraggled he has to accept the part he unintentionally played in causing it. The guilt. 

Focus on your mission. Soon you will gain the power to turn back the hands of time. No one will have to suffer...

He vows to talk to him properly on the morrow, to leave nothing unsaid. Hopefully, things will be a little brighter, and some of his strength returned. 

Sleep soon finds him, Y'sato's journal held safely in his arms, resting against his still-beating heart.

Already sound asleep he doesn't notice as Toshi takes K'delika and Biggs aside for a talk in private, or of the blood left on his sleeve from where he coughed into his arm...

Chapter Text

It is the soft pitter-patter of rain that finds him, guides him back to the waking world footstep followed by sluggish, stumbling footstep. The sound is so soothing, nostalgic, fond memories of long days spent in his and Y'sato's tent reading rising back up to the forefront of his mind. Instinctively his fingers flexes under the blanket, only to relax when his fingertips brush against familiar dents and scuffs of a worn leathery cover resting safely under his palm. The feel of it, the weight against his chest, surprisingly light. He knows what this is.

Sato, you are still here...

Daring hope to soar he grasps onto the possibility of his friend sitting there by his side with both hands in a desperate grip. In that moment he half expects to blink his eyes open to find the familiar dusty ceiling of their tent, the deep red-brownish canvas lit up in hues of vibrant crimson and warm gold as the light of the morning sun filters through the thin fabric, setting the tiny dust particles floating in the air aflame, sparkling like stardust in the radiant beams.

And there sitting beside him his friend would be, a steaming coffee mug in hand as his tail beats out a contented rhythm behind him, poring over a slightly time-worn map depicting Mor Dhona wondering what they would be up to that day. Y'sato never was particularly fond of coffee, but with no other beverage containing caffeine at his disposal, he would drink it with nary a fuss aside from a disgruntled flick of an ear.

G'raha can almost smell it, the rich aroma of their morning coffee wafting from his cup as it escapes through the flaps of their tent- can almost hear the clanging of pots as the members of NOAH make ready for the day and amidst it all there is laughter. Cid and Rammboes' to be exact, clearly engaged in a lively conversation over breakfast before getting ready to get on with their tasks for the day. The sound of it all is so sweet, so familiar and warm a part of him resists waking himself further. 

Better to remain blissfully ignorant in a dream than to face inevitable harsh reality. 

But this peaceful sanctuary of the mind is not meant to last. Something falls to the ground with a loud clang and in response one of G'raha's ears twitches, furry tip brushing against the soft fabric of his pillow. Those clanging and clattering noises soon become a bit too incessant, a bit too...real. Especially so when the racket is followed up by someone shouting. A man's voice, young sounding. Almost boyish. One he does not at all recognize. Furthermore, he can scent it in the air. Underneath the pleasant petrichor of rain, there is the unmistakable scent of sweat underlined by a metallic tinge, an all too familiar musk.

His heart skips a beat. He knows this scent, and taking another tentative whiff he realizes it is coming from him.

Blood...

With that, his peaceful dreamscape crumbles into pieces.

It is only by merit of him still being so sluggish and weak that he doesn't shoot up right there and there. He manages to peel his heavy eyelids open, his heart pounding in his chest but aside from that he doesn't move. He's unable to move. Blinking he wills the foggy bleariness away from tired, burning eyes, his tail twitching back to life at his side.

A soft, almost imperceptible low whine escapes him from the sight that greets him. Above him, there is naught but a tall rusted ceiling, and now in the bright clarity of daylight he can make out Midgardorms charred, sinewy remains coiling around it even better, frozen in their final position as they are. A death grip, cold and unyielding like stone.

He should have known that what he envisioned and hoped for in his half-asleep, groggy state was just that- a dream, a fantasy. A foolish hope born from treasured memories. Deep down he knows, even should he succeed he will never be able to return to those days...

Gripping onto Y'sato's journal tighter with his good arm he pinches his eyes shut. His tail trembling it seeks refuge close to his leg, wounding tightly around his thigh. His ears don't fare any better, pressing back into his pillow. A telltale prickle announces itself in the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to cry, biting into his lower lip in an effort to stem the bubbling swell of emotion. There have been enough tears, enough heartache, enough feeling like a failure, one who can do naught but get himself injured. Almost killed!

It is thanks to his severe lack of foresight he is now reduced to this. An invalid who can do naught but just lay there all useless, pitiful, weak.

Still biting into his trembling lip he ignores the way his wound below his ribs burns from the quickened rise and fall of his chest. He refuses to break again. He cannot! He is better than this. Stronger than this. Toshi believes in him, and Y'sato relies on him. Everyone who has ever lived and will live on this very star relies on his success. He cannot, will not allow this setback to crush what little confidence and resolve he has built. His conviction.

Calm yourself, breathe. I will be of no use to anyone if I reopen my wounds. Toshi...have already sacrificed so much on my account...I can't in good conscience allow him to spend another mote of his aether on me.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose he slowly lets it out past trembling lips, willing himself to calm down. To further aid in releasing the pent-up tension his tail thumps into his bedroll, hard. This movement alongside his pinned-back ears and tight expression are the only signs he gives of his internal turmoil.

Signs that don't go unnoticed.

"G'raha?"

There is a gruff voice addressing him close by to his left, one that has his eyes snap open, instantly alert. In his anguish, he didn't pay attention to his immediate surroundings, or of anyone being close by for that matter. His ruby-burning gaze is wide as he looks towards the owner of the voice. The stockily built roegadyn kneeling before him isn't the man he expected. Instead, Biggs regards him with concern, his eyes not hidden behind his shades for once. G'raha's brows furrow slightly. He cannot recall ever having seen their Chief without his shades.

"Ah, you're awake. I'm sorry if I woke you. It's just, from the way you were tensing up it looked like you had a nightmare. From a distance anyhow." In a bout of uncharacteristic indecision, he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his eyes from G'raha's inquisitive crimson stare. "Toshi told me to keep an eye on you while you slept. Just to make sure you wouldn't reopen your wounds again or some such."

G'raha blinks upon hearing Toshi's name. Casting a quick glance around his immediate surrounds he sees no signs of their resident healer. Only their Chief and in the distance behind him G'raha spots a man and a woman, both of hyurian ancestry. Disgruntled, yet tired expressions on their faces they trudge through the rain carrying what appears to be rusted scraps and miscellaneous tools. Overhead a gray clouded sky looms. Ominous, oppressive, sunlight barely able to pierce through the thick layer of clouds.

Already G'raha's stomach sinks, an uneasy feeling he cannot name crawling up his spine. He knows what saving his life asked of his friend, remembers just how sickly and frail he both looked and acted last night, of what he told him, of his days being numbered. His sacrifice...his bright heartwarming smile despite the fact.

G'raha's fingers tighten around Y'sato's journal and the tattered fabric of his bedroll both. The fur on his tail bristles as it finally dawns on him. Don't tell me he-

He does not dare finish the thought. Doing nothing to hide the fear from showing in his eyes he once more looks to Biggs, his dread carried even in his voice "Where- " He swallows thickly, his mouth dry, "Where's Toshi?"

To his rising concern, Biggs doesn't answer him right away. Instead, he rises to his feet, facing away from him.

G'raha's tail lashes, thumping into the bedroll. No more. No more will he tolerate being left in the dark, and least of all by their Chief, remembering all too well how he acted around him when they first met. For almost two moons he has toiled alongside him and their order, helped them to the best of his capabilities, and yet he is regarded as an acquaintance at best, ever held at an arm's length. Well no more! Toshi is the only one who has truly shown him kindness and extended a caring, friendly hand in this god-forsaken place, and he has the right to know of his fate.

"Don't you dare skirt around the topic. Not after everything that we have accomplished, after everything we have been through. Toshi, he is my friend. He is dear to me just like he is to you so please, tell me of his fate!"

His outburst does the trick. Already Biggs attention is back on him, and G'raha holds that surprised yet troubled gaze, his ears pinned back flat against his skull. Still lying on the bedroll as he is he does his best to look intimidating, to show he won't relent this time, the burning unearthly red of his irises smoldering and commanding. No more softening blows for his sake. No more skirting around the issue. He has already seen hell, lived it, survived it. No more coddling. No more.

His fervent request, is heard. Sighing Biggs yields to his commands. In a bid to make himself more comfortable, he drags in and sits down on a nearby crate. Still comfortably within reach, but being respectful of G'raha's personal space. Still not looking him in the eye Biggs looks down into his hands he has folded in his lap. 

"I've always had your best interests at heart. You know this, but after recent events you have the right to be cross with me." He pauses, further stretching G'raha's patience. This time he won't have it.

The pinning commanding edge never leaving his eyes he presses further, a low growl in his voice. "Get to the point."

To his slight surprise their usually calm and collected leader yields to him further. He leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees, still refusing to look G'raha in the eye. "...As for Toshi, he's still with us. We bade him rest, however. As exhausted and unwell as he looked we thought it for the best," He leans his weight on his knees further, a conflicted expression on his face as he presses his lips together into a thin line, still facing away. "But to be honest with you things look grim. He told us, what saving you did to him, the state of his aether, and how long he has left... Told us that he informed you of the very same and how you took it." Biggs pauses, a slight quaver in his voice, but otherwise his countenance doesn't betray any emotion." So I want to assure you, that no one here blames you for it. Not even Delika. Toshi begged her not to. She...well she didn't take the news well at first, but in the end she reluctantly conceded. If anyone should be blamed it is those vagrants, for storming our keep, for doing this to you."

G'raha's eyes narrow upon hearing her name. K'delika, agreeing not to blame him? He struggles to believe it, to even imagine it only for everything to slip his mind when Biggs bows his head at him, his hands gripping his knees in a trembling white-knuckled grip.

"But more than that I take the blame. It is because of my shortsightedness we hadn't yet left the keep. I saw the signs. I knew an impending attack was looming, and yet I took so long to order our moving efforts and worse yet I gave you permission to go to the Tangle."

Biggs honest admission, the way he still bows to him, hands trembling. Is a sight G'raha has never seen from him, nor expected to see from their leader. The sincerity in his words, the weight of his remorse. Already G'raha's anger is subsiding, the smoldering, glowing embers of his crimson gaze fading away.

He doesn't want the man to blame himself, to carry everything on his shoulders. His ears easing back into a more relaxed position G'raha smiles at him. A small tentative thing but no less sincere. "'Tis alright. I appreciate your honesty, but please there is no need to blame yourself so. After all, I am the one who asked your leave, I-"

"No!" Biggs interrupts him, voice far more brusque than G'raha has ever heard from him. Startled G'raha's ears draw back, hand hugging Y'sato's journal closer to his chest. Especially when Biggs raises his head to at last look him in the eye. The emotion on clear display in those blue depths, there is no mistaking the pain that he feels, the depths of his regret.

"As your Chief, you are all my responsibility. You-you almost died in my arms, and now Toshi... It is only right I own up to my mistakes." He looks down at himself at his final words, a slight tremor in his hands as he looks into their callused palms. It brings to mind faint memories of being carried, of someone calling for him to hold on. G'raha realizes then Biggs was the one to gather him into his arms, to get him to Toshi.

It is clear the incident, of seeing him like that, so very pale and slowly dying, barely even responding to anything they said or did affected their Chief deeply. More than he wants to admit and paying closer attention to his uniform G'raha sees them, the faded dark bloodstains on his sleeves and chest he failed to fully scrub away, so deeply soaked into the tattered well-used fabric they might never truly be washed out. Especially the white frontal part of his vest and the light blue of his sleeves.

Frowning G'raha looks down at himself, at the worn brown blanket covering his bandaged chest and shoulder that fares no better than Biggs' uniform. There are bloodstains here too, although far less than must have surely soaked his cloak and his shirt beneath. Even his pants he realizes as the side of his tail brushes faintly against his thigh, the fur so soft against his bare skin. At least they kept him in his small clothes much akin to how he found himself the first time he truly awoke in this world. A small victory to save what little dignity he has left.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Again it shows just how lucky he is to be still alive, of how Y'sato's journal was saved from being tarnished with any blood. If only he could say the same for the rest of him. Letting out his breath with a sigh he speaks, trying not to sound as weary as he truly is. 

"What happened to me, what happened to all of us, cannot be undone." G'raha opens his eyes, his solemn expression giving way to a smile as he notices Biggs's attention on him. "At least not yet. For now, we can only move forward. After all, someone once told me it does you no good to dwell." With a knowing glint in his eye, G'raha looks to their Chief at his final words. From the way his mouth opens slightly in surprise before forming into a small humorous smile, it is clear Biggs concedes.

"You are wise beyond your years, G'raha. And here I expected to be chewed out for failing you so spectacularly." Biggs shifts in his seat, straightening. "Something I rightly deserve but that's neither here nor there. What pleases me the most is to see your close brush with death did little to dampen your spirit. Good. It will be needed for the road ahead. Once you have fully recovered of course."

At his words G'raha looks away, brows furrowed in thought. Wise...if he was truly wise he wouldn't have locked himself away in the Tower. He would have been honest with Y'sato. Wouldn't have lied to him, wouldn't have led him on making him believe he would travel at his side always when he very well knew he never intended to stay. What he offered that day was naught but an empty promise.

In his boundless stupidity he didn't talk it out or discuss his plans with anyone, and worse yet took what he wanted from Y'sato under that starry night when bid, when Y'sato opened up to him so fully and wholeheartedly. He knew all too well his actions on the following morning would leave his friend heartbroken but he went through with it regardless. 

There is no wisdom to be found in such a selfish an act…

He shifts, struggling to reconcile with what he has done, the weight of it all a relentless vice around his heart. Lips pressed together he only stops when the movement pulls on his wound in his side. Eyes shut tight he chokes back a hiss, his teeth clenched tight. His recovery...With wounds this deep G'raha can already tell this will take a while. Too long. And what makes it worse is thanks to the wound in his side and his shoulder he is unable to even curl up to lie on his side. Aware of the fact he tentatively shifts again only to wince when his wounds burns from the movement as expected. Still, he perseveres, feeling this sudden dire need to sit up. A restless urge to move, his limbs achy and sore after having been lying in the same position for so long. His tail flicks, its base numb and tingly with his entire weight on it. Furthermore, the bedroll beneath him starts to become mighty uncomfortable, his skin itching, crawling just from feeling the worn slightly coarse material brush against his skin under his back, the hard unyielding ground doing nothing good for his stiffened spine. His tail thumps in frustration. If this is how he has to spend the next following days he is bound to go mad.

Desperate to stretch, to do anything to offset this growing ache in his limbs he starts to push himself up using his right elbow as leverage to not put any undue pressure on his wounded shoulder or the gash in his arm.

The world tilts in odd directions, the wound in his side burning, a searing constant reminder he should take it easy, and yet moving like this feels so good. He just needs a moment, just one long luxurious stretch. It is all he asks.

Not realizing his eyes have this dazed look to them his ears jump to startled points as a sizable hand halts him, right in the middle of his chest. Eyes conveying his surprise he looks up at Biggs. Even though the roegadyn's face swims a bit in and out of focus G'raha doesn't fail to notice the worried lines around his mouth, his eyes.

"Don't move. Toshi told me in no uncertain terms that you are not to move until he gives you leave to. I know it must be uncomfortable, that you are in pain, but please stay put. We don't want to see your wounds reopen or for you to pass out again. We almost lost you once. We cannot bear the thought. Not again."

"B-but-"

"Just stay put. I am no healer, but giving you a potion to help with the pain I can surely assist with. As for food, it's already being prepared. Maria or Theudobald should be along with it shortly."

G'raha still being much too weak, he can only lash his tail in protest as Biggs urges him to lay back down on his bedroll. The indignity of it all is already too much for his wounded pride to take, but what gets to him the most is the thought of them having to assist with giving him more bitter swill to choke down and food. Isn't he allowed to even feed himself?

Feeling the telltale prickle in his eyes announce itself he is quick to look away, facing a rusted pillar. The wooziness has at least abated. At least in part but in its place, the ache and stiffness of his limbs remain. Not to mention the searing pulsating throb in his deepest wound. Yet it is nothing compared to the frustration that crawls under his skin, latching onto his spine. 

Seeking comfort, unable to do aught else he clings to Y'sato's journal. At least he still has this, at least he can still seek guidance from someone who truly understands even though just in spirit. He hates feeling this way. Weak, useless.

One of his ears swivels to hone in on the sound of Biggs opening one of the vials containing the potion, but G'raha still doesn't turn to face him even though he knows he must if he is to have any hope of getting better. It is a difficult thing to swallow, but he manages to shove his feelings aside, even as he pouts, even as he gags at the bitter, blue shimmering liquid when it trickles down his throat.

He just hopes this living nightmare will soon come to an end.

-.-.-

His wishes, weren't granted. Days come and go and between being confined to his bedroll all hours both day and night, there is little else he can do than lay there on his back watching the world go by and agonizingly so. Already it wears on his mental state, not helped by the fact he still requires assistance to do as much as sit up in order to eat or to take a sip of water. Worse yet is the lack of privacy whenever they need to change his bandages or assist him with getting up to his feet when nature calls, further worsened by the stabbing, throbbing pain in his side and shoulder whenever he stretches the afflicted muscles too far, or when his movements pull unduly at his wounds. It is made clear the vagrant twisting the knife in his shoulder mangled the delicate structure within, tearing through muscle and sinews alike. A grave wound further exacerbated by him wielding a bow shortly thereafter. Something he has realized he was only able to do through merit of the sheer adrenaline that coursed through him alone, and if not for Toshi's continued intervention in addressing and mending that damage, G'raha might have lost full function of the arm completely.

What gets to him the most though is despite his wishes and numerous protests Toshi still insists on healing him even when his hands shake from the strain, when doing so leaves him looking even more poorly and haggard in the aftermath, his eyes dimmed and pallid. The sight became so distressing Toshi instead brought it upon himself to heal him after nightfall when he was certain G'raha was fast asleep. Something, G'raha finds, upsets him even more, and yet he is powerless to do anything about it.

At least he takes comfort that his other wounds are healing nicely. Especially the one in his side, meaning Toshi only needs to focus on the wound in his shoulder. For a blessing the arcane tattoo inked into his afflicted shoulder was completely untouched by any biting, cutting blade. A small victory.

Yet he knows for every mote of aether Toshi draws to cast his spells further pulls him towards an early grave, and he does so with nary a complaint, without any hesitation. A man true to his word. He will not only see G'raha live, but thrive, even at further cost to himself.

And Toshi's waning health and G'raha's slow recovery aren't the only things that cast a shadowy pall over their new although still rickety base. Shortly after Biggs assisted him with downing a potion that first day he and their three remaining fighters embarked on an airship in the vain hope they would at least be able to give their fallen comrades a proper burial. Comrades they sadly weren't able to recover.

Closing his eyes G'raha mulls over the memory, shifting a bit on his bedroll to offset the growing ache in his lower back. Three days have come and gone since their keep was overrun, since he almost died, since two lives were lost in the chaos and yet it feels like no time has passed at all...

-.-

A loud whir reverberates through the very ground beneath him and with such force he feels it in his very bones. The sound is so sudden and unexpected G'raha's ears instinctively pin back. The airship hovering above is undoubtedly theirs and yet for it to approach their base with such speed and hurry to land portends nothing good. Just the sight of it has an unsettled sinking sensation grips his chest, his nerves prickling with unease. Just what did their Chief and his party find at their besieged keep? 

"G'raha! Are you alright?" Maria, a young hyurian woman speaks, no, yells over the commotion. Despite his keen hearing, he can barely make out her words, but the fear in her wide eyes is palpable, her shoulder-length brown hair whipping in the wind as she does her best to shield him from the worst of the downdraft. 

The nigh unbearable gust, at last, dies down as the pilot kills the engine. The deafening silence that follows is quickly interrupted, filled by a murmured din as anyone within earshot starts talking in an apprehensive manner among themselves. 

"I-I am. Worry not," G'raha is quick to reassure her, now that he can properly orient himself. "Please, help me sit up. I need to see this."  He hates to ask this of her, of anyone but he knows he is in no shape to manage this on his own without risking further injury to himself. Wordlessly Maria does as bid, one of her arms held securely around his shoulders as she helps easing him up into an upright position. Even though G'raha can tell a part of her is itching to run along and see for herself what has caused all this commotion she remains at his side. That selflessness alone, especially since he has yet to truly get to know her speaks volumes.

Suppressing a wince G'raha peels his eyes open just in time to see everyone aside from himself, Maria, K'delika, and Toshi hurry towards the ship, fifteen to twenty heads in total. 

A hush falls over the group when the gangplank falls to the ground with a loud clank, the force alone kicking up dust. Biggs is the first to disembark the ship and even from G'raha's vantage point being held upright and supported by Maria as he is he doesn't miss the haunted look marring their Chief's face or the tense set of his jaw. The three gunmen and the pilot follow in his footsteps shortly and they fare no better, their countenance betraying them. It is made clear they return empty-handed but for a blessing, there is no blood or any discernable wounds to be found, and yet they look utterly defeated. 

G'raha's stomach sinks, the unease pooled within not abating one bit. Yet he pricks his ears, curiosity swirling within him, yet dreading to know what horrible sight Biggs and his allies paid witness to.

The tension hanging in the air is thick enough to be cut by a knife. All eyes on their Chief he comes to a slow halt standing before the group, the people he has sworn to lead come what may. "We were unable to recover them," he at last says, somehow managing to keep his composure even in the face of such loss, of what he has just seen. Taking a deep steadying breath his expression turns grim. "Our lost brothers, their bodies...they had done unspeakable things to them, strung them up to serve as a warning. Worse yet upon our approach they launched their decapitated heads at our vessel...It was almost like they were expecting us." 

Alarmed voices and gasps erupt from the group, everyone looking around amongst themselves, then at Biggs. "You tell us those bastards made mockery of our fallen?" A young hyuran man shouts, his fists clenched at his sides. 

"We won't stand for it." Another man, an Elezen this time joins in, "If they want a fight I say we bring it to them. Lest you forget, they almost had our only hope killed. In his name I call for blood," He turns to the masses, his voice incensed, filled with passion, "Who's with me?" 

G'raha blanches. Just the mere idea of them enacting violence in his name, to kill has his blood run cold. His lips part, trying to find his voice, but all that escapes him is a choked sound. A small sound that is quickly drowned out by the rising murmur of the crowd. That incensed fire for retribution is quickly taking hold. Too quick, the cries of affirmation and the stoked fire lit in their eyes a troubling sight. Already it has the fur on G'raha's tail bristle. Never before has he witnessed a group be out for blood that quickly.

"Silence." Biggs's voice booms over the din, at once silencing any dissidence before it can truly take hold. All eyes on him he raises a hand. "I know this is tough. I know your hearts cry out for vengeance, but answering violence with even more violence is not the answer. Our fallen comrades deserve better. They wouldn't want to be remembered that way, and neither would they want us to toss away our lives so carelessly. Just listen to yourselves. Is this what our forebears wanted? What they all toiled, bled, and died for?"

Murmurs and whispers again fill the crowd, but this time it is different. Less agitated and more apprehensive, uncertain.

"Remember our creed," Biggs beseeches, placing a hand to his heart, " 'freedom through technology' and this I swear to you, we will attain it. Not by needless bloodshed but by the sweat of our brow and undying faith. Is this not so?" 

The group discusses among themselves and already the fire is dying down although some scattered debate remains. Even the incensed fiery young elezen relents. "You have the right of it. Pray forgive my outburst. It's just, he was a dear friend to me."

"So he was to us all. You are not alone in feeling this pain," Biggs says with a knowing forlorn look. While G'raha doesn't know which one of the fallen men the man speaks of, it is clear their loss affected the man deeply. Loss G'raha knows all too keenly. Almost like on instinct, his fingers tighten around the beloved journal he hugs to his chest, his heart. 

"And this is why," Biggs continues, still addressing the group as a whole, "once we get our new camp in order I propose we throw them a toast. To honor their memory, their sacrifice!" Biggs's voice swells, carrying the commanding authority he is known for but also offering a hand in staunchest friendship, "We will hold fast to the mission our forebears set out for us. Our conviction. Together we will see the Tycoon to its completion and usher G'raha forth to a brighter future, to a better tomorrow! "He pumps a fist into the air and the cheer that erupts from the group takes even G'raha by surprise.

Despite their losses, despite almost losing him, their only hope they still find the strength to stand tall, ever-defiant in the face of fate.

-.-

The scratch of something crystalline catching and crunching into dust under someone's boot jolts him out of the memory, his ears twitching in response. It sounded close, as if someone was approaching. He blinks his eyes open just in time to see Toshi's face as he comes to a slow halt beside him. An apologetic smile graces the au ra's lips as he relinquishes himself down to a kneel.

"Forgive me. Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't sleeping," G'raha says matter-of-factly, only to find the gravel of his unused voice suggesting otherwise. He clears his throat, looking to the distant horizon. The sun is getting lower. "I was merely lost in a memory."

Toshi hums in acknowledgment as he puts something down on the ground beside him. A cloth holding rolls of bandages and a used potion vial filled with water. "Of what, if I may ask?"

G'raha blinks, trying not to look too closely at his caregiver's state, at his ashen skin and matted hair. "Nothing of great import. Just a memory from a few days past, of when Biggs returned with his crew, empty-handed." A weary sigh escapes him, the tip of his tail flicking as he looks down into his pillow. "I know it does me no good to dwell. I know that all too well but the fate of those men we lost, haunts me. I find myself wondering if there was something I could have done differently. I was there, bow in hand, and yet..." He swallows thickly, at last laying bare what his heart has ached for for the last couple of days. The red irises of his eyes fairly burns as he raises his gaze to meet Toshi's. "I could have saved them."

A comforting hand lands on G'raha's good shoulder and with such a startling grip it has G'raha jump. Yet he doesn't look away from those kind yet stern eyes. Even though his very life force is slowly waning Toshi's conviction and belief in him shines like a beacon.

"No one blames you for their fate. For anything. You understand me?"

G'raha can only look at him wide-eyed as Toshi gently yet firmly squeezes his shoulder, as if to shake some much-needed reason into him. In response G'raha can only nod briefly, mouth ajar as he looks on, unable to tear his eyes away from such stubborn, unflinching resolve.

"You saved Delika, even though yourself was injured, even though she had given you no cause to rush to her aid. You owed her nothing and yet-" Toshi looks away, sucks in a sharp inhale as he bows his head. From where he still holds onto G'raha's shoulder he can feel his trembling, slightly callused fingers clutching at the bare skin, yet afraid to hold onto him firmer.

"Toshi?" G'raha says, voice small, tentative. For as long as he has known him he has never seen him this distraught.

There's a beat of silence, Toshi's head still bowed as he fights to regain his composure, his grip trembling. G'raha is about to reach out for him when Toshi at last raises his head to look at him. There's a telltale shimmer in those blue eyes, the weight of his gratitude mingled with grief plain for G'raha to see, but no tears fall.

Taking a steadying breath he straightens, at last letting go of G'raha's shoulder. His voice is thick when he at last manages to find his voice. "No one could have asked more of you. Me least of all, so please don't do this to yourself. Don't shoulder the blame when you have done nothing to warrant it."

G'raha looks on, scrambling for what to say. The look in Toshi's eyes is so earnest with not a trace of animosity to be seen. Instead, there is a deep understanding and deep down G'raha knows both he and their Chief have the right of it. He did nothing wrong. He knows this and yet he struggles to shake this feeling he should have amounted to more.

He is not allowed to mull on it further. A sharp gasp cuts through the air, a stuttering inhale that sounds grave enough to have G'raha's attention back on his caregiver. Toshi's chest heaves, his eyes squeezing shut. Wheezing he coughs into his sleeve, a wet horrible sound. They wrack through his body, his pale scaly smooth tail drawing in close, the spiked tip twitching.

"Toshi!" Fraught with worry G'raha moves to sit up, to reach out for him only to wince from the stabbing pain flaring up in his shoulder. Instinctively he clutches at it, pinching his eyes shut as his ears pin back, his head falling right back onto his pillow. By the Twelve, he only meant to help! Curse his wounds, curse his inability to do anything like this, this universe that is hellbent on seeing him suffer, to drag everyone into the darkness alongside him. Curse it all!

"D-don't worry about me." Toshi manages to force out, breathless and with more effort than G'raha has ever heard coming from him. Next thing he knows is Toshi reaching out for him with a trembling hand.

Then he feels it, the telltale tingling sensation of gentle aetherial threads brushing against and prickling into his skin, meticulously mending the wound in his shoulder. At once his breath catches in his throat. He knows what this means, what it will lead to.

His ears shoots up into startled points, ruby eyes wide. "No! No more. No more healing. Not from you." Trembling he grasps onto Toshi's wrist, stilling his actions. A desperate white-knuckled grip. "No more. I...I cannot bear it."

"But, G'raha, your shoulder. I cannot-"

"Please!" The desperate high pitch of his voice catches even his ears by surprise, but he cannot abide with Toshi doing this to himself. Not anymore. Trembling he doesn't let go of his wrist, but he does avert his gaze, unable to look into those dimmed yet kind eyes knowing he is the one responsible for making them look that way. Knowing that one day that light will go out and he is powerless to stop it.

"You have done enough so please, leave my wounds be. Think of yourself for once, as I bid."

"...As you wish." Averting his gaze, Toshi reluctantly concedes. In that very same instant, the tingle of the aetherial flow ceases as he cancels out the spell. The feel of it thus dissipating has G'raha's grip around his wrist slacken, and feeling more at ease he lets go. Still, apprehension is apparent in the quick lash of his tail, and in the tense set of his ears. He knows his caretaker too well at this point to take him for his word.

"No more healing, and especially not after nightfall. I am not oblivious to you having done so, and that despite my numerous protests."

To this Toshi looks back at him, an incredulous look in his eyes as they widen, "So you were aware...You know I only mean to help. To ease your road to recovery. Your wounds were grave, and your shoulder wound is one of the most complicated ones I have treated in years. To see you regain full use of your arm it is imperative I do everything in my power to-"

"At the cost to yourself?" G'raha's tail thumps into the bedroll, doing nothing to hide his disapproval as the fur bristles. Still, he manages to keep his tone civil, even though it wavers "You tell me not to worry, but how can I not? You-you are dying. Even if you did not tell me I know this. I see it plain before me and yet you-"

Unable to look into those kind eyes filled with such worry for his well-being rather than his own, G'raha quickly turns his head to face the other way, exhaling a shuddering breath. A small choked sound escapes him, but otherwise, he manages to keep a hold of his fraying composure. With his good arm, he clings to Y'sato's journal that still rests on his chest, his only lifeline. His anchor.

"How," He murmurs, his voice so small as his grip tightens around soft, worn leather. "How can you accept such a fate with nary a complaint, to brush your own well-being aside like that."

There is a slight rustle of clothes, but Toshi knows when to give him the needed space. Nor does he reach out to him this time. Something G'raha is initially grateful for and yet a part of him craves it, a comforting, caring touch. Yet the one person he wants to reach out for him most of all, is no longer alive to offer it.

He closes his eyes tight. Sato...

"...As I told you it was a sacrifice I made with no regrets. In time I hope you will come to understand." Toshi pauses, but G'raha still doesn't turn to look at him. A heavy sigh follows, a resigned tinge to it as the man continues, "That said, I will honor your wishes. No more will I heal you without your consent unless I deem it necessary. Are such terms agreeable?"

Something churns low in G'raha's stomach. That Toshi did such a sacrifice still doesn't sit right with him, but what is done, is done. As for these terms while G'raha knows he cannot conceivably do anything to stop Toshi from doing what he thinks best for his health being his caretaker, at least he considers his personal feelings on the matter.

Taking a cleansing breath he turns to face Toshi once more. What meets him is a face brimming with resolve, it glinting in those kind, aged eyes, his hands held in his lap as he sits straight. On this matter, G'raha can already tell he won't easily be swayed.

G'raha's tail lashes. "Do you promise me?"

"You have my word."

The sincerity in his words, says enough. Yet before G'raha can voice his appreciation, Toshi reaches out for one of the rolls of bandages he brought.

"But pray allow me to change your bandages at least. That alone should do much to stave off any risk of infection." Warm, steadying hands reach out for him like they have always done when G'raha's health is his top concern. Gently they coax him to sit up, a palm pressing lightly against his back just between his shoulder blades, while the other holds on to G'raha's good shoulder, and as always he complies, even when his wounds ache and burn from the strain.

He thought he had gotten used to this by now, but the spinning, his world tilting in odd ways still has nausea announce itself. Gritting his teeth he breathes through it, Y'sato's journal still clutched so tightly to his chest the only thing capable of giving him any semblance of comfort.

"Is everything alright?"

G'raha simply nods, first now aware he has his eyes closed. Taking a deep, steadying breath he forces them open. Toshi doesn't let go of him, however. Not completely as he keeps a steadying hand held securely at his back.

"Regrettably those two potions you had were the last, but as luck would have it, I found this salve earlier hidden among our stores."

Ears held low G'raha looks at the circular, small green glass container Toshi pulls forth from his pocket. Any labels detailing what it must contain have long since faded, the glass scratched in places, but despite its age, it remarkably holds up.

"It must have been displaced in the chaos, cause it was nowhere to be found among our other medical supplies. This is truly a boon, granted it still works as intended." A gentle smile gracing his lips, Toshi sets the small container aside. Assuring himself that G'raha manages to remain sitting upright without support, he trains his eyes on the task at hand.

With the same practiced finesse G'raha has observed for the last couple of days, Toshi unwounds the old bandages wrapped snugly around his ribs and shoulder. As always his touch is considerate yet courteous, and while G'raha still dislikes the lack of privacy he bears it with nary a complaint. After all, their new camp, or what they have managed to scrounge together so far offers little in ways of sheltering him from prying eyes. His only comfort is that Toshi is a healer and has seen him in such a state of undress before, not to mention countless others. All he cares about is seeing G'raha back on the mend and attending to his wounds to the best of his capabilities.

Wordlessly G'raha rests Y'sato's journal in his lap, shifting slightly to make Toshi's work easier. Something he has grown accustomed to as of late. He doesn't let go of its leather-bound cover completely, however, nor does he avert his gaze from it, his ears still fanned back. He knows what awaits him next. One of his ears twitches to the sound of Toshi wetting a clean rag.

His only tell of any discomfort as Toshi lightly dabs at his wounds with that very same rag is a quick lash of his tail, followed by a shuddering exhale. He has been through these motions before, and yet it never becomes any easier.

"Forgive me. You know it has to be done."

"I know." G'raha's tone is curt, betraying how he truly feels, but he doesn't hold anything against the man. If anything he still blames himself most of all.

Putting the soaked, slightly bloodied rag aside, Toshi reaches out for the circular container containing the salve. The ceramic lid uncorks with little effort. G'raha half expects the contents of something so old and worn looking to have gone foul, but instead of a horrid rotten smell assaulting his senses, there is instead this pleasant fresh minty aroma. Curiosity sparking to life within him he scents the air. Underneath the herbal mint, there is the undeniable hint of sage, lemon, and lavender, and something distinctly medicinal.

Toshi looks just as pleased from his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes to judge, "Praise Hydealyn, it remains untouched. Whoever sealed this used a highly effective alchemical sealant. A true master at the craft," Still smiling he runs his finger through it, scooping up a sizable dollop of the opaque blueish contents within. Then he looks to G'raha. "This means it should be as effective as on the day it was made. From my knowledge of such things, it should have a numbing yet healing effect, but I must warn you. It might sting."

"I am ready," G'raha responds to the warning he can see so clearly writ in Toshi's eyes. He has already been through hell. How much worse can a healing salve be?

Toshi adheres to his command without a word. From the first contact of the healing salve being rubbed into the wound in his shoulder, G'raha finds that yes, this is worse. So much worse.

He tries to suppress the hiss that threatens to escape through clenched teeth. He really does, and yet his body betrays him. Again an all too familiar stabbing pain flares to life in his shoulder, reminiscent of the sharp blade that found its home there, deep within his flesh, pressing against both bone and sinew. It's an icy, burning sort of pain, much akin to an ice pick ramming against ice, leaving cracks and splinters in its wake. His breath hitches with a gasp as he violently flinches, pinching his eyes shut. He's faintly aware of gripping tighter onto Y'sato's journal in his lap, his ears pinned back flat against his skull.

"Shh, It's alright. It's alright. I'm almost done. Just hold on for a moment longer." Toshi is quick to reassure, his words spilling forth in a soothing hush. Still, they do nothing to ease the throbbing, searing ache flooding his senses. G'raha is tense, so tense, his blunt nails digging into the soft leathery corners of Y'sato's journal as his ears flutter. A sound between a moan and a strangled cry escapes him when Toshi's fingers pass over the deepest, rawest part of his wound. In response his tail thrashes, smacking against his pillow leaving behind red matted fur strands in its wake.

"Hey, it's alright. There is no need to keep up that brave face you hear? Not around me." Toshi soothes. With a final swipe of his fingertips to ensure the wounds are truly sealed with the salve, he lowers his hand.

G'raha cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief. Already he feels it, a tingling, numbing sensation, and with it, the throbbing pain is already dulling. The salve, it works.

He does not intend to slump against Toshi but he does. A dazed look in his eyes his forehead comes to rest against Toshi's shoulder, and it's only by merit of him quickly supporting G'raha with an arm holding him firmly yet gently around his back that he doesn't topple over outright.

"G'raha? Are you still hurting? Can you hear me?" The alarm in Toshi's voice isn't lost on him, yet G'raha finds it hard to care. Shivering he lets out a deep sigh, his eyes falling closed.

Somehow he finds his voice, a small, broken thing. "I'm tired. So very tired..."

"...I know. All too well if you can believe it. There is much we ask of you. Too much." Toshi shifts him slightly in his grip but still allows him to rest his head against his shoulder, holding him close much like one hugs close family. All G'raha gives in response is a weak twitch of an ear.

With the same methodical care and patience as always, Toshi rewraps G'raha's wounds with clean bandages, taking great care not to linger on his wounds longer than necessary. Not that G'raha feels much. In truth, the pain is reduced to just this prickly numb sensation. This salve...is more potent than he thought, and it makes him realize just how utterly drained he in many ways still is. Both physically and emotionally. Even leaning against Toshi as he is everything spins, and even dulled as his mind is he is sick of it. Sick of feeling this way. This weak. So broken and hollow.

It makes him wonder if he will ever know how normalcy feels ever again.

Fingers brush against his hair at the back of his head, running down his braid. A soothing gesture. The gentle touch is so unexpected it has his ears shoot up into startled points. It rips him out of the sleepy haze, but realizing it is just Toshi he welcomes the comforting touch. Boneless with no fight left in him, he doesn't offer any resistance as Toshi lowers him back down to rest on his bedroll. Wordlessly he picks up Y'sato's journal and places it on G'raha's chest. Said miqo'te grabs onto it immediately, even though he strains to focus, blinking owlishly.

"You should rest," Toshi says as he covers G'raha with his blanket. "I will make sure to have food prepared for when you wake. If you have the strength you might even be able to join us by the fire. I believe a change of surroundings will do you good. Not to mention some light exercise."

G'raha just blinks at him. Exercise? He cannot imagine there is much he can do in his sorry state aside from hobbling about, wincing from his aching wounds. And clothes. He will need a new change of clothes. No more will he endure the indignation of hobbling around half-naked.

He must have made his intentions clear judging by the way Toshi just smiles at him, an apologetic smile. "Worry not. I will see to it that you will be comfortable, as well as procure you new vestments. For now, rest. You need it."

G'raha doesn't need more incentive. Free from the pain at last, fleeting as it is he drifts, his eyes closed before he can fully register it.

He just wishes things will be a little brighter when he wakes.

-.-

The stars are out by the next time he wakes, and as of now, he finds himself sitting around a crackling campfire. Toshi had the right of it. A change in his surroundings, slight as it is, is already doing much to raise his flagging spirits. Not to mention it serves as a much-needed soothing balm to his mental state. As for clothing, there wasn't much they could spare, but as luck would have it Toshi found another cloak. One similar to the one he wore, only darker brown in color, almost black. Much like its predecessor it is woven out of a thick, yet light-warm material that reaches down to just below his knees with a spacious hood. Again there is no slit for his tail to poke through, but it is just as roomy if not more so, and for a blessing his boots survived. As for a new shirt and pants they are sewing and patching together what spare articles and scraps of cloth they can get their hands on as they speak, leaving him to wear just the cloak with his left arm hidden underneath it held in a makeshift sling as he currently is. Anything to hinder any undue movement of his wounded shoulder.

As for his old vestments...they were already too far gone. No matter what they did they couldn't scrub out the blood so Toshi decided it best to burn them. Even more so because of the blood that stained them, having soaked through.

Royal Allagan blood. His lifeblood and also the key to his birthright, the Crystal Tower.

G'raha grips Y'sato's journal resting in his lap. It hasn't escaped his notice he left no small amount of blood behind. He vividly remembers it dripping off his fingers. The sticky warmth of the crimson droplets coating his hand, the feel of his own blood dripping off a dagger onto his neck...warm, slick. A sickening feeling.

His stomach churns from merely recalling the sensation even now, made worse by the thought of those vagrants using his blood to gain access to the Tower. He is its Keeper. He is the one who is tasked to keep it safe and yet as he is now he has failed. He is in no shape to protect it, to do anything to uphold Salina's ancient legacy should the vagrants find a way to breach its outer wards. Having spent so much time either asleep or unconscious as he has he cannot even be certain if they have gotten to it yet or not. After all his connection to it, this slight tingle in his fingertips can only tell him so much from this distance.

He can only hope it will be enough. That its wards and yet active defense systems left in the labyrinth will help keep intruders at bay until he is fully back on the mend. As fate would have it he is even bereft of his bow. It was left behind there in the keep, where he dropped it, where he failed everyone so spectacularly.

Shame burning his cheeks he pulls his hood further over his eyes with his good hand. What a defender of their future he turned out to be, their so-called beacon of hope. He's unworthy of carrying their legacies. How can anyone hope to look to him for guidance and leadership when all he amounted to was almost getting himself killed?

"G'raha?"

He doesn't look up from the shadows his hood offers him, having sorely missed the privacy it offers, but he recognizes the voice. The sound of it, the concern there, has his stomach tying into tight knots.

Toshi...

G'raha remains silent, the only acknowledgment he even heard him is a flick of an ear underneath the hood. The tattered fabric on his head shifts slightly but other than that he keeps his gaze morosely fixed on his lap, or to be more exact on the faded red jaguar claw engraved on the cover of Y'sato's journal. Even in the flickering firelight, it stands out to him like a beacon.

He however is not alone. Aside from him and Toshi, others have joined them sitting around the campfire on various wooden storage boxes and rusted metal, including their Chief who's currently having a muted conversation with Maria. For a blessing, K'delika is not among them this time. Biggs tries to include him in their conversation on occasion, but G'raha just gives half-hearted replies, not in the mood for idle chit-chat. Try as he might he cannot muster the energy, nor the will to face anyone as he currently is. Especially so since he can still sense this, dissidence within the group, an underlying tension he does not want to prod nor upset in any way.

Worse yet he hasn't been able to find the time to have his heart-to-heart conversation with Toshi as he had hoped. Between his injuries, weakness, and dire need for rest there simply hasn't been a good opportunity where he has found himself clear-headed enough to do so, and now sitting here in the company of others this is not the time. Neither does it help matters he still struggles to look anyone in the eye, even more so Toshi. How can he hope to lay it all bare, when this guilt is still this gnawing weight in his chest?

He still doesn't look up even when Toshi takes a seat beside him on the rusted Garlean warmachina. Toshi has the grace not to prod him further as he looks towards the flickering flames, and much like G'raha, he leans back against the rocky outcrop the remains of this warmech are propped up against. As always when not tending to his wounds, Toshi keeps a respectable distance. An emptied bowl and mug rest in the space between them, G'raha already having had his fill of their usual fare, the same gruel with the occasional tough strip of meat. Contrary to Toshi's hopes, no fish has been seen or caught. For all intents and purposes, Mor Dhona is truly a long-forgotten dead land.

A pebble skittering across the ground into the fire with a hiss snaps him out of his musings. Ears twitching slightly he looks up, eyes still obscured under the deep shadows of his hood. What meets him is a despondent face. It belongs to a man who sits opposite him on the other side of the fire. Theudobald, a grizzled older looking highlander with brown matted hair who from what little G'raha has learned about him has been in their order for years, if not most of his life. In truth, they have yet to make a proper acquaintance aside from the occasional greeting or of him handing him food or other supplies. He doesn't look up to meet G'raha's shadowed gaze. He doesn't look up at anyone at all, instead slumping in his seat, leaning forward to rest rugged elbows on his tattered, bruised knees.

"...I don't know how much longer I can endure this Chief. Look at us. While your speech was rousing, we haven't made much progress at all the last couple of weeks, not to mention the last handful of days" he spits, still not looking anyone in the eye, "And then there is the tower. I still worry about it you know? There's been days since the attack and we have yet to even see for ourselves how it fares. What if it has already fallen into the hands of those bastards? What if it is already being plundered as we speak?"

"Your worries are warranted, but until he is fully back on the mend, we can't risk it. Especially since we're getting low on fuel. We all know how crucial he is to our mission. He and the tower both. I just ask of your-" Biggs aren't allowed to finish. With a huff, Theudobald pushes himself up to his feet to glower down at him. His eyes flashing he points an accusatory finger at G'raha.

"To hells with you and your leadership. He won't speak or even look at us since the incident which I think is more than telling. Say what you will, but I'm getting sick of waiting around, of this helplessness. Thanks to your misconduct we almost lost him godsdamnit! Our only hope! And we lost Heimsfyr and Cedric, and that I will never forgive."

And that's that. Before anyone can do or say anything Theudobald storms off, clenched fists shaking at his sides. Instead of rising to the occasion with the authority G'raha has come to know from him, Biggs instead looks down into his lap, a strained, tired expression on his face.

"Chief?" The tone of Toshi's voice is tentative, but Biggs is quick to reassure him by raising a hand.

"It's alright. I'll speak with him later. Clear up any misunderstandings and ill feelings. I'm just sorry you had to see that."

"Pray forgive him. He's just tired, and grieving. Like all of us. Just..just give him time." Maria says. Despite being one of the more youthful members of their organization, tired lines mar her face too betraying the numerous hardships she has endured. There's a weight in her gaze, a telling weight everyone at their camp shares in common. As Biggs made sure to inform him all those weeks ago, everyone here has known loss. Has seen the face of death. 

While G'raha wasn't aware of it at the time Maria was the one who assisted Biggs and Toshi with bandaging his wounds that fateful day their keep was overrun, and also the one who voiced her concern over the Tower he overheard that very same night. Like with Theudobald G'raha doesn't know her very well, but she has always been kind, offering him smiles and a helping hand when needed. An older stockily built Elezen of duskwight ancestry, Silvarre sits next to her. Highly aloof he hardly speaks in G'raha's presence. Deep lines and wrinkles being a testament to his age adorn his face, giving him a stern countenance but his heart is in the right place. After all, he was the one who thought first of boiling the water needed not just to drink, but to clean G'raha's wounds.

Once upon a time both Maria and Silvarre like most members of their order were whispering about him behind his back, but that was then. He had scarcely been with them for a week at the time and no one truly knew him aside from what the records left behind by NOAH had told them. Now they have shown in although different ways that they are dependable good people.

A gentle smile graces G'raha's lips. Perhaps there is something he can do in order to lift their spirits if just by a small margin. Letting out a small purposeful breath, he tips his head back just enough so his eyes are revealed by the fire. The orange flickering light catches in vibrant crimson irises, setting them aglow.

"'Tis alright." His smile widens as his and their chief's eyes meet. Still smiling G'raha glances briefly into his palm, flexing his fingers slightly, feeling the tingle there. He has yet to tell any of them about his connection to the Tower, but it did not feel necessary at the time. Until now that is. He glances briefly back up at Biggs, then to the luminous, calm blue spire in the distance. All eyes are on him now, attentive and eager now that he finally joins in on their conversation. The sudden unexpected attention has his skin prickle, but he takes a deep breath, the scent of soot and woodsmoke strangely putting his nerves at ease.

"There are trying days behind us to be certain, and more undoubtedly more to come on the horizon..." He pauses to swallow thickly, pushing back on the guilt that threatens to choke him, at the thought of him one day having to leave everyone behind, but for now, he will try his best to offer them what guidance and reassurance he can, newfound as it might be. He looks to the stars, finding courage in their ethereal luminescence. Despite everything that stands in his path their light is eternal, illuminating the way. "As for the Tower sharing a connection to it as I am, I wanted to inform you that I...I can sense if anyone tries to break past the wards."

By the surprised drop of Biggs jaw, Toshi straightening in his seat, and the widening of Maria's eyes to judge this ability of his is one they did not expect him to possess.

"Truly? You can tell something like that even from this distance?" Maria is the first to speak up, a hopeful lilt in her voice.

G'raha is just able to give her a brief nod before Biggs interjects.

"We all know you can control the Tower thanks to the gift your bloodline gifted to you, but to think you are aware of its overall status even when not within the structure itself...Remarkable. For how long have you known this?"

"For a while, admittedly." G'raha's gaze strays to look into the flames. "I just did not think it important for you to know."

"Of course it is. Don't be silly." Maria speaks up again, an urgency in her entire demeanor as she sits straighter in her seat, "So how does it fare? Have the vagrants gotten to it yet?

Upon hearing the barely restrained worry in her voice G'raha's gaze falls to his lap, a strained look washing over his face. "Regrettably, weakened as I am and having spent most of my time either asleep or unconscious as I have, I cannot accurately say if they have managed to breach its wards yet or not. All I know for certain is as of this very moment, nothing is amiss."

Maria's expression falls and she slumps visibly in her seat, "I see. Since you're so oddly calm about it I should have known, but I needed to know. I'm sorry if I came across as too direct."

The corner of G'raha's mouth twists slightly. She shouldn't feel this need to offer apologies for asking about a legitimate concern that affects all of them. After all, everything hinges on the Tower and his success. He looks up to meet her eyes, a smile once more gracing his lips.

"No offense taken, my friend. If anything I am glad to see I am not the only one who is concerned about the safety of the Tower. After all, as its Keeper it falls to me to protect it, and protect it I shall. You have my word." A determined fire burns in his eyes at his words. In his eyes he might have failed, but as long as they believe in him, as long as their heart beats for the cause nothing is truly lost. Not yet.

A plaintive hush falls over the group, and in this stillness, G'raha once more looks to the Tower. He solemnly vows to return to it to take stock as soon as he is able. By the grace of the Spinner, it is his hope nothing has befallen it or its vast interior. For now, all he can do is wait and pray. To have faith in the meticulous wards his ancestors saw fit to put in place.

Toshi shifting beside him is what draws G'raha's attention first, then he hears the familiar scrunching of dead crystal fragments and rusted scrap crunching to dust under leather soles. The footsteps are light, and looking in the direction of the sound he sees her, K'delika.

Already his skin prickles upon her approach, the tip of his tail flicking restlessly under his robe. He has not seen hide nor hair of her since that night he spied her sitting around the campfire with that haunted look on her face, but like most members of their other she looks as healthy as she can be, at least physically.

She doesn't look at G'raha. Doesn't even acknowledge his presence or anyone for that matter. There is a different air around her now, her eyes no longer having that angry edge to them. Furthermore, G'raha can tell her new demeanor has Toshi worried from the way he looks at her, a deep sadness in his eyes as his brows furrow into a frown. Yet a small warm smile touches his lips upon her approach.

"Delika, I feared for a moment you wouldn't join us. How it warms my heart to see you."

Something glints within the depths of her eyes as she looks to Toshi, a slight smile curving her mouth but as soon as G'raha glimpses it, it falls. The weight in her gaze, says enough. Something lingers in the air between her and Toshi. Something unspoken. Something G'raha knows best to leave well alone.

Not saying a word, her tail low behind her legs she gingerly sits down next to Biggs and pulls her knees up to her chest, her posture more slinky and making herself seem small. She acts like she doesn't want to be seen. Noticed.

From there she just stares into the flames, as if they hold the answers she seeks.

G'raha follows suit, his eyes once more obscured by shadow. Despite her joining them, her aloofness and unwillingness to even acknowledge him doesn't come as a surprise. They never were on friendly terms to begin with, and he did reach out the once, only for her to reject his apology so thoroughly. As things stand he doesn't expect anything from her. Still, most of all he is relieved to see her thus unharmed if just for Toshi's sake. It is for that very reason he knows he would leap to her defense again in a heartbeat if need be. No questions asked. He cannot stand the thought of seeing anyone getting themselves injured or killed on his watch. Not again. Not as long as he can help it.

Making peace with his decision he doesn't notice the flash of K'delika's amber eyes looking in his direction before darting back to look into the fire. Biggs and Maria are talking among themselves again with Silvarre listening in but G'raha doesn't pay them much attention. Still above the crackling of the fire, and the muted conversation G'raha's ears catch the sound of K'delika's voice, her words spoken so low only someone with a miqo'te's keen hearing could hope to hear it.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue."

Her words are akin to a whisper and yet G'raha hears them crystal-clear. At once he looks up from the flickering flames, eyes wide as his mouth parts, disbelieving. Did-did he mishear? Certainly, those words were a trick of the wind were they not? His confusion falls away when her eyes meet his of vibrant crimson and with it, everything falls into place. He did hear her, loud and clear. There is no animosity to be found in those eyes, only gratitude.

"Thank you." She says again, a bit clearer this time, but she is quick to lock up, looking away to the side.

And that's that. From the way her tail curls around her legs and the tense pin of her ears, G'raha knows she's not willing to say more on the matter. At least in their present company.

Still, it is more than he ever expected, especially coming from her, and in the face of it and how it has warmth flood his chest he smiles at her, even when he knows she doesn't see it.

The days ahead are certain to be trying, not to mention filled with uncertainty, but he is still alive and as long as he draws breath there is yet work to be done. With Y'sato's journal in hand, he will strive to see his mission to completion. One step and one day at a time.

It is a daunting proposition, but it gives him the strength needed to dare hope for a better tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

"G'raha, are you ready?"

Said miqo'te almost jumps out of his skin, eyes wide as he turns to the speaker from where he sits cross-legged at his bedroll poring over a book in his lap. The sudden movement alone has abused, still healing nerve endings flare to life in his left shoulder. Biting his teeth together he gingerly cradles it, his brows drawn together at the all too familiar painful prickling. While his wounds have mostly healed for the most part he still needs to be careful. With a determined glint in his eyes, he looks to Biggs before any worry for his well-being is allowed to surface anew. With a curt nod and a smile, he gives his affirmation, rising to his feet.

"Yes, I believe I am. Just give me a moment."

"Of course. I just wish you to be careful on our foray. You are still on the mend after all." Biggs says, a smile on his lips despite worry creasing his brow. Even though he wears his signature shades G'raha can feel him eye his shoulder, and not just with a little concern.

"I shall. Worry not." G'raha's tone is calm, civil, yet he cannot help the strained off-handed way his words come across. Or the way the tip of his tail twitches under his cloak. He should be used to this lingering ever-present worry by now, and yet this restless feeling slithers under his skin.

He just wants to move past it. Past what happened, now two weeks ago.

Distracting himself from the task at hand with tales of the Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon's deeds during the Dragonsong war still playing in the corners of his mind, G'raha quickly marks the page he was at in the book still held in his hands. A familiar book. One he has read a handful of times already and yet he can never get enough. With the greatest reverence he cradles it, a book unearthed in a city ever hounded by the fires of unrest and endless strife. A book titled, Heavensward. A fond glint shining his his eyes he gingerly rests it there alongside his other scant belongings. There is not much to speak of. Just his bedroll, a handful of well-worn blankets alongside his makeshift toothbrush and comb. Not to mention this ragged sorry excuse for a shirt he believes once was white. None of these items hold much value to him, aside from a purely practical sense.

However, there is one treasured item of his that goes with him wherever he goes. Pressing his hand to his chest he can already feel its comforting shape press against his skin. Y'sato's journal. Once more it rests within the folds of his cloak, right above his heart. He cannot bear to go anywhere without it. Not again.

Hand still held to his chest he turns back to Biggs. "I am ready. Pray lead the way."

Smiling and without further ado, Biggs with Toshi, K'delika, and Maria in tow leads the way over to the waiting airship. It is yet early morn, the sun beaming down on them overhead and G'raha's ears perk up in response, chasing the blessed warmth its radiant rays bring.

Two weeks have come and gone since their keep was overrun. Two weeks since the light of their only hope almost fizzled out. A trying period to be certain, but now he considers himself well enough to embark on a long overdue expedition to the Tower, to continue the work of their forebears. More importantly, he is alive. A bit worse for wear, but still standing. Still breathing, and all thanks to Toshi and his patient perseverance. In truth, Biggs did want to set out earlier, but Toshi was adamant, not willing to put G'raha's recuperating yet fragile health at risk unless absolutely necessary. Besides, as G'raha himself has vouched he has yet to sense anything amiss with the Crystal Tower. For all intents and purposes, the immense structure yet seems entirely undisturbed since their last visit, now almost a moon ago.

Following Toshi G'raha is the last in line to board the airship. Already he is steeling himself. After all the last time he stepped foot on an airship, he almost died.

It isn't until his feet hit the gangplank he realizes this is the very airship that ferried his dying self that fateful day. At once he freezes, ears standing on alert. Despite the bright sun, his pupils widen.

"G'raha?"

Again he jumps at the voice addressing him, his tail shooting out from underneath his cloak. The startled movement shifts his cloak just enough its furry tip is visible. Every hair stands on end. Yet his gaze remains unfocused, haunted. 

"Hey, it's alright," Toshi is quick to soothe, taking care not to touch him, standing at an arm's length. G'raha doesn't look up to meet his eyes. An inexplicable dread has seized him, freezing him in place. Cold just like the knife that stabbed him. He can feel the ghost of its sharp edge splitting his skin, digging deep into his flesh. Icy yet hot. Blood. There is so much blood...

"You don't have to do this, " Toshi continues, speaking in the same measured, calm soothing voice. Yet the worry he carries for his charge is clear in his eyes, in the frown around his lips. Especially so when G'raha still doesn't respond. The others already having boarded the ship Toshi addresses Biggs without taking his eyes off G'raha. "Chief. It is clear he's yet not ready for this. How about we use the other airship? It should be far less distressing."

Biggs eyeing G'raha nods with understanding. "...Surely. Transferring the fuel from this airship over to its tank will be sure to take some bells though... As well as some minor repairs, but given the circumstances-"

A russet ear twitches.

No...

Eyes coming back into focus G'raha's gaze snaps to their chief. Piercing, filled with terror. "There is no need!" His voice comes out sharper and louder than he intends. In that very instant everyone's eyes are on him, their surprise laid plain. Under such scrutiny G'raha quickly looks away, hugging himself as his tail lashes. Ears held low his fingers claw into his upper arms with a trembling grip.

"I-I mean-" He squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, jaw all tense as he grits his teeth. He knows he is better than this. Stronger than this. There is no time to dilly-dally further with their precious time. He has already wasted enough!

With a sharp inhale he meets everyone's eyes, his expression tight but there is no mistaking the sheer strength of the determination burning within his ruby gaze. "I have to do this if I am to move forward. To do my part of the mission."

To show his resolve he steps forth, past Toshi, head held high, but the way his ears still droop betrays him. As well as his shaking fists now held at his sides.

His entire being screams in protest as he boards the ship. It is strange...unsettling to step onto the place where he almost died. Most of the bloodstains have long been scrubbed away, but G'raha's keen eyes still glimpse them, faded as they are on the worn rusted metal. Already his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat, unbidden.

"G'raha, please. You don't-"

"'Tis fine. I'll be alright I assure you. Just, take me to the Tower." His tone is clipped, harsher than he means to as he cuts Toshi off. Pointedly looking away from the faded bloodstains he takes a seat in a far-off corner close to the brigs, his back resting against a partly rusted metal box. There he remains, sitting hunched over hugging himself. The urge to pull his hood over his head is nearly all-consuming, but he has to resist. He has already drawn too much undue attention to himself. He doesn't need, nor want anyone's misplaced pity. He has already had enough to last for a lifetime.

Seeking comfort his hand, his right finds the familiar shape of Y'sato's journal under the soft fabric. Already the feel of it under his palm helps, the knowledge that Y'sato is still with him, watching over him, although in spirit. Closing his eyes he can see him, the way his eyes shine with concern he does nothing to hide as he reaches out for him, a frown pulling at his lips, his ears lowering slightly to match. He is so close G'raha can almost reach out to pull him into a tight embrace. Can almost feel the silken strands of his hair under his fingertips as he cradles the back of his head. Can almost feel the warmth of his breath caressing his skin as he burrows his face into the crook of G'raha's neck, his fingers finding their home in his hair, scratching the back of his ears gently. Oh so gently.

Then he hears his voice. So painfully clear, an echo of a memory from what feels like a lifetime ago...

"If you ever need to talk, or need to share the burden, I'm here. I will always be here."

Sato, I-

The sensation, the sound of his long-departed friend's voice is so raw, so real it draws a pained whine from the back of his throat, but he is quick to swallow it back. He huddles deeper into himself, his fingers tightening around the journal. He wishes so badly this was his reality, instead of the one he is forced to witness. Forced to play part in.

I should have told you. Then perhaps I- perhaps we could still-

"Everything seems to be in order. Hold on to something, we are taking off."

Biggs's unexpected announcement once more has G'raha jump with a start. Ears twitching he hurriedly looks around. For a blessing, neither Toshi, Maria, or K'delika approaches to check on him. Not even when the engines shudder, rattling the ship. Yet he can feel K'delika's eyes on him from where she stands next to Biggs by the raised gangplank. There is no animosity to be found in her gaze. Just worry for his well-being and a sense of understanding. She has yet to speak to him in earnest since she thanked him for coming to her rescue that day, only offering him a greeting on occasion although in her usual standoffish way. Still, G'raha can tell the bitterly cold rift between them is slowly closing. Once while assisting Toshi with dressing his wounds with fresh bandages, she even offered G'raha a smile, fleeting as it was. She didn't meet his eyes, but day by day it gets easier to be around her.

With a loud whir, the airship jolts to life. In response G'raha huddles further, his tail curling around one of his legs, unseen under his cloak. The quicker he will get to the Tower, the quicker he can step off this contraption that serves to remind him of nothing but his failure. Toshi told him not to shoulder the blame, but in good conscience, he cannot let this stand. He must find a way to atone for what he has done. For those lives lost. Expression tight, strained, his nails dig into the fabric of his cloak. It is only right!

Despite the quick climb in altitude, the Keeper of the Lake still towers in their wake. Yet the mighty father of dragons has nothing to say in the face of the unparalleled majesty of the Crystal Tower, its tall spires piercing the very clouds. In the radiant light of the sun its crystalline surface shimmers and glitters just like the lake below. It serves as a nice distraction from his current predicament and so he looks to the Tower, his birthright. Closing his eyes he taps into the connection he shares with it, attuning to the telltale prickle in his fingers. The sensation is more...intense this time. Especially in his left hand and while he warrants it is due to his steadily increasing proximity to the Tower, he cannot disregard the possibility his injury in his left shoulder also plays a part. He first took notice of it in the following week after the attack when he bumped the back of his hand against a rock when trying to push himself up onto his feet. There was this strange numbed tingling across the back of his hand for one, radiating up to his shoulder at the site of the wound. But what distressed him the most was the accompanying muscle weakness. Try as he might he still struggles to keep a firm grip with his left hand, it further extending to his wrist, and even now he cannot seem to form a proper fist.

Voicing his worries to Toshi his fears were laid plain. Nerve damage, and although Toshi assured him he had done everything within his power to aid his healing, there is only so much one can do for such a complicated injury. Torn nerves and to such an extent, rarely fully heal.

Opening his eyes G'raha looks down into the palm of his afflicted hand. The back of it is still numb, tingling slightly, and from the way Toshi put it, he might have lost some sensation permanently. As a silver lining it at least isn't his dominant hand and Toshi assured him he will likely still be able to wield a bow once he has fully recovered on the grounds of him keeping up the flexing and stretching exercises he was summarily taught, to help promote coordination and to help strengthen the afflicted muscles.

Yet this knowledge makes it no easier to bear! Gritting his teeth G'raha glares into his hand. Such anger, such self-loathing burns in his gaze at that very moment. His ears flatten against his skull.

Look at yourself. I have to live with this now. A permanent reminder of how deeply I failed. Of how I-

"G'raha?"

A voice to his right snaps him out of his dark self-deprecating thoughts. He already knows who is asking. Who is looking at him with kind, yet worried blue eyes. Toshi, always so concerned with his well-being rather than his own. G'raha can't bear to raise his gaze to look at him. Knowing what he will most certainly see. The specter of death looms over his caretaker, follows in his wake like a shadow, one that grows bigger for every day. It is only a matter of time...

"I'm fine. Pray excuse me."

Without looking Toshi in the eye, G'raha rises to his feet. Without thinking they take him to the bow, and there he remains standing, looking out towards Mor Dhona, the Crystal Tower. Hands held in loose fists at his sides he forces his ears to stand alert in their usual relaxed position. He cannot allow Toshi to worry about him any longer. For now, he needs to bury his true feelings on the matter deep within his heart. There is one thing and one thing only he should focus on. His task at hand, the smoldering yet impassioned flame within that drives him unlike any other.

Your mission. Focus on your mission. As things currently stand nothing else matters.

The rest of the journey is fairly uneventful. After a quick perimeter glide to ensure it is safe enough to land the airship comes to a slow halt amongst the rubble at the Eight Sentinels.

In the resplendence of the sun, the Crystal Tower towers above him in all of its majesty. Once upon a time merely beholding it filled him with wonder and such untamed burning excitement he had ever known. A thrill surged to life in his chest, eager to soar on the eternal winds. This was it, what he studied and toiled for years back in Sharlayan. Why he became an Archon in the first place. Its study, his learning about the truth behind the Allagan eye was paramount to anything else.

Until he met Y'sato. A hero in the flesh, and in time grew to become a true friend, inseparable. A deep bond forged, unbreakable. At his side, G'raha truly dared to believe he could amount to something. For years he had yearned to stand tall like the heroes of eld, but like a fool eager to pluck the very stars from the heavens his every attempt to reprise their deeds fell short. That changed the day he learned the truth about his eye, his gift, when his blood unlocked the ancient memories of his ancestors. How certain he had been that day, of following his destiny. Of what he believed was the right thing to do.

But that was two hundred years ago. A lost age he can never hope to return to. Seeing the Tower now fills him only with regret thinking of what could have been, but it also fuels his purpose. He won't squander his gift, of what this Tower embodies and symbolizes to the people toiling so tirelessly beside him. A beacon of hope, and with it and his ability to control it which he has yet to master in truth, he will strive to shine its light on all creation. He will bring Y'sato back, so he can deliver their message.

Wordlessly he reaches out for the portal nestled in the dais, the low thrumming hum a constant reminder of what awaits on the other side. This is not the first time he has paid the Tower a visit since he was first awoken, but walking on this very stone his dear friend once walked, to look upon the Tower like he once did. This weight G'raha carries in his heart. The heartache.

It never becomes any easier

In a blue flash of light the air shifts, crackles, contorting with whisps of aether the same shade as the calm blue crystal of the Tower. In that instant G'raha feels his feet lift off the ground. Teleportation magicks of this nature are yet something he has to get entirely used to. Reflexively he closes his eyes, trusting the swirling aether channel to steer him true.

With a crackling hiss, he disappears into the ether.

When he next opens his eyes his surrounds are much different. The cool, humid air is what hits his senses first. His ears instinctively swivel upon hearing the distant rush of water. He knows what he will behold before he even opens his eyes.

Before him, the immense gilded gates to the Tower lie open. Just as he left them, almost a moon ago so the ironworks workers could come and go as necessary for the mission. As for himself he last paid a visit the day before he went with Biggs to Ishgard, where he encountered true unrest for the first time.

Where he found the timeworn tome titled Heavensward.

His companions materialize next to him in that instant, K'delika staying close to Toshi with Maria standing next to Biggs. G'raha doesn't turn to acknowledge them, even when he can feel their eyes boring into his back. From the way Maria clasps her hands to her chest, tugging nervously at her brown tattered coat it is clear she is apprehensive. So much is at stake after all, and as they are they can only trust G'raha and his connection to the Tower to guide them.

Their chief steps forth, cautious, coming to a slow halt to G'raha's right. Already his hand is inching closer to the gun he has holstered securely at his back, ready to take aim and fire should anything or anyone dare to ambush them.

"Sense anything?"

Knowing what Biggs alludes to, G'raha wordlessly complies to his request. Closing his eyes he reaches out for that red glowing thread lined with blue geometric pulsing lines he can see so vividly in his mind's eye whenever he taps into the latent power thrumming throughout this monumental structure, these grand halls of purest azure and gold. Taking a deep steadying breath he attunes to the steady tingling pulse he can feel in his fingertips, guiding, beckoning. Like a heartbeat. His connection with the Tower is still much too faint for his liking, even at this proximity. Instinctively he knows, much thanks to the Royal Allagan blood flowing in his veins it pales to where it should be, but for now it serves him well enough.

"Nothing seems to be amiss with the Tower's security systems, as far as I can ascertain. The wards deployed in the Labyrinth still work as intended. It seems the vagrants never made it this far." Opening his eyes he turns to face Biggs, apprehension burning in his ruby gaze."Yet I fear unless I am able to access the Tower's primary control system directly I cannot tell for certain." G'raha's expression falls, averting his gaze to look somewhere into the ancient stone floor at his feet. "As you know by now I have accessed it before. Most notably when I first entered stasis."

"Aye, so we gleaned from what our founder told us in his notes, and furthermore when we at last located you within the heart of the Tower." Biggs crosses his arms as he looks to the immense gates before them. "Truly fascinating this technology the Allagans conceived. Initially we thought we had to decipher a cryptic code or something but it was like the tower knew, or rather expected us to find you. We merely needed to get close enough to your prone form, and it was like the chamber itself pulsed to life, like a waking heartbeat. I have never seen the like."

The barely concealed awe in Biggs voice, of how he looks towards the gates with a knowing smile has G'raha's eyes snap back to his in an instant. Already his ears perks up, eyes attentive. He tries not to seem too intrigued but his excitement bleeds into his voice. Weighted by grief and being too preoccupied with his mission, his purpose he did not think to ask, until now.

"I would like to hear more, please. I...I do not rightly recall anything from that day, out of it as I was."

"Surely," Biggs agrees, still smiling "But perhaps it can wait until we have completed our preliminary inspections? It is a long story and I rather want to tell it in more agreeable surrounds."

As much as he wants to hear it here and now there's no arguing with Biggs reasoning G'raha concedes. A strained smile on his face he nods his agreement. "Very well. I will await that moment with bated breath. For now, I should seek out the heart of the Tower, the Umbilicus as it were."

Focusing at the matter at hand, at what he must do, G'raha with his companions at his side crosses the golden threshold, the very threshold he walked across that fateful day when he left his former now long dead companions behind. He forces himself to keep going despite how conflicted visiting the Tower makes him feel, memories he rather wants to keep buried welling back up to the surface, unbidden. Like always he has to fight it, that urge to look over his shoulder. For a moment he can almost feel Y'sato's presence, see the crestfallen look on his face, the pain in his eyes, the hurt.

Then he hears his voice, crystal clear.

"Raha, why did you deceive me?"

With a sharp inhale G'raha squeezes his eyes shut, ears fluttering. Don't look back. 'Tis fiction. Just a fragment conceived of a weary mind. Nothing more. Just put one foot in front of the other. Focus on the task at hand.  Don't look. Don't dwell. Just walk. Breathe.

Resolute G'raha forces his eyes back open. His ruby eyes are so intense as he stares straight ahead, focused, determined. Lips pressed firmly together he forces himself to keep going, even when every fiber of his being screams to head back.

Without thinking, without even acknowledging his companions worried glances his way, G'raha heads over to the closest aetheryte, his footsteps more hurried and brusque than he intends. The quicker he can get away from this gate, the better.

With just one destination in mind he places his hand on the calm blue crystalline surface. Despite the cold air surrounding him its surface is strangely warm, soothing.

As he scatters into stardust he clings to that sensation, of the comforting warmth belonging to the sun itself. How its radiant light caught in eyes bright and shining like twin jewels when Y'sato looked his way. A fondness in his gaze, filled with love and understanding.

What he would give to see him again.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The gilded, oddly familiar door standing before him yields easily at his touch, at his wordless command. Despite him knowing he is the Tower's Keeper, that he has slumbered within it for two centuries everything still feels so...foreign. Furthermore, the strange tingling in his fingertips never truly cedes, and standing within it as he is and being so close to its heart the sensation only intensifies. Pricking waves wash through his palms up to his wrists, and if he closes his eyes he can sense this energy flow throughout his entire body. Warm, like flickering candlelight, and if he pricks his ears he can hear it. A faint thrumming, resonating all around him, in the crystalline floor, the walls, the tall ceiling, the dimmed oval-shaped mirror situated to the far end of the vast chamber he is currently finding himself standing in, the Ocular.

He knows what all of this energy swirling around him is. Aether. Potent Aether. Just out of reach, but caressing his skin all the same. Welcoming.

This Tower truly is a vast reservoir. It still astounds me.

Opening his eyes he steps into the smaller circular room before him, the Umbilicus. Toshi and K'delika are quick to follow at his side. Biggs and Maria opted to stay behind by the aetheryte down the hall to keep a lookout just in case.

G'raha's eyes hones in on one thing only and that's the small gray circular console located opposite the door. The very same console he operated the day he accepted his burden, his mission, giving them access to the Tower's lower levels at Biggs' behest. A place he has yet to see and explore for himself truth be told.

G'raha's tail twitches, unseen under his cloak. One of his ears follows suit but he is quick to rein it in. Even though he has been in this room in recent memory he still struggles to recall anything from the moment he first accessed the Tower's control panel two centuries ago. What command did he issue? What instructions and what conditions did he order the Tower to uphold? Even Salina's memories that helped guide him at the time are but whispers in the back of his mind. A thick haze he cannot hope to penetrate.

A side effect of being locked in stasis for so long perhaps? No matter. I will ponder the whys and hows of it later.

The unearthly red of his irises piercing in the backdrop of the azure glow, G'raha reaches out, his expression tight.

For now, to see to the Tower's security is paramount.

The moment his right palm lightly presses against the face of the console, bright white transparent light screens flicker to life with a mechanical whir. Ancient text darts across them so fast G'raha struggles to comprehend them. Yet there is this strong intuition, an instinct telling him he knows these words somehow. It is mildly disconcerting, the unease pricking at his nerves just like when he permitted the Ironworks access to the lower floors. While he struggles to remember the exact layout he is close to where they first found him. Where they awakened him. He can feel it, a strong pulse ever pulling him downwards, beckoning. He knows.

The chamber he went into stasis in, is right below his feet.

A familiar shimmering crackle has his ears twitch. He knows the source of it and hence he stands unmoving, his hand held still on the console. Thin crystal spires rise from the edges of it. Slowly they climb higher, shining with a light translucent blue hue as they twist to seek out G'raha's hand. To anyone else, this would be unsettling, but deep down G'raha knows he has nothing to fear. Not from his birthright.

There's shifting behind him, but he doesn't turn to see. The surprised pitch of K'delika's voice says enough. After all, this is the first time he has company within this chamber.

"What are those?"

"'Tis alright," G'raha reassures, his eyes still trained on the console. "Since it has been a while the Tower merely seeks to affirm my identity before I can proceed further. Is a security precaution."

The tendrils of crystal lit with the potent magic of his ancestors move with a mind of their own, not stopping until each point as thin as a needle rests at each individual knuckle, the final tendril seeking out the pulse point in G'raha's wrist.

And there they stop. Not breaking his skin, but he can still feel the cool pinpricks, clear as day. In that instant the crystals shine brighter, turning bright red at the tips, the vivid color spreading from their points into the console, forming a red circuit. The light pulses, in tune with his heartbeat.

At this point, G'raha merely needs to issue his command with his mind, much like he did when he first bid the gates of this immense structure to close, so long ago...

You know who I am. Grant me access.

His very vitals connected to the Tower as they currently are G'raha's eyes shine with his birthright once more. Red irises take on an impossibly vibrant hue, an otherworldly blue halo forming around his pupils as they widen. Geometric in pattern vivid blue angular thin lines spread outwards until the entirety of his irises is lined, like an intricate network. Allagan red and blue, syncing up in perfect unison.

The screens before him pulse, the text slowing for an instant before speeding up again.

'Biometric data found. Genetic markers accepted. Welcome back, Master G'raha Tia. Please, state your business.'

Again G'raha detects movement behind him. The synthetic droning female voice isn't startling to him, but he supposes for those not familiar with Allagan tech and their history it must be quite disconcerting.

Colored lights cascade blue and red and with it, the crystalline tendrils retract retreating into the edges of the console whence they came. Yet the effect on his eyes lingers, as he quickly finds out with K'delika butting her head in, literally right in his peripheral vision. Without thinking his eyes dart to look in her direction, ears shooting up into startled points as he whips around to face her fully. A sharp stabbing pain in his left still healing shoulder puts a swift end to wherever he is heading. Wincing he cradles it, suppressing a hiss. Still, he doesn't take his eyes off her, his heart still pounding. If anything it offers her an even better look at his eyes.

"Now that's freaky. Truly shows you are the chosen one huh? And here I thought you couldn't even become more special."

"Delika. Mind your words." There's a hard edge in Toshi's voice. A warning.

K'delika immediately takes a step back. There's an apologetic glint in her eyes as she looks at Toshi. "I meant no ill by it I swear. I have realized now he's living up to what we were promised." Fidgeting a bit with the hem of her tattered coat she looks back at G'raha. This time she doesn't meet his eyes. "Also um, sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle you. You've been quite jumpy as of late. Are you alright?"

"I'll live," G'raha says simply, offering her a curt yet polite smile. Already the otherworldly blue hue covering his irises has started to recede, giving way to the usual vivid bright red. " I appreciate your concern, truly, but I need to focus. Now if you will have me excused?"

Without another word, he turns back to face the console. Is not that he dislikes K'delika's company, but after how she treated him initially, and her word choices sometimes he feels right to be wary. Even though Biggs gave him his word K'delika doesn't blame him for Toshi's fate, there is this look in her eyes sometimes when he feels her eyes on him. Something he cannot quite put his finger on. It's not outright contempt or disdain, but not admiration or respect either. There is something unspoken lingering within those amber depths. Yet there is a hesitation in the way she holds herself. Told through the tense low swaying of her tail. It is clear there is more she wants to say, and yet her lips remain sealed.

And it is for that reason alone he cannot help but be on his guard around her.

"Tell me the status of the Tower's security systems. Have there been any breaches recently of note?"

The lightscreens before him flicker at his request, ancient text racing by. With a final whir, the red glowing circuit around the control panel flashes, once, twice. Then the Tower speaks.

'Both the primary and auxiliary systems are online and 100% functional. No immediate concerning irregularities were detected. Intruders were successfully dispatched two weeks ago.'

G'raha blanches at that information. Intruders? Two weeks ago? But that must mean those vagrants managed to breach the wards sometime shortly after they took their keep. The thought of those violent ruffians who have already taken so much from them, almost snuffing out his own life in the progress, walking these grand halls of his ancestors thinking they could just waltz in and claim it for their own just like that sickens him. Already there is this tight sensation in his chest, hands trembling at his sides.

Twelve take me for a fool! Of course, they did. With all that blood I left behind it was only a matter of time. If only I hadn't been left incapacitated I would have sensed it. I could have stopped them.

"That's good news, isn't it? I mean the voice clearly said they were disposed of. We were worried for nothing."

One of G'raha's ears twitches at K'delika's voice. The way her tone is so matter-of-factly about something so grave pinches a sore nerve, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Toshi however immediately turns to address her.

"Delika. This is not the time for idle jesting. You know that. These men have already done irreparable damage to our morale as it is. Who knows what further damage they could have done to the tower, our lifework."

The worry clear in Toshi's voice drives a cold spike right into G'raha's gut. Their work, the Tycoon!

His eyes snapping open he looks right at the lightscreens. Panic mixed with fierce determination burns in his gaze. He but needs to give the Tower a single command.

"Where are they?"

Again the screens flicker.

'Targets located. After being dispatched shortly after trying to access the primary system they were summarily transported to the disposal area for further assessment. Still awaiting clean up protocol 0X097.'

Disposal area. Clean up protocol. This isn't unfamiliar territory for G'raha and his inclination and knowledge about everything Allagan. The abhorrence of many of the foul deeds the Allagan Empire was responsible for runs deep, rotten at the core. In other words, the dispatched vagrants are still somewhere in the Tower, or rather what remains of them.

Emaciated corpses most like, rotting away where they do not belong. The sheer knowledge that they stood where he is now standing, trying to use his blood to access the control system of the Tower makes his blood boil. How dare they, how dare they make a mockery of him and everything this Tower has come to represent, the very people standing at his side he has come to care for. Curse them all the way to the seventh hell!

A hardness in his gaze G'raha once more looks to the lightscreens. For almost taking his life, for putting their entire operation in jeopardy, and for whose lives they did claim and ensuring one of those who stands him the closest is at the end of his tether, G'raha feels no pity towards those fallen men. Not an ounce of remorse.

His voice is tight as he speaks. Cold.

"Initiate clean up protocol."

'Affirmative. Clean up protocol initiated.'

What the clean up protocol entails G'raha doesn't fully know. Not in the finer details at least. All he knows for certain is the bodies of those dead vagrants will be reduced to nothing but dust. There will be no burial. None to even remember they once lived, given time.

Forgotten by history. Just like that.

With that knowledge in mind. G'raha doesn't linger. Expression tight he turns quickly on his heel, not even looking Toshi's or K'delika in the eye.

"The state of the Tycoon and the lower floors, I want to see them for myself." And he leaves it at that, fighting against the low churning in his stomach. The way his knees threaten to give out under the pressure of it all has him almost stumbling on his own feet. But he soldiers on, one foot in front of the other as he keeps his back straight, doing his best to appear unbothered. Unfazed.

Little does he know the tense pin of his ears betrays him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

His nausea abates somewhat the further his feet take him, the more he focuses on his purpose, the reason they are even here. For each echoing step, the ambient thrumming hum seems to grow louder the further he delves into the depths of the immense monument. Depths he has yet to walk, to even see with his own eyes. Yet as he spares his new surroundings a glance, of gilded vast halls of gleaming gold and azure with glowing blue floors to match they feel strangely familiar. As if he has been here before, but seen through the eyes of another. Passing strange, but not wholly surprising considering whose bloodline is flowing in his veins. It helps remind him, even as he first awakened in this world how clear Salina's memories were to his mind's eye. At least in part. How Salina's memory guided him to enter stasis is still shrouded in this thick impenetrable fog, but for now, he has to forge onwards.

The air is thick with apprehension and uncertainty as G'raha takes his first steps into the gloom on the path that will lead him to the Tycoon, or rather the location where it is being assembled. A swirling crystalline blue staircase leading down to the lower levels of the Tower, the very bowels themselves beckons. Few were those who knew about their existence, and fewer are their numbers still at the present moment. Opening the path for his fellows so they could start their work seemed so monumental back then, yet in many ways small. Especially with him opting to stay behind at their keep to look over their records for the most part. Wherever he could be of use. After all, he already knew the layout of the Tower, although through memories not his own, and he always figured there would be ample time later for him to map out the structure for himself in its entirety once arriving safely on the First. Granted their mission will turn out to be successful.

Azure ledges and sweeping crystal pathways wind into a gorgeous abyss as they hit the end of the stairway, now forming but a singular narrow path with nothing to cling to aside from a smooth crystal wall on the left-hand side. To some the sight would be disconcerting and yet a strange calm falls over G'raha as he wordlessly takes the lead. He knows this place like the back of his hand. A strange sensation since he has never set foot here, and yet he feels compelled to push onward, to follow the red glowing thread he can see so clearly weaving throughout his consciousness.

This time it leads him to something wholly unexpected. To something vast, deep below. At once he can make out branches, blue crystalline glowing branches carrying something encased in crystal but he cannot make out what it is. Like plump apples, they hang from the tree on thin shimmering stems with leaves made of burnished gold.

Clutching at his head G'raha pinches his eyes shut, a sudden wave of nausea having him claw blindly at the wall for support as his breath escapes him in quick ragged gasps. The images playing before his mind's eye evaporate as quickly as they appeared, yet the memory imprint left in their wake lingers. Of a vast glimmering crystalline tree. In many ways it looks very similar to Rathefrost and yet it is different somehow. Strangely inverted. Ethereal as its branches seem to brush against the very lifestream itself.

Wait. A tree. In the Tower? This makes no sense!

"G'raha, are you alright?" A gentle familiar hand lands on his good shoulder. The touch is tentative, ready to pull back at the subtlest hint of any discomfort. G'raha doesn't turn to look at him. He knows who it is. That voice, the slight tinge of fear to it. He would recognize it anywhere. There is only one person in this whole forsaken world who reaches out to him like this, offering comfort and stability wherever should he need it. Like an anchor, it helps ground him, and this time G'raha doesn't shy away from his touch.

"I-I'm fine," G'raha is quick to reassure his caretaker. Still, he doesn't open his eyes to look at Toshi. "'Tis just a nauseous spell. It will pass."

"You don't look all that good though," Maria says from somewhere behind him, concern clear in her voice. "Perhaps you should head back? Take a breather? You are still on the mend after all."

"Sound advice," Biggs interjects, carefully maneuvering around Maria and K'delika standing at her side, "We can make our own way from here. After all, we have been here before. You shouldn't-"

"I said I'm fine!" G'raha's head snaps up, eyes glowering like twin coals as he pins their Chief to the spot. The agitated pitch of his voice takes even he himself by surprise. One of his ears twitches as the shrill tone of his own voice echoes back to him.

Everything falls silent. Disturbingly so and in the suffocating stillness, the worry his comrades carry for him only grows. He can see it so clearly in their widened eyes, in the slackened set of their chief's jaw. Can feel the heavy weight borne of the expectations everyone holds for him pressing down firmly on his shoulders...Like a heavy suffocating cowl.

G'raha is quick to look away, grasping at his wrist with a trembling grip. "I...I must do this. Lest everything we have toiled for will be for naught." He doesn't linger longer than he needs to. Trusting in his gift and his footing he brushes past his caretaker and continues along the narrow path of smooth crystal. He does not halt his steps, nor does he look back even as Toshi calls his name.

In response his ears draw back, his jaw tight as he forges ever onwards.

He is tired of being coddled. Pitied.

Abused still healing nerve endings prickle to life in his left shoulder again as he quickens his pace, but G'raha pays his injury barely any heed. His thoughts are on the vision he just glimpsed so vividly. A crystalline ethereal tree... Nowhere in any of his numerous studies about Allagan History has he read anything about such a phenomenon, and so far Salina's near boundless knowledge hasn't imparted anything of the sort to him either. What if this vision showed something even Salina herself didn't know about? Or what if it's a secret she and the royal family did their best to hide from the masses? The question is then: Why? Is the tree of a sinister nature perhaps? And if so what if the tree is there still? But then why haven't Biggs and the other said anything? Surely they would upon discovering something vast and otherwordly like that? What if it is locked behind doors only he himself may enter? If he were to seek it out just what would he discover at journey's end?

A restless feeling prickles at his nerves and in response his agitation only rises, heating his skin. Closing his eyes he shakes his head. No, such musings avails him not. If anything else he cannot discount the vision is merely an illusion wrought by a weary mind. A fantasy, a fiction. Nothing more.

Focus on the task at hand. You can explore the Tower as necessity demands once you have arrived safely on the First. If there is any truth to the vision, you will discover the truth for yourself then.

He is so caught up in his spiraling thoughts he fails to notice he is dipping further and further towards the precarious edge leading straight down into the abyss.

"Hey, look out!"

Biggs frantic call barely has time to register in G'raha's ears as the very ground slips away underneath him. With a sharp gasp, he finds himself in free fall, only saved by a sizeable hand grabbing him firmly around his right elbow, and just in the nick of time. For a moment all G'raha can do is but stare wide-eyed down into the dark fathomless abyss, his heart hammering in his throat. How foolish. Thanks to him being so distracted by his thoughts he almost-

"G'raha, eyes on me."

His ears shooting up into startled points he adheres to Biggs's command, only to find him kneeling, Toshi holding onto Biggs's other arm with as much strength as he can muster. Maria and K'delika are quick to assist in any way they can from their vantage points on the narrow pathway. Maria is swift with offering him a hand while K'delika helps out by supporting Toshi, seeing the space closer to G'raha is too crowded.

"Here, grab on," Maria says, the urgency in her eyes unmistakable. G'raha doesn't need to be told twice. Taking care to not strain his injured shoulder overly much he grabs onto her hand. Together they pull G'raha back up, Biggs taking the brunt of the weight thanks to his superior physical strength as a roegadyn.

The crystal is cool, almost frigid under his palms as G'raha promptly collapses onto its unforgiving surface. His shoulder burns, his breaths escaping him in ragged sharp bursts. His chest heaves, his breathing too fast, too quick. Yet the only thing on his mind is how much he has burdened his allies, again.

A comforting hand is quick to reach out for him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. G'raha doesn't need to look up to know the hand belongs to Toshi. He would know his touch anywhere. Closing his eyes a soft barely audible whimper escapes him, unbidden. Trust Toshi to be there for him to have his back, despite everything. Behind tightly closed eyelids the whites of G'raha's eyes starts to redden.

Fast approaching light footsteps have one of his ears twitch, but he doesn't dare look up. If he does he knows the fragile hold he still somehow manages to keep on his frying composure will shatter into pieces.

"Seriously what has gotten into you? Walking that close to the edge, are you daft?"

"Delika," Toshi starts, his tone holding the same stern warning as it did earlier when they were in the Umbilicus.

Said miqo'te is quick to turn her ire on him, her tail lashing."I'm just stating the facts. You have all seen it. He's been tense and off all day."

"He has good reason to be. You know this." Toshi is quick to counter, meeting her pointed gaze head-on with a fire of his own, a hard edge in his voice. The very same edge G'raha knows Toshi only uses with her when he means to reprimand or warn.

"I know that, but being so lost in thought he almost plummets to his death doesn't help anyone does it?" There's a dejected sigh, and following it her tone softens, "I know his gift is necessary to the cause. That only he can access the tower but he shouldn't have joined us on this foray. I mean, just look at him." There's a pause, G'raha feeling her eyes on him. In response his tail curls around his leg under his cloak, unseen. The way she speaks about him like he is something to be pitied like he is nothing but a stricken lost pet strikes a sore, raw nerve. He has half a mind to say his piece, to make his discontent with how she speaks to him still to be known, but he bites back on the words for Toshi's sake. Besides he has wallowed enough. There are yet pressing matters to be seen to.

He is about to force himself up to his feet and push on without looking any of them in the eye. Anything to save himself from further embarrassment on his account. He needs to be stronger, sharper, more vigilant. How is he to manage all on his own on the First if he cannot even watch his step next to a bottomless abyss?

He has barely gotten a foot underneath him when a gentle hand landing on his shoulder brings him pause. Especially so when he finds the one halting him is K'delika.

"G'raha, I know I haven't been the kindest to you but I need you to listen. What you need is rest so you can recuperate fully. I...I know it's hard, and that I haven't earned your trust or respect. Still, I want you to look upon it as another way to help us, to fulfill your duty. Like Biggs said we have been here before. We'll be alright."

Her voice is soft-spoken, unexpectedly warm, if a tad nervous from where she kneels at his side. Yet the concern she carries for his well-being, is genuine. The sincerity of it, the way she tries her best to offer reassurance has G'raha look up at her in stunned bafflement. For a moment he struggles to conceive this is the same person who once was so callous and cold with him. Slack jawed he blinks, still utterly bewildered. His name. She even spoke his name. Not once has it graced her sharp tongue, until now. He can even see it in her eyes, the rich amber burning with a mix of conviction and concern but in their depths, G'raha also glimpses something else. Something that seems to war within her. Fear.

It is evident in the way she holds herself, in the continued flicking of her tail, the dark fur brushing against the floor.

"Did...did I say something wrong?" Her eyes wide, K'delika retrieves her hand from his shoulder almost like she got burned. She averts her gaze and pushes herself back on her feet before G'raha can say a word. Yet, for once, her presence is not unwelcome.

Still taken aback G'raha looks into the floor. Even in the gloom of these lower floors, he can make out his vague reflection on the pristine crystal, how two unearthly red irises that burns like twin suns meet his conflicted stare. Taking a deep breath he shuts his eyes tight.

"Not at all. I will heed your advice, and rest."

Toshi sighs with relief. "You have the right of it. Chief, I'll escort him back to the airship. I trust you three are up to the task since G'raha confirmed no one else remains in the tower?"

"You can leave the rest to us. With me at the helm, it should be enough to ascertain the state of the Tycoon and set up a perimeter. I assure you will be notified immediately should we find something amiss."

"Uh, chief? Not to interrupt but we might already have something on our hands."

The hesitant yet unsettled urgency in Maria's tone has G'raha's heart skip a beat. Eyes snapping open he is already looking in her direction just as everyone turns to look at her with equal alarm painted on their faces. While the others were looking after him, Maria took it upon herself to scout ahead a bit it seems. With a trembling finger, her blue eyes wide she points in the direction they were headed. A small circular platform and past it an ornate smooth marble stone door awaits. However, it is what is lying in front of that closed door in a pool of blackened dried blood that draws G'raha's attention. The tattered human-shaped form is deadly still, unmoving. A corpse.

There's a sharp click as Biggs immediately draws his gun, already advancing on his target. With a sinking feeling, G'raha gets back up on his feet and follows his lead. Yet his eyes never strays from the unfortunate victim.

This too makes no sense. The Tower's defensive systems are usually on point and with immaculate precision when it comes to clearing out any object, man or otherwise that it regards as a threat and has summarily disposed of. By any account this body too should have been collected and sent to the disposal area alongside the others, so why, why is it still here?

The cool air grows tense, no one daring to speak a word as Biggs toes the corpse of the deceased miscreant, lying face down as it is. There is no reaction of course. The body just as lifeless, limp. With a grunt, Biggs turns the body over. The sight, has G'raha grow very still, freezing to the spot.

He didn't know quite what he expected. He has seen corpses in person before, the poor elezen woman he stumbled upon in Ishgard, or the desperate masses that forced his hand during the assault on their keep still plays before his mind's eye like a never-ending waking nightmare at times. He carries no compassion for these people who would see him and his companions dead and use the Tower for their own means. Yet to see the face of death once more, chills him to the core.

Before him, this time, lies a man. Hyurian by the looks of it, and not much older than the one who attacked him so savagely in the Tangle. Much like his assailant, this corpse dons a tattered dark robe of similar make, his brown messy hair matted and streaked with filth and blood. Some of it even clings to his forehead. What killed him is abundantly made clear from all the blood pooling in his neck. A clean gaping wound in his throat is apparent, the man seemingly speared from behind by one of the Tower's many sentries it looks like. Death was swift and much like any other corpse G'raha has been unfortunate enough to lay his eyes upon, this man's eyes are also open. Dull brown irises long drowned out by dark widened pupils greets him, slack-jawed as the dead man just stares unseeingly up at the vast ceiling.

G'raha quickly averts his gaze, his lips pressing together into a firm line. It does not matter how many times he sees it. This dreadful sight...He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.

At his side Biggs relinquishes himself down to a kneel, visibly far more unperturbed. With the mouth of his gun, he tilts the dead man's face towards him so he can get an even better look. K'delika stands at his side with Maria keeping an eye out. Although still looking firmly into the floor at his feet, G'raha senses Toshi's calming presence beside him. He does not speak, his eyes on their chief and his grim task, but for now, it is for the best. Wordlessly G'raha gravitates towards him, trying not to think that one day sometime in the near future Toshi will end up like this too...

It is a cold truth. One he does not dare prod or examine any further, lest he will break.

Before them, Biggs still with his gun pushes the dead man's bloodied fringe aside. A small surprised sound escapes him from what he sees, the surprise enough to bring G'raha's eyes back to him, his ears perked.

"What is it?" Toshi is the one to speak, his demeanor just as alarmed and on edge as G'raha's.

"It's just," Biggs starts, still regarding the corpse, "Now that I am able to get a better look at him I realize I know this band this man belonged to. Come here, let me show you."

Those simple words alone have G'raha's stomach twist. He really doesn't want to get any closer to this corpse than absolutely necessary, but as Toshi moves to heed the request beside him, G'raha complies. At this point, he is already in far too deep, and in the face of it his undying curiosity, wins.

"Look here, at his forehead," Biggs says, expression unreadable as he points with his gun, "See the crest?"

G'raha looks to where he is directed and true enough he sees some sort of crest he supposes. It is simple in shape. Just a small circle with wavy lines depicting the sun's rays spilling from it, all painted in stark red. An arcane symbol. In many ways, it reminds him of his own tattoos.

"I have heard about them before," Biggs continues, "The rumors speak of a fanatic band roaming the land calling themselves 'The Seekers of the Blessed Sun' or some such. Only death and carnage are said to remain in their path. They spare no one."

"I don't need the reminder. None of us do..." Maria says, visibly shaken by this news. Next to her K'delika has grown eerily still, her tail seeking refuge between her legs.

"Hells." Biggs curses. The way his fist slams into the floor has G'raha jump. Not once has he seen their Chief ever lose his cool. Not like this. His ears pinned back his heart thunders, a swell of fear threatening to bend his already frazzled, taut nerves past their breaking point. From the way K'delika clasps her hands to her chest he is not alone.

"This is worse than I thought. If not for our airships, if we weren't already in the process of moving camp... If not for the natural defenses offered by the lake...We would've been decimated. Worse yet they still got to G'raha. If you hadn't saved him that would be it. Our entire operation, our mission, gone. Just like that. We would have failed.

"But we didn't," Toshi says, resolute. "We still have him and the tower. Our camp is secure. It is all that matters. As for this band, it seems the word is out. We knew this day would arrive sooner or later. The tower and its Keeper and his awakening and what fortune he may bring is a tale few can resist." His voice as calm and steadying as ever he takes a step forward, eyes on their chief. "What do you propose we do?"

Biggs sighs. "We need to double the guard when we get back and reinforce the tower's defenses. It is clear they are after it. For what end we know not. We are just lucky the security systems acted like they did and dispatched of them so quickly."

Still partly listening in on their conversation G'raha's eyes are transfixed on the sun crest inked on the dead man's forehead. He cannot recall having seen a similar crest or anything on his assailant that fateful day, but then again he was locked in survival mode, running on adrenaline and the fierce will to live alone. If what Biggs and Toshi says is true, they have bigger things on their hands than just an uncoordinated desperate rabble of ruffians. They have already tried to take control of the Tower. His blood, they know it holds the key. Who's to say they won't try to do so again? 

Yet as disconcerting as this news and this sight before him is, there is one thing that still bothers him most of all.

He was thorough checking the Tower's systems, and it confirmed the last break-in was two weeks ago, and in the days since G'raha has sensed nothing amiss. Significant time has passed. By any account there should be significant signs of decay and yet the the man lying at his feet looks strangely pristine, untouched by the hands of time. In fact, it appears as if he has been dead for just a handful of bells. Perhaps even less than that.

An unsettled feeling crawls up his spine, chills him to the bone. This doesn't make sense. Nothing this day since he stepped foot into his birthright has made any sense at all.

"That's all well and good but what do we do with this corpse?" Maria pipes up, gesturing to the grim display.

In response, Biggs sighs, "Let's leave it for now. To check the state of the Tycoon is paramount above all else. The sooner the better. There might be more of them about so be on your guard." holstering his gun, he gets back to his feet, "Once we have stripped it of any valuable resources we can dump it into the abyss."

"Sounds like a plan. It's not like it will rot. At least it will take ages."

Maria's words immediately have G'raha's full attention. The vibrant red of his irises flares with an unspoken fear as they meet hers, his ears perked, alert. There is a slight tremble in his voice as he speaks, all tense.

"What do you mean with that it won't rot?"

Eyes wide Maria looks back at Biggs, disbelieving. "Didn't you tell him?"

Her behavior does nothing to ease G'raha's growing distress. He feels it slither under his skin, prickling at his nerves and clawing at his heart alike.

"Tell me what?" Silence greets him and looking around no one dares look him in the eye. Ears fanning back he continues, straining to keep his newfound distrust from bleeding into his voice. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I...I might not be the right person to tell you this but-"

"Maria. Not here. Not now. It is better we address this matter at camp."

"But Biggs. He deserves to know. How Black Rose-" K'delika isn't allowed to finish. With a stern pointed look, he silences her too, effective even through his shades. In response she immediately clams up, averting her gaze. Yet the way her tail lashes doesn't escape G'raha's notice.

It rubs G'raha the wrong way, in how their chief is still so insistent on hiding crucial information from him, again. It reminds him of how he acted during their first meeting, back in that dreaded boardroom. For two moons and more has he toiled and helped them with their cause and yet he would dare withhold information from him?

Even worse in the tense silence and bereft of answers one horrible implication flits through his mind following the next. When living beings die their bodies decompose and return back to the earth, and their soul returns to the aetherial sea. It is the natural order of things.

Yet, K'delika mentioned Black Rose. What it did...

It sinks in, what he knows of Black Rose and the Calamity. The very aether was affected, and with it the cycle was upended, everything in its path dying in an instant, growing still. Stagnant.

His eyes grows wide, breath hitching in his throat. What if-?

"As I said this is not the time. Everyone let's adhere to-"

"Tell me." G'raha's voice is dangerously low, desperation carried within. Without thinking he steps forward, the way his tail sways tensely under his cloak announcing his vexation of being kept in the dark once more. Yet the way his crimson eyes narrows says enough, how they pin their chief under his accusing glare.

"G'raha, pray reconsider." Toshi cautions, but G'raha pays his words no heed, his eyes on their chief and their chief alone. Within him white hot anger fairly roils, threatening to spill free. Yet he manages to curate his words, to keep his tone civil even though he is almost vibrating out of his skin.

"You promised me there would be no more secrets. That you would tell me everything I would need to know. Anything I would ask. " He takes a steadying breath. It would do him no good to lose his head here. Not this close to the bottomless abyss.

"So I will hear it right this second." He doesn't avert his eyes from his quarry, his irises hardened, cutting as he stares the much taller man down. His tail lashing he tries his best to ignore how his heart races in his chest, how every breath escaping him through clenched teeth leaves his mouth dry.

Frustratingly Biggs remains unmoving, his expression grim, unreadable. G'raha cannot even tell if he is looking him in the eye. The seething flames within rise to a boiling point, sputtering over the edge. Eyes flashing G'raha grabs onto Biggs vest, his hands trembling in a white-knuckled grip. The material is coarse underneath his palms yet he refuses to let go."Tell me!"

His voice rings out, a shrill echo in the halls, and yet Biggs remains silent, undaunted. Gently he takes hold of G'raha's wrists, urging him to let go. "...Toshi, escort him to the airship. I will appraise you of the situation as we agreed upon our return." He says simply, his tone calm. Too calm.

"But chief-"

"That's an order. I assure you I will deal with this matter personally once we are back at camp. It is only right." At his final words, he looks down at G'raha. At his widened red eyes and soot-stained face. Try as he might G'raha cannot hide it, the sense of betrayal from showing in his eyes.

Here he thought he had won the man's trust, his confidence, and yet there were things he would hide from him.

"As you wish, but you better tell him. Or I will." Toshi says sternly, doing nothing to hide how he feels about the matter from bleeding into his tone. Biggs simply nods and that's that. With a still bewildered Maria and K'delika he quickly gestures to follow him in tow, G'raha and Toshi are left behind, with only the silent dead as company.

G'raha won't have it. His anger flaring he calls out, already moving towards the ornate stone door.

"Biggs – wait!"

"G'raha!" Firm hands grasp for him, halting his advance. The fingers take care not to dig too harshly into his skin, avoiding his left shoulder entirely. In its place, an arm wraps around his middle. The other wound securely around his right shoulder, effectively holding him in place. A wiry lithe strength G'raha possesses but it is nothing against the strength of a determined Au ra. Being confined thus does nothing to calm him. Instead, it does the opposite.

"Unhand me!"

"G'raha, please listen. Our chief, there is nothing malicious with his intentions. He only means to protect you and so do I. You know this. I thought he had told you. So did we all." G'raha still struggles in his grip, and in response, he feels his caretaker's grip tighten.

"I assure you I will remain true to my word. If he does not address this matter I will. No questions asked, but until then I need you to calm down."

Toshi's words, have merit. It is an immense effort but G'raha manages to swallow back the white-hot anger. Deep down he knows his caretaker has the right of it. He, has done nothing wrong. Besides he can ill afford his wounds to reopen. Toshi...has already done enough.

Squeezing his eyes shut his head falls back to rest on Toshi's chest, the fur of his downturned ears brushing against the tattered fabric. His breathing leaves him in ragged bursts, all muscles tense. His lips trembling he presses them together, breathing harshly through his nose. He cannot lose his head completely. He has already done so enough. Never again.

Master yourself. You cannot afford this.

Following a deep inhale he lets a ragged breath out through his mouth. Already he can feel some of the tension melt off his shoulders, some manner of peace returning to too frazzled nerves drawn much too taut.

"Alright...I will adhere to your request. For the moment."

"That is a relief to hear. You shan't regret it." It is all Toshi says, finally letting him go.

Taking a moment to calm himself G'raha brushes off his rumpled cloak with shaky hands. There will be time for questioning later. For now, he should get to more agreeable surrounds. The faster he can leave this corpse behind the better.

Wordlessly he turns to head back the way they came, Toshi in tow.

In his exterior, he appears calm. Yet his eyes burn with an unquenchable flame, one that yearns for recompense. For knowledge yet undiscovered.

Again their chief is keeping something from him and he intends to find out what.

Chapter Text

He truly thought he could finally put his trust in their chief. He truly did.

The way Biggs had bowed to him that day, speaking with such sincerity and honesty following the attack on their keep, blaming himself...Was it all for naught?

Did his words ultimately mean nothing? Just empty platitudes?

G'raha's tail sways tensely under his cloak from the thought, his ears twitching minutely to any sounds of movements behind him. Once more he is standing at the bow of their ship, looking out towards Mor Dhona, but he is blind to the scenery as it passes him by, of the way the golden light of the sun glints off the calm surface of the lake below. Blind to anything but the roiling tempest swirling inside. The storm lies dormant for now, but just by merit of everyone having the wherewithal to leave him the hell alone. Even Toshi stands back, which as things stand, is perhaps for the best.

G'raha's fingers tighten their hold around his upper arms. A white-knuckled grip. He doesn't want to lash out. Least of all towards the person he has come to care for most in this hellhole of an existence. Gritting his teeth his eyes narrows. No, such a display wouldn't become him. 

Is something he regrettably has already done enough.

As he looks to the distant horizon his eyes burn with everything he is bottling up inside, coiling deeper, tighter, much akin to a viper preparing to strike. He is uncertain how, but he was able to hold his tongue and not press matters even as he watched Biggs and his company return from the depths of the Tower. Held his tongue even as they boarded the airship, but he did listen, and intently so.

As Biggs tells it the Tycoon remains safe. All of their hard work lies untouched, and as a blessing they didn't encounter more miscreants, living or dead.

Yet G'raha did not fail to notice the extra materiel Maria was carrying. A tattered yet familiar cloak, a dagger, a silver ring, and a small pouch filled with medical supplies. Useful resources looted from the corpse they stumbled across earlier no doubt.

A shudder runs down G'raha's spine. The dreadful memory still haunts him, of seeing the face of death once more, and yet devoid of any signs of expected decay. To further compound matters Maria's words keeps playing in his mind, and so does K'delika's. Of the horrible implications their words imply.

"It's not like it will rot. At least it will take ages."

"He deserves to know. How Black Rose-"

His jaw tight he wills himself to stay put, to keep a semblance of calm even when every fiber of his being screams at him to march over to Biggs and demand answers. To voice his mistrust, to unleash his ire on the one person whose actions have rightly caused it.

Yet he knows, deep within that he shouldn't. Not yet.

Master yourself. This ire, this...tempestuous storm... Channel it, temper it. I can use it to my advantage.

His tail lashing he stares unflinchingly ahead, the vivid red of his irises burning.

This time I will know the truth.

In the light of the setting sun the camp at last comes into view. G'raha still stays glued to his spot as the ship descends, and doesn't move an ilm even as the gangplank is lowered. All he offers is a twitch of an ear upon hearing Toshi calling his name, his tone tentative.

It is only when Biggs moves to disembark the airship, that G'raha at last follows suit, his gaze burning holes in their chief's back. He doesn't take his eyes off him. Not even for a second.

Their arrival haven't gone unnoticed. Already their fellows have gathered around, talking among themselves, but G'raha's attention is honed in on one figure and one figure alone. The anxious tension hanging in the air at that moment is thick enough to be cut through with a knife. Fraught with worry and wide-eyed the crowd looks to their chief, then to G'raha who's still glaring daggers into his back, then to Toshi, K'delika, and Maria who looks just as bothered by the whole situation.

Murmurs start to pick up speed throughout the crowd, a suffocating blanket of unease of thrums and babbles. One voice more anxious following the next, especially since they can tell something of great import happened on their foray judging by the sullen mood.

Amidst the rising commotion, a man, Silvarre, steps forth, a look of consternation and urgency both clear as day in his weathered face. "Chief, what happened? Please, tell us."

Smiling in an effort to offset the rising tension, Biggs raises a hand. "The Tycoon is safe. Myself, Delika, and Maria scoped out the entirety of the lower levels. Nothing has been disturbed so you can rest easy. As soon as we've given our full report and made adequate preparations we can pick up our work right where we left it on the morrow."

The collective sigh of relief from the group upon hearing Biggs's words is palpable, and yet none of it reaches G'raha. All he knows is the seething resentment rippling just below the surface. He does nothing to hide how he feels from showing in his gaze.

Something that also doesn't go unnoticed.

A young miqo'te woman, blonde of hair and blue of eye speaks up this time. Riled up as G'raha is, her name escapes him at the moment.

"That's a relief to hear, truly, but forgive me for asking, why is he staring at you like that?"

Biggs turns to look at G'raha upon hearing her words and said miqo'te meets his shaded gaze head-on, unflinching. It's subtle, but the corner of Biggs's mouth twists upon the sight. Something G'raha latches onto immediately. He doesn't speak, but the vehemence of his glower says enough.

"...It's a matter between myself and him. A matter I will see to personally." Biggs says, turning back to the woman. "As for the Tycoon and the way forward, I will explain more in-depth later. For now I need to attend to this most pressing matter."

"I see..." The woman says simply with a wry smile, but the way her ears slightly draws back as she looks back to G'raha betrays her apprehension.

Seeing their vaunted, promised savior look at their leader with such...vitriol has clearly done a number to their already flagging morale judging by the way her smile falls, and she is quick to avert her gaze. It is clear she wants to ask, to question their chief of what truly happened on their foray to have the tower's keeper this riled up but is hesitant to do so.

"Just get it over with boss. Me and Delika will take care of things here." Maria is quick to butt in to dispel some of the tension. With a strained grin, she gestures at K'delika and the apprehensive miqo'te woman to follow her. "Our chief has some crucial intel he forgot to share with our friend here. The sooner he's allowed to spill the beans, the better." There's a tinge of exasperation in Maria's tone, a disappointed edge she carries for her chief she does nothing to hide. One of G'raha's ears twitches upon hearing her words. In this assessment, they are mutual.

G'raha's tail lashes, a quick, erratic motion brimming with coiled agitation. He has half a mind to grab onto his vest and shake his answers out of their chief, but again he forces himself to stay put. Painfully, and dutifully glued to the spot as is conditioned into him by numerous and not to mention lengthy Sharlayan lectures. 

Biggs says nothing as he watches the crowd disperse, his still bewildered crew members following Maria's and K'delika's lead. In their wake, only the sounds of the gentle breeze, the distant whooshing of the waves lapping against the shore, and the fur of G'raha's tensely swaying tail brushing against the fabric of his cloak can be heard. Of all of their comrades, only Toshi remains, guarded and straight-backed with his hands clasped together behind his back as always. In the wake of the commotion he too remains silent. G'raha can feel his eyes on him, but he only has eyes for their chief.

Seconds stretch into a minute, and the longer time marches on, the more difficult it is for G'raha to keep his building resentment in check. The restless seething energy bubbling under the surface almost reaches a breaking point. Biting his teeth together he is about to voice a piece of his mind when Biggs at last turns to face him, the tone of his voice measured, ever calm as he speaks.

"We should go have a seat."

G'raha isn't having it. Not this time. His eyes hard and cutting he crosses his arms. Somehow he manages to keep his tone civil, if just by a tiny margin. "That won't be necessary. I will hear it, here and now."

"G'raha, I insist we-"

"Don't test me!" His words come out harsher than he intends, a low growl in the back of his throat as his ears flatten back tight against his skull.

Toshi startles slightly from the barely leashed fury ringing so clear in G'raha's voice but he does not care. Biggs has kept him waiting long enough, hidden information from him long enough. No longer will he be kept in the dark.

Faced with such a fierce, stubborn display, Biggs sighs, already relenting by the way his shoulders slump slightly. "As you wish."

Yet and infuriatingly so, instead of talking to him, Biggs turns to address Toshi instead, worry clinging to the tired, resigned lines on his face. "Toshi, you can leave this to me. Feel free to take a moment's rest. You surely need it."

His hands still held together at his back, Toshi steps forth, stopping about an arm's reach away to G'raha's left. He meets their chief with equal concern, only with eyes ablaze with determination. "I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I need to see this through."

From the way Biggs jaw tightens and how he averts his gaze, it is clear he knows when to stop pressing matters. "Very well then."

G'raha's tail lashes with impatience as Biggs once more looks at him. Straightening his back, their indomitable chief steels himself. "But before we proceed I need to warn you. What I'm about to tell you...Well, there is a reason I kept it from you."

The corner of G'raha's mouth twitches. Not this stalling again. He is getting mightily fed up just my the mere notion of it. Something he makes abundantly clear with the commanding edge in his voice, the ire he can no longer keep from bleeding through, from overflowing. "You know who I am, and you know what I have been through. This horrible truth you have hid from me...Whatever it entails. I can handle it. So I bid you tell me everything this time. I want to hear it. All of it." He continues to glare the man down. Although he doesn't say the words, the message his entire demeanor exudes is crystal clear.

No. More. Coddling.

With another sigh, reluctantly Biggs obliges. Seemingly in a bid to show his trustworthiness he removes his shades. G'raha has seen him without his shades before so he doesn't even flinch. The conflicted stare in those pale blue eyes that meets his gaze of burning crimson is familiar. All too familiar. He has glimpsed it once before. This guilt, this heavy pall of regret. Just so much regret...

But this time G'raha does not relent. Arms still crossed he looks Biggs squarely in the eyes, undaunted.

Grim-faced as always Biggs speaks. "I should start from the very beginning I suppose. As you will undoubtedly recall we made sure to inform you of the scale of the destruction Black Rose wrought. In many ways, you have even seen it with your own eyes since. How it laid waste to the populations. How nothing was spared. Animals, even the land itself, our resources. All diminished, bled dry."

G'raha's eyes narrows. This is information he already knows most keenly. It is an effort to keep his tone civil, to keep up a semblance of forced politeness, but he manages even as his voice quivers slightly. "I am well aware. Pray, continue."

Biggs averts his gaze for just a moment, before once more meeting G'raha's steely, fiery resolve.

"But there is one thing I neglected to tell you, and I should have when I look back on it, but to be honest with you I was afraid of how you would react. I couldn't risk having you running off on us again like you did that day when we first laid bare the truth about our world and the Warrior of Light's fate, but more than that, I- I couldn't bear the thought of hurting you like that again." He pauses, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. It is all G'raha can do to fight the restless frustrated urge to step forth and grasp onto his vest again, to shake the answers out of him. Once more one of his ears twitches, his teeth finding and biting into his lower lip. 

His rational mind, is slipping. 

Get to the point.

"But as the supervisor of this mission, I should have known better. I should have told you, and yet I neglected to do so. I'm deeply sorry"

Here it is again. Biggs talking around in circles, skirting around the issue at hand. And what an endless vexation it is. Time and time again, without fail he have had to put up with this. This, this sympathetic drivel. Just empty words to keep the wool pulled before his eyes. To keep him from discovering a truth their chief deem him unfit for, inadequate. Weak.

Already this inequity, their chief's apparent lack of faith in him and his abilities prods at at old wound G'raha has strived so hard to redress, to hide underneath his search of grandeur and the weight of his prestigious achievements. 

For all of his life, no matter what he did it never was enough, even his Archon status in the end amounts to nothing. The marks he once was so proud of, a testament of everything he had worked so hard to achieve, now nothing in the eyes of their chief. In the eyes of history. 

In their eyes he will always remain the weak, inadequate G'raha Tia...

A painful realization he should have realized from the start and it hits him with the force of a full blown conflagration, clawing at and spurring on the seething flames within. G'raha's nails digs into the fabric of his sleeves in response with such force it hurts, his fraying patience all but spent. It is all he can do to bite back on the vitriol. The words that wants so desperately to break free. Clenching his jaw, his eyes flashes.

Get to the trice damned point!

"I told you I would own up to my mistakes and that begins now."

You never cared one whit about what I would think. I'm just a means to an end to your cause. Admit it!

And just like that, the dam shatters.

"Just spit it out!" G'raha's voice is harsh as he steps forth, his hands trembling at his sides. "What is stopping you? It can't conceivably be that trying a task. Just tell me!"

"...Chief," Toshi says but this one word, but the warning within is clear enough, as well as the stern look in his eyes. Biggs merely needs to mouth a silent 'I know'

Once more he looks to G'raha, worry and fear warring within his conflicted stare. But more than that, conviction. "The truth of the matter is," Biggs begins, only pausing for a brief moment to collect himself, "due to the way Black Rose affected the very aether, warping it beyond recognition the cycle of life and death itself lies broken. Instead of flowing freely through the land and all living things as it should, the aether remains sluggish, stagnating, even frozen in most places. Due to this dead bodies take ages to rot, if they start rotting at all."

Biggs pauses, if only to ascertain G'raha follows. Oh, he undoubtedly is. He doesn't speak, but the way his eyes widen, his ears drawing back slightly, says everything. Already there is this sinking sensation in his chest. A cold, desperate, bleak feeling. He had surmised this much in the Tower, but to hear it, to see the emotion, and the serious grimness in Biggs eyes for himself. The weight of it is almost too much to bear.

G'raha wills himself to stand tall, to keep his ears perked at attention, but the weight of it all, the slithering, suffocating shadow, is already engulfing him, pulling him under.

Y-you cannot mean-

In the stifling silence that has fallen over them, upon seeing the horrible realization starting to take root in G'raha's gaze, Biggs continues. "...This is doubly so for those who were unfortunate enough to be affected by Black Rose at its most potent. Most disturbingly their bodies do not rot, their aether forever frozen closed in a close circuit outside of life, outside of hope." Biggs takes a moment, to see his words sink in. He doesn't take his eyes off G'raha's widened eyes, nor his horrified expression.

"We burn or bury those we can, but as you know, the Warrior of Light. Everyone who died on those fields, never was." He lets out a breath, at last averting his gaze. "Worse yet, we cannot even reach them to offer them a proper funeral. Anyone who dares venturing into those fields of death is bound to meet the same fate should they linger, even now centuries later." 

At their chief's words even Toshi looks away, his gaze downcast. "It is as I said. In the end, there will be nothing left...Only death, too many bodies to count, frozen for all eternity..."

And that's that. Silence follows their grim statements, just as stifling, just as cloying and suffocating. At that moment, G'raha can scarcely breathe, his mouth long gone dry. He...he has already caught on to what all of this entails. Just what they are telling him.

"...But that would mean- Sato he-" His voice fails him before he can fully form the words. It borders on a whisper, breathless. Ears drawn back he looks into his trembling hands. All anger has long melted away, replaced by inexplicable terror. Icy, and cold. Looking back up at Biggs he at last manages to find his voice, disbelieving, "You mean to tell me he is still out there, intact just like how I saw him in the-" He is not able to finish the sentence, his throat constricting, tight.

"Aye, I'm afraid so… I have not seen those fields with my own eyes but, I've heard the tales. They paint a dreadful image, much akin to what you saw for yourself in those phasmascapes. Of bodies still left as they died, untouched by the passage of time...I don't doubt for a moment all of those unfortunate souls remain lying there to this very day."

To have his horrible fears confirmed, that his dearest friend is still out there lying just where he fell, lifeless just staring unseeingly up into the sky even two centuries later knowing no peace, no rest as is becoming the dead it's-

Already bile climbs up his throat, its bitter raw bite having him swallow, hard. Yet it does nothing for the building nausea, or to lessen the way his pulse throbs in his ears, his neck, choking him. A cold spike threatens to pierce his chest just at the mere thought, but he has to know, he has to ask.

And so he does, even when all of his hairs stand on end. His voice is low, almost a whisper as he once more meets Bigg's gaze. "How about his soul...Did that pass on at least?"

A grimace runs over Biggs's face, a vehement reluctance in his gaze he makes no attempt to hide, and the sight alone drives the cold spike in further, but G'raha stands fast, his eyes burning with unflinching determination. He has to hear it. He needs to know!

"...Keep in mind what I'm about to tell you is just a theory. There is after all no way to prove or disprove it since staying in those locales for too long is hazardous to life itself …Our scholars posit due to how Black Rose tampers with the aether, it very well could affect the lifestream in some manner, stagnating and impending its flow but please do not be too alarmed. New life has been born in the centuries since, but we have no way to confirm or deny if those reborn souls are from those who died to Black Rose or those who perished to other, more natural causes. After all, no one has taken Black Rose to the face and lived to tell the tale. We can just take the information given to us at face value. Since Black Rose stills all aether it touches, it very well might affect the soul as well, trapping it."

For a heart beat, everything just, stops. The thought of Y'sato being dead, still lying out there was already soul-crushing enough, but the mere possibility that his soul might still be stuck within his body that is unable to decay, frozen for all eternity unable to pass on...

Unable to do aught else in the face of such startling revelations G'raha blinks, his lower lip trembling. Tears blur his sight, unbidden, but these are not born of grief, but terror, a terror he dare not name.

As the world itself closes in on him, cloying, oppressive all he knows is this cold clawing, piercing dread, the sickening churning in his stomach, the bile burning in the back of his throat...

It is all too much.

Without a word, G'raha staggers back almost stumbling on his feet. Toshi says something to his left, clearly alarmed but G'raha's ears are deaf to it. He is deaf to everything but the frantic beat of his own heart. Biggs says something next, already reaching out for him, but G'raha does not listen. He refuses to listen. Eyes wide, with a traitorous tear rolling down his cheek he scrambles frantically away as the day's final light gives way to the gloom of night.

He doesn't hear Toshi's alarmed call for him, doesn't hear Biggs words to the distraught au ra.

"Let him be. Out here surrounded by the lake as we are, he can't get far. Besides it's a lot to take in. For all of us. Just give him time."

It isn't until he is out of earshot G'raha falls roughly onto his hands and knees, all of his stomach contents forcing themselves out of him right then and there.

The sounds of him retching doesn't escape the specialized spatial hearing of his caretaker.

Neither does it quell his rising worry for his charge.

-.-

The lake water is cool against his skin, much like the night air caressing his hair. Yet he does his best to ignore the chill seeping into his bones as G'raha takes another careful step on shifting gravel, the rippling water's surface lapping at his waist in sedate motions. Suppressing a shudder he scoops up more water into his cupped palms. The blue calm glow of the distant Crystal Tower glitters faintly on the surface, the shifting lights reflecting further in his eyes. For a moment he hesitates, the corner of his mouth twisting wryly before he with a quick inhale splashes it on his face.

This time he fails to suppress it. A shudder runs down the length of his spine onto the very tip of his tail. Despite his tail being under water every strand of his fur stands on end.

By the Twelve this water is cold. Far colder than he can recall and yet the way it washes off the sweat and grime accumulated over weeks is just what he needs right now. A distraction.

Following him throwing up what little he had, ending with him dry heaving, he rushed blindly towards the shore. Anything to get the vile, bitter taste out of his mouth. To numb the terror, the dreadful suffocating feeling that still clings to him like an oppressive shroud.

As a small comfort, no one followed him this time.

He cannot bear to face them. Not yet. 

To be truthful with himself he's not certain if he will ever muster the strength. 

Suppressing another shiver he gingerly presses his palm against his left shoulder, the very site he was so brutally stabbed two weeks ago. While the wound has sealed thanks to Toshi's careful ministrations with the stinging healing salve, the skin is still tender, a raw red angry line where the wound once was. The wound in his side looks much the same, and from the looks and feel of them, G'raha knows for certain they will scar. For a blessing, the gash that ran up his upper left arm is already much faded. Thankfully it wasn't as deep.

The scarring of his wound on his shoulder will probably turn unsightly, but he rather have scars than the alternative. He was so close, all too close to dying, in joining Y'sato. Much like his friend, he would have just ended up laying there on the dead earth, stiff and cold and with it their hopes.

And just like you, I would not rot. I would-

Y'sato's slackened dead expression, his dull green eyes staring at nothing flickers to life before his mind's eye once more. An all too familiar, distressing sight. One that still haunts his dreams even moons after he was first shown that cursed image stored within that phasmascape, but now, it is even worse.

Already his throat constricts, a tight painful feeling, fueled by the new knowledge that was just imparted to him, and doubly so.

You are still out there. Cold, alone, unable to pass on. Your soul-

Something within, at last, gives way. Bubbles rushes past his ears as G'raha dunks his head into the water submerging himself completely, his eyes squeezed shut.

Don't think. Don't feel! If I do I'll- His tail lashes, the agitated movement leaving ripples to dance on the surface, discordant without any rhyme or reason. He curls into himself, clutching at his chest tight, right over his rapidly beating heart, every thunderous beat reminding him he is somehow still alive while Y'sato and his dear friend Krile are not.

And in time even Toshi will-

Get yourself back together! Everyone depends on me and my success. I...I cannot break. I cannot afford- Never again!

His burning lungs are the only thing that compels him to resurface. With a ragged gasp, he breaches the water's surface, eyes wide, frantic. Stars twinkle on the dark expanse laid out before him, but he doesn't truly register them. He sputters, taking a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving. While doing so his eyes slide shut.

He remains standing like that, eyes closed with his head tilted back so he faces the starlit sky, lips slightly parted. It takes all that he is to divert his focus to his breathing. With a shuddering inhale he wills his quickened pulse to slow. Breathe, he just needs to breathe. If just for those whose breath has long vacated their lungs.

Water droplets drip off the furry tips of his ears, runs down his back from his loosely braided hair. The sensation of them streaking down his skin, the sedate splashes as those very same droplets hits the water's surface helps ground him.

I will be fine. Just breathe. For now, just focus on merely existing. To just be. I will be fine...

In this moment the passage of time means nothing. What bearing it has on him or what fate has ordained inconsequential. He remains standing there like that until he is numb to the world, every nerve ending dulled, the lake chill permeating throughout flesh and bone both completely.

All he knows is the screaming void inside his heart. It never truly dissipated, ever being at the center pushing back against the light his hope for a better tomorrow bestowed. A malevolent maelstrom of emotion, ever at odds with himself. Of what he has done and of everything he must become.

Sato...your guidance, your courage...I need it...More than anything...

"G'raha?" The sudden voice addressing him startles him out of his spiraling bout of self-doubt and despondency. Eyes snapping open he looks to the shore. So someone came to check up on him after all. Even through the gloom, he manages to make out an imposing tall figure dressed in a white ragged coat, pale curved au ra horns glinting faintly in the calm blue light of the distant Crystal Tower. Toshi.

"G'raha?" Said man repeats, voice filled with growing concern, "Are you there? Is everything alright? "

"Y-yes, I am." G'raha manages once he finds his voice, scratchy from disuse, "I...Just give me a moment." His ears drooping G'raha sinks further into the water until its calm surface laps against his Archon tattoos on the sides of his neck, wrapping his arms around his chest in the process. While Toshi has seen him far more indisposed before by merit of being a healer he is now completely in the nude and he cannot bear more indignity. Not after everything. What paltry scraps that remains of his wounded pride can't take it.

"Certainly. I will wait for your arrival by the fire." Toshi says, his voice back to its usual calm. "You are sure to be freezing. Please, take all the time you need to make yourself presentable."

Always respectful of his needs, Toshi gracefully takes his leave. G'raha waits until the scratch of his boots on loose dirt and his figure fades away into the distance behind some Garlean rubble before he dares to emerge.

It isn't until he takes one step onto the dry shimmering blue sand of the shore everything comes crashing down on him. He falls to his knees, numbed nerves sending prickling cold waves throughout his frame. In that fleeting moment, his skin feels like that of another. Foreign. A disconcerting sensation and with it G'raha realizes just how frozen down to the bone he truly is. The chill of the lakewater clings to him with a vengeance, made worse by the night breeze brushing against his skin. In response he shivers, his teeth chattering. Seeking any warmth he can find, his tail instinctively draws close. The wet thoroughly soaked fur does nothing to offset the chill and with trembling fingers, he blindly reaches out to search for his cloak he hurriedly tossed somewhere.

He doesn't need to search for long. Just ilms away his fingertips brush against something soft. There it lies, just where he left it next to the pile of his other discarded clothes. Without hesitation, he grabs it and dries himself off to the best of his ability. The chill has made his movements a bit clumsy and stilted, uncoordinated but already sensation is returning, piece by sluggish piece, a telltale pinprick prickling to life throughout his fingers. He sees that as a good sign.

Perhaps rushing into the lake in a desperate bid to numb his frazzled mind wasn't one of his brightest ideas, but shrouded by darkness he does not need fear prying eyes. He has had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Pushing himself back onto weary feet he swiftly gets dressed. His skin is still damp, his hair doubly so, darkened crimson strands dripping water everywhere, but he cannot bring himself to care.

He saves his cloak for last, damp as it is. Pulling it on he makes sure his poor excuse of a braid rests neatly within his hood. Hopefully, the soft yet thick fabric will help soak up some of the residue water as his hair dries. Ensuring the hood is firmly in place he bends to collect his most priced object among his belongs of all. As always the soft scuffed leather under his fingertips is welcoming, its weight in his hands the only thing that is still capable of making him feel any warmth.

Willing himself to smile, even when it trembles at the edges he cradles Y'sato's journal to his chest, doing his utmost to keep it dry.

Sato...I will not forsake you.

He won't let everything be for naught. He cannot leave his dearest friend to such a cruel fate, untouched by time, unable to pass on.

Hugging his most treasured keepsake close to his heart he makes his way back to their camp. Loose rock and fractured crystal fragments crunches under the soles of his worn boots, the warmth they offer already doing much for his chilled toes. Yet he does not feel it. Not in truth as he trudges along as if going on autopilot. Peeking up from the shadows of his hood he glimpses the orange glow of firelight from their campfire in the distance, the only source of light to be seen for malms aside from the constant soothing glow of the Crystal Tower. The sight of their camp already fills him with unease. After everything he just learned he is not ready to face anyone. Especially so their chief. Not yet.

He pointedly keeps his gaze focused on the ground before his feet, but he doesn't truly register it, the scenery blurring out before his eyes. All he wants is to forget this living nightmare, the immense weight on his shoulders, if just for a moment.

Upon his approach, Toshi quickly turns to regard him with K'delika following suit where she sits at his side. Their backs were turned to him, K'delika with her knees drawn up to her chest, and on the opposite side of the firepit sits Maria. Their chief, however, is nowhere to be seen.

Maria looks up upon G'raha's approach as well, the firelight catching in her eyes as she smiles. The orange hue of the flames contrasting with the deep blue of her irises makes her expression ever more warm and welcoming. A light in the dark.

A sight G'raha doesn't fully process at all.

"We've been waiting for you. How are you feeling?" She says warmly, although hushed to not wake their sleeping companions who are resting not too far from the campfire in whatever rickety shelter they have managed to build. There's not a hint of worry to be found in her tone, but the way she looks at G'raha tells a different tale.

Silence is her only answer. G'raha comes to a slow stop, not responding, not looking anyone in the eye as he keeps his gaze downcast, hidden under the deep shadows of his hood. All he is aware of is Y'sato's journal, still held in a secure grip pressed against his chest. Despite himself, his fingers trembles slightly.

"Ah, allow me." Toshi is quick to get to his feet. Already he is reaching out for G'raha's good shoulder to guide him to sit as he has done for the better part of his recovery. At once G'raha stiffens, tail held low under his cloak.

"That won't be necessary" He manages to say, but his voice doesn't sound like himself at all. Emotionless, monotone. One of his ears twitches to it but is his only tell.

"Nonsense," Toshi says with his usual high spirits. Whether he has caught on to G'raha's mental state or not he doesn't reveal in his manners. "Your wounds are still on the mend and you are still fatigued. Doubly so after our foray and everything our chief told you. I can see it in the way you hold yourself."

G'raha's mouth falls open slightly as he raises his gaze to look up at his caretaker. And here he thought he had done a fairly good job of burying himself beneath his cowl this time. Nothing escapes Toshi's notice it seems.

But who is he really trying to fool? The way he has been acting, running away like that. Submerging himself in the lake...Toshi isn't blind to his predicament, nor his mental state, and in the back of his mind G'raha welcomes his genuine care for his well-being.

In truth, he craves it. 

Ears drooping under his hood he wordlessly relents. A gentle warm hand holding onto his shoulder Toshi guides him over to the rusted Garlean warmachina which has served as his resting spot around the campfire for the last couple of weeks. Mainly because he can lean his back comfortably against the rocky outcrop. This time he's sitting next to Maria. Once seated Toshi is quick to bundle G'raha up in a thick blanket. The additional warmth it brings, the thoughtfulness of such a simple gesture moves him in ways he struggles to convey. Already it is forming, a painful lump in his throat, and he struggles to keep the truth of how he is feeling out of his voice as he gives voice to the depths of his gratitude.

"Thank you." He manages, his voice so soft. Almost a whisper. Bowing his head he tugs the blanket tighter around himself, Y'sato's journal still held securely to his chest. Nothing more needs to be spoken. The way Toshi gently pats his shoulder in response says everything.

With a reassuring smile and a last friendly pat, Toshi walks back to reclaim his seat next to K'delika. G'raha can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn't meet her gaze in kind. Everything that has befallen him this day, what he has seen and heard...It is all he can do but look into the flickering flames before him with a despondent, glassy, far-seeing look in his eyes.

"So how was your dip in the lake?" Maria is the one to speak, clearly in a bid to try lighten the mood. For a moment G'raha doesn't respond. He cannot find it within himself to muster the energy to speak, but somehow words find their way to his lips regardless, his tone once more a monotone, emotionless thing.

"Frigid, but refreshingly so." He says with his gaze still fixed on the flames, eyes glazed over. He doesn't want them to know. Of how conflicted and broken he still truly feels inside, of how he tried to drown it all alongside his sorrows by submerging himself in the cold dark embrace of the Silvertear Lake, going entirely numb.

And yet he cannot deny just how strangely serene that one fleeting moment was. There was just him, the lake chill, and the starry expanse above. In that moment as he stood there facing the sky he did just...exist, being a part of the cosmos.

Perhaps that is all he needs right now, to just exist. To just be.

"I see..." Maria smiles, despite the hesitant tone of her voice, and the obvious worry she carries for him. It is clear she has already been filled in with what happened after she and K'delika left.

And she doesn't like what she sees.

"I just- If you need to talk. About anything at all know I will listen. We will all listen, right Toshi?"

"Indeed," Toshi agrees, a familiar warmth in his gaze as Maria gestures to him. A warmth that lingers even when his expression turns more stern, "But for now I think it best you get some rest. Pray, soak up the warmth of the fireplace. It's particularly chilly tonight, and after your dip in the lake I am sure you need it, and doubly so."

G'raha doesn't need to be asked twice. Already he burrows further into the blanket, bowing his head leaving his face completely obscured by shadow. His tail wounds around his legs as he curls up on his side, still facing the warmth of the fire. Y'sato's journal still held secure in his grasp he presses it against his heart. For now, he finds it easier to feign sleep. Better this deception than to face his inner demons, the full weight of the inconceivable horrors he met this day.

Don't think. Don't feel. Just...breathe.

Following his own advice he lets out a breath, even and slow, not wanting to bring undue attention to himself. With it he closes his eyes, allowing his tense muscles to relax. As much as he wants to deny it he is yet fatigued and in more ways than one.

Soothed by the warmth encompassing him and the crackling of the fire he soon succumbs to sleep in truth. Unbeknownst to him Maria leans over to pull his blanket more firmly around his shoulders, it having shifted slightly. G'raha, doesn't stir.

Nor does he notice the worry in Toshi's eyes.

Chapter Text

"... How is he? From what Maria told me, he acted a bit out of sorts."

"That's just the half of it. The look in his eyes when he joined us by the fire, the way he just stood there motionless out in the lake when I went to look for him. It's clear everything that has happened since the attack has taken its toll."

There are voices, two distinct voices cutting through the heavy veil of sleep, and even through the sleepy haze, G'raha recognizes them belonging to Biggs and Toshi. The latter sounds... almost angry.

It reminds him of how agitated his caretaker sounded back in their keep when G'raha had first learned of the Calamity that befell this world, when he was first shown what fate had befallen his dear friend.

Sato...

Seeking comfort, G'raha's fingers seek out Y'sato's journal, only to relax immediately when he finds it just where he expected it to be, safe and sound on his chest under his palm. One of his ears flick, its furry tip brushing against the soft fabric of his hood that somehow still partly drapes his head. It stirs his drowsy mind further, making him increasingly growing more aware of his surroundings.

Wait... this was not how he fell asleep? There is a familiar soft sensation under his back for one. One that wasn't there before. Furthermore, a pillow cushions his head, and from behind closed eyelids he can make out the orange warm glow of flickering firelight. With a muffled groan he shifts his head so he faces away from the fire, yet a question lingers in his sleep addled mind. This is his bedroll, no doubt. When was he moved to his bedroll?

"The stress, the immense weight on his shoulders. It's too much," Toshi continues, the agitated pitch of his voice rising; "He was already close to the breaking point following the assault on our keep. You saw this for yourself. The panic attack, the nightmares, how he acted on our foray to the tower." There's a harsh exhale. One of G'raha's ears twitches to the sound, but he remains otherwise motionless, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself. He cannot recall ever having heard Toshi be so... furious.

"This is why you should have told him. We all thought you did during your foray to Ishgard. You had all the time in the world on that ship, so why didn't you?"

Biggs finally deigns to answer him, and through the calm deep rumble of his voice, G'raha hears an angry undercurrent that has his tail draw closer to his leg. Already it has his skin prickle with unease.

"You know very well why I didn't. You know what's at stake, and I couldn't afford to have him running off on us again. Especially not out there. You saw how he reacted the first time, and how he acted now was no different. He is not ready. Far from it. While I have his best interest at heart, I deemed such knowledge unnecessary to the mission."

"Unnecessary?" Toshi scoffs; "Do you even listen to the words you speak!?" There's a rustle, then a tearing sound, as if the sharp spikes of Toshi's tail caught on to and ripped through the fabric of his tattered coat, "I agreed to you showing him the images in those phasmascapes since it held some merit, to help steel his resolve, to prepare him for the path he must walk, but to deny him this knowledge for so long when you very well knew he would figure it out for himself one day borders on the asinine. G'raha may still be naive in some aspects, but he is no fool. You know this."

There is a pause, and in the thick tension all G'raha is aware of is his thudding heartbeat. For Toshi to come to his defense, and to be so furious on his behalf... He does not know how to feel. How to even react. Biggs words should be upsetting, to get a rise out of him and yet he cannot find it within himself to be angry, to muster any emotion. All he knows is this emptiness. A screaming void.

"You know what I think? I think you lack faith in him and his abilities, and through it you have broken his trust, and so you have mine." There's a finality in Toshi's tone as be brushes past their chief.

For a brief tense second, G'raha believes that to be the end of it, but the telltale scrape of worn leather soles brushing against dead earth and fractured crystal shards alike moving in his direction tells him otherwise. Toshi being of the mind to check in on him, no doubt.  In response, G'raha remains motionless, willing his muscles to fully relax as he keeps his eyes closed. He'd rather feign sleep than admit he eavesdropped in on their conversation, unintentional as it was.

Besides, exhaustion still clings to his frame, lingers at the edges of his mind, making the act not a tough one to pull off at all. Instead, it's rather the opposite. One thing is clear to him, though. He already has a strong inkling to just who carried him to his bedroll. The ever compassionate Toshi. He always prioritizes others' needs above his own.

True enough, said man comes to a slow halt at his side, the side G'raha is currently facing away from. Something with this scenario is oddly reminiscent of the first time G'raha was aware of his caretaker approaching him this way when he was still bed bound recovering from his stasis, barely being able to move.

Something that feels like a lifetime ago now...

Unlike back then, there is not a shred of anxiety to be found pulsing through his veins. Not a flicker of unease and rising panic kicking to life in his chest. Instead, this cold emptiness persists. An ever permeating numbness obscuring something dark, something filled with deepest sorrow and dread. Emotions he dares not examine too closely, lest it will break him entire, throw him into a pit he could never hope to claw his way out from.

There are eyes on him now, but G'raha remains just as still, his breathing even and slow, carefully measured as it escapes him through slightly parted lips in a sedate rhythm. At least that is something he can still manage. Something he can focus on. To merely breathe.

Don't think. Don't feel. Just breathe...

His act must have been convincing enough, cause Toshi kneels down at his side next, as silently and carefully as he can muster. One of G'raha's ears twitches in surprise when he senses Toshi reach out for his blanket, an involuntary motion G'raha is quick to rein in. With great care, Toshi wraps the blanket more firmly around his shoulders. A simple, yet deeply caring gesture that is sufficient enough to pull on G'raha's heart strings.

Yet it's the way Toshi gently places a hand on his head between his ears, much like one would do to comfort a child that serves to relight the guttering flame.

In response, his breathing stutters. Just for a breath or two, but it's enough. Keeping his eyes stubbornly closed, G'raha is quick to resume any resemblance of sleep he can muster. However, there is nothing he can do to still the way his heart pounds in his chest, nor the way his throat tightens, a painful lump forming. No one has touched him this way since he was a wee little kit with his mother. A faint memory he cannot rightfully recall, one he has suppressed with all of his being, yet this simple, innocent touch brings it all up to the fore.

It takes all of his willpower to not make a sound, to not choke up and to keep his breathing even, to stop his fragile charade from unraveling.

The gentle touch is short-lived, Toshi retrieving his hand as suddenly as it appeared. Yet the warmth of it lingers, and almost painfully so. While wholly unexpected, it was not an unwelcome sensation and yet something with it wars within him. The loving touch of a parental figure, unconditional and pure. That's what Toshi's touch evoked, and it has him reeling, his breathing shallow. 

It is something he has never had. Not in truth and now...

A shudder runs through him as he swallows hard against the painful lump in his throat, betraying his bluff. Yet he keeps his eyes shut, clinging to the illusion of sleep, his deception. 

An expectant, tense silence hangs in the air for a couple of heartbeats. In those tense moments G'raha is certain Toshi has caught on to his charade. Instead Toshi just as tenderly strokes his hair with the back of his fingers. Then, he speaks. Soft-spoken as always, but an unmistakable sorrow lingers beneath.

"Sleep well, G'raha. May you find refuge in dreams."

He lingers for just a moment longer before rising to his feet. G'raha remains laying perfectly still and relaxed until he is certain Toshi's footfalls have faded into the distance. They falter a bit, a sure sign he is steadily growing weaker by the day, although he strives his damnedest not to show it.

Shifting his head slightly, once more facing the fire, G'raha at last opens his eyes. As he does so, a tear slips free, streaking down across arrow markings and over the bridge of his nose.

Toshi, forgive me...

-.-.-.-.-.-

Dank, stale air surrounds him, his ears twitching minutely at the distant sound of droplets dripping off stalagmites in the distance. The oppressive gloom of this place doesn't make him feel any less on edge as he threads an unfamiliar path, a winding path that leads him deep, deep down into a cave. Lost. Hopeless.

Carefully making his way across the slippery russet rock, G'raha peers into the thick gloom, his tail tucked close to his legs. He doesn't like this at all. Not one bit.

Yet something spurs him ever on. Gives him the strength needed to put one foot in front of the other. Just what this force is, he does not know, but he knows this; his stomach curdles at what undoubtedly awaits him at the end of this path.

The further and deeper he ventures, the thicker the gloom, only the flickering firelight from a few scant lit torches lighting up the craggy walls, the only light that keeps the looming shadows at bay. This already has him hesitate, but what truly makes his hairs stand on end is the lack of sound. This hollow chasm should echo for each step, and yet there is naught. In the wake of his footfalls, only a thick blanket of stillness remains. Like something has drained all life and sound from this place.

It is disturbing, uncanny. His heart quickening in his chest, an unsettled feeling churning low in his gut, G'raha comes to a halt.

Yet it is what, or rather who, whom appears out of the shadows that truly makes him freeze on the spot.

A leather clad figure staggers towards him. One so achingly familiar G'raha cannot bring himself to look away.

The shock of wild, blond messy hair gives this figure's identity away first, and usually the sight would fill him with comfort, flood his heart with warmth, and yet something is wrong. So horribly wrong.

The movement, for one, strikes him first and has his skin crawl. The staccato way Y'sato lumbers towards him, tail and ears twitching, discordant, feet dragging and slipping on the damp ground, is not at all how he remembers him, his dearest friend.

Yet despite his uncharacteristically cumbersome gait, he inexplicably keeps his balance. Hands clad with fingerless gloves fumble in the dark, reaching out for him, for G'raha.

And he wants so badly to reach out for his friend in turn, but the eyes that meet his are not the ones he has come to love, to cherish above all else. No, these eyes are vacant, lifeless. Not an ounce of emotion to be seen or found, his face all slack.

It's what stays G'raha's hand, the sight before him driving a spike of coldest despair into his heart. As much as he tries to deny it, to fight it, it unnerves him to see his friend like this, of how dilated Y'sato's pupils are.

Dark and round, two bottomless pits where his soul should be stares back at him, unseeing. Before him, there is naught but a walking dead man. A mockery of his friend born of his own delusions. A corpse.

A corpse that speaks. "Raha, you lied to me."

It hits him like a punch to the gut. At once the sound of it, of the deep-seated longing in Y'sato's voice has G'raha's ears shot up into startled points, his eyes wide. It is there so clearly, laid bare for him to hear.

The heartache, the sorrow, the hurt.

"You deceived me, gave me a promise you never intended to keep..."

It's uncanny, hearing such heart-rending emotion in his voice, and yet his expression does not reflect it, his eyes just as vacant, his face just as slack as he fumbles blindly, the worn soles of his feet scraping along the ground as he staggers towards him.

In the face of it G'raha can but stare wide eyed, disbelieving, his lips parted. In his chest, his heart pounds, willing him to move. To do something, but G'raha stands frozen.

Before him, Y'sato gives voice to how deeply G'raha's deceit struck him, a brokenness ringing so clearly in his voice, yet his gaze still does not reflect it. Ever vacant. Soulless.

"You left me behind in the dust. How did you think that made me feel? To have me believe you would travel with me always, to offer me something I've wanted for so long, only for you to throw it all away."

His words hit a sore nerve, one that is rubbed raw, and rightfully so. Yet it's the words that escape his chapped lips as he halts his slow advance for a heartbeat to peer into his very soul that sucks all air out of G'raha's lungs.

"Did I, did what we had mean nothing to you?"

In that singular moment G'raha cannot breathe, all color long drained from his face. His heart sinks, his ears droops, the walls closing in. Crushing. Suffocating. He knows Y'sato's words are a lie. Deep down he knows this is just a figment of his overwrought mind, and yet a little voice nags at him, whispers in his ears…

He has the right of it. I did not consult him. I did not consult anyone. What we had, I threw away… I deceived you, and now, this is all that remains.

Something shifts, the air growing more stagnant, cold. In that instant, Y'sato lunges forward, hands grasping for G'raha's shoulders. Before he can stop it, a surprised yelp escapes him. It is all he can do to not stumble on his own two feet as he scrambles to find purchase on the slippery rock under his feet.

He has barely had the chance to regain his bearings, to push back when Y'sato's voice rings out, dripping with such malice. Something wholly unbecoming of him. His face contorts, ears pinning back as his lips draw back into a snarl.

"Don't you see!? Your idealistic ignorance led to this." The way Y'sato looks at him with pure hate, dark pits threatening to swallow him whole steals any feeble fight G'raha had left in him. Never before has he seen his friend like this. The sight of it has his heart pound something fierce in his chest. For a moment, he fears it will vacate its cage, leap clean out of his chest.

Blunt claws dig into the tattered fabric of G'raha's cloak, presses harsh indents into his skin beneath. Y'sato bears his fangs for all to see. A beast. Uncaged and brimming with an unbridled bloodlust. The man G'raha once knew, is long gone…

"You killed me, and now I will never find peace!"

The soul crushing image of him dead flits before his mind's eye before he can stop it. His vacant stare, of how he just laid there, crumpled on his back - an accursed thing that was somehow preserved, archived in a phasmascape…

Black Rose, the Garlean empire, where the culprits behind it all. They killed him. G'raha knows this and yet..

I did nothing of note. Nothing to change the course. Instead, I ran. Craven as I was. As I still am.

Shaken by this, by the depths of Y'sato's hatred, G'raha at last finds his voice, a stuttering, feeble thing. "Sato, I-I-"

"Spare me your apologies! This is all your fault, and now you will pay the price!"

Y'sato draws a hand back, his claws bared, aimed for G'raha's throat…

It happens so quickly. Hands close around his throat, claws digging in with fierce abandon. To his terror, G'raha feels them pierce the delicate skin, tearing into his Archon tattoos. Prestigious marks he is ever so proud of. Blood gushes forth as Y'sato's fingers sink deeper. So much blood!

His heart a thunderous beat in his chest, his throat he claws at Y'sato's wrists, desperate, begging him to let go, but all that greets him are the same two dark pits. Ever brimming with malice, merciless.

"Sato, I-I did not intend- please!"

Everything, falls away, his screams and Y'sato's voice a harsh echo in his ears.

-.-.-.-.-

Mouth open in a voiceless cry, G'raha jolts awake. Breathless he reaches for his throat, his fingers trembling. He's still laying on his back, his wide eyes staring into the rusted Garlean warmech above, but he does not see, his gaze frantic, the unearthly red irises shining with fear.

All he knows is the incessant, fierce pounding in his chest. All he can see is his dearest friend. His dead stare piercing, accusing, filled with hate. Y'sato's journal still rests on his heaving chest, forgotten.

His lungs burn. Breathe. He cannot breathe!

"G'raha!"

Someone is there at his side in an instant. A man's voice. A familiar voice. Yet this someone refrains from touching him.

At his side, G'raha's tail thumps erratically, tousling and shifting his blanket. Still grasping wildly at his throat, he gasps, chokes.

"Sato I- please - I cannot-"

"Shh, it's alright. I am here. You are safe." Gentle warm hands reach out, takes hold of G'raha's trembling wrists. A loose, yet steadying grip. At once G'raha tenses, every muscle ready to spring into action. To fight.

"No one will hurt you. It was a dream. You are safe."

The voice speaking to him is ever calm, filled with understanding. The hands holding G'raha's wrists relax their grip further and, in that instant, G'raha recognizes the man before him. Recognizes the gentle, patient touch. 

Toshi…

"You are safe. Just breathe. You will be fine." Toshi slowly repeats like a mantra, ever calm, ever reassuring.

With something to focus on, with someone to guide him away from the horrid images of his friend burned into the back of his very eyes, G'raha does as bid. Lowering his shaky hands, he draws a shuddering breath and slowly lets it out.

Just... breathe. In and then out. In and then out...

In the progress his eyes slide back shut, his lips quivering. Gentle fingers brush across his forehead, freeing strands of disheveled hair that stick to his clammy cool skin. Cold sweat still clings to the back of his neck, to his brow.

His tail still thumps at his side, but breath by shuddering breath it stills its frantic pace.

"Another nightmare… Will he be alright?" Someone else speaks. A woman. Maria. One of G'raha's ears twitches to her voice, immediately growing tense.

Something that doesn't slip Toshi's notice. "I fear it is so. He will be fine, but he needs quiet. And water. Could you please fetch me some water?"

Maria nods "On it."

The quick scrape of her boots on the ground is the only tell she's rushing off to collect the requested water, but G'raha's mind is elsewhere.

He almost slips back into the full-blown panic until something leather-bound is gently pushed into his hands. This soft worn leather under his fingertips. He would know it anywhere.

Y'sato's journal.

Trembling, he grabs onto it like it is his only lifeline. Y'sato, the way he looked at him…the way his deceit made his friend feel. It is all written here, in this very journal he cradles so desperately, and he is the cause of it. Of everything that has come to pass.

Even if I succeed in undoing this doomed future, I can never undo this... This heartbreak I have caused you…

It wells forth before he can stop it. Everything he is feeling. Everything he has suppressed since he first read Y'sato's journal escapes in a sob, soul deep and raw.

"Shh, it's alright. It's alright." Toshi soothes, a hand gently stroking G'raha's hair, smooths it down between his trembling down-turned ears.

Sleep eludes them all for the rest of that night…

-.-.-.-

The following days pass him by in a blur, a thick haze hanging over him that nothing can hope to penetrate. A fugue state. He hardly eats, he hardly sleeps, and when he at last succumbs to its beckoning overwhelming embrace, nightmares haunt him.

The stench and feel of blood permeate them. A sickeningly red canvas surrounding him accompanied by a glinting dagger burying deep into his flesh. So much blood and screams. Screams that echo in his ears even when he jolts awake, his heart a thunderous beat in his breast.

These dreams are unsettling and terrifying enough, and have hounded him ever since the attack. Yet the new distressing layer keeps rearing its ugly head in these dreams. Within such a hellscape he once more finds himself within that cave, Y'sato staggering out of the shadows, his dead, icy stare piercing through him, accusing. His pursuit, relentless.

Ever since he had his first nightmare of this nature, G'raha has barely slept a wink. Being rendered to naught but a trembling, whimpering wretch covered in cold sweat, nigh inconsolable.

Toshi is usually there for him in those moments, and if not, Maria. G'raha will cling to them like they are his only lifeline, a desperate, trembling grip. His only anchors in a world otherwise so cold. So cruel and indifferent to their plight.

While Theudobald accused Biggs of his leadership and misconduct in the days following the attack now several weeks ago, now it's even worse. The morale is at an all-time low, despite work having resumed in the Tower. Like Biggs said following the startling discovery of the dead miscreant they stumbled upon within the Tower being a member of the band dubbing themselves 'The Seekers of the Blessed Sun', they have more eyes on the Tower and people patrolling, doing their best to strengthen its defenses. For a blessing, no more miscreants or vagrants have been spotted within its perimeter or without since.

And G'raha, he has yet to sense anything amiss. In truth, he's not sensing much at all. While he didn't look up or engage with people much back then following the assault, now he has completely clammed up. His days are spent slumped in his usual spot by the campfire, avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially so their chief. G'raha wasn't on the best terms with Biggs to start with and now what little trust he had in him lies shattered. He doesn't even acknowledge his presence, deaf to his words with his nose buried in Y'sato's journal or the Heavensward tome, his hood pulled up, effectively shutting him and the world out.

It and Y'sato's journal have become his escape. His refuge.

He currently finds himself in such a moment, sitting slumped before the flickering flames of their campfire, a starlit sky hanging overhead. The crackling of the firewood is soothing, its comforting sound and the heat of the flames the only shred of normalcy he has left. Once more, a book lies open in his lap. This time the Heavensward tome, his tail curled, resting on Y'sato's journal at his side. Ever within reach.

His eyes are on the page, but the words don't sink in, everything an incomprehensible blur as he strains to focus. All he is aware of in this moment is this persistent burning in his eyes and the dull aching throbbing in his head. A sure sign of exhaustion and yet he finds himself unable to tear his eyes off the well-read words written before him. He knows if he does, he will surely drift off to sleep, and he cannot bear it. Cannot bear to relive those harrowing nightmares again, to see Y'sato's accusing dead stare bore into his very being, filled with such malice he has ever seen.

Again, G'raha curses his undying curiosity for knowledge. The burden of the knowledge that brought these dreams forth... Until learning of the state of the aether, G'raha naturally assumed everything concerning death and decay worked as intended. Now that he knows the truth, he is shaken to his core.

Y'sato is still out there... Dead and alone, and no praying to the Twelve or Hydealyn will ever undo that fact. There is but one path forward. He knows this all too well, and yet he cannot muster the strength to move forward, to take the next step.

This inaction. This stagnancy. It should frustrate him. It should incense him, and yet he comes up empty, grasping at straws that elude his fingers like wisps on the wind, shriveling to naught but dust.

Here he is again, once more, sinking into the dark pit of despair. No better than when he first learned of the fate of this world, of what became of Y'sato. His fate at the hands of Black Rose. When he spent days just lying in his bed back in their keep, utterly heartbroken.

He thought he was stronger than this by now, and yet...

What a sorry savior he turned out to be. One that crack and splinter, falling apart under the weight of any heavy duress.

The corner of his mouth twists.

Am I truly this weak?

Mired in dark ruminations, he doesn't notice the approach of a familiar figure until a sound cuts through the heavy haze.

Crystal scrunches under foot somewhere in the distance before him. A sudden yet familiar sound that has his ears twitch instinctively in response, his hood shifting slightly from the movement. Still, he doesn't look up, his eyes glued stubbornly to the page laid before him. He knows these footsteps, light as they are. They could only belong to Maria or K'delika, although they probably belong to the former. After all, K'delika hasn't done much aside from handing him food once or twice in the last handful of days. Food that remains untouched.

The footsteps come to a slow, hesitant halt before him. Yet G'raha sits there unmoving, his head bowed with his hands loosely holding the sides of the book. His entire face, sans his lips and chin, is completely obscured by shadow.

"... You know, I've been keeping an eye on you for a while. You haven't turned a page in the last half a bell or so. I know you aren't reading. Neither are you asleep. Is everything alright?"

One of his ears twitches to the familiar voice. This time in mild surprise. K'delika. Not the one he was expecting, but it matters not. As usual, he's not particularly hungry, and as it stands, he just wants to be left alone. He remains motionless, showing no signs of acknowledging her, nor that he heard her speak.

A heavy sigh fills the air. Seating herself beside him on the rusted Garlean war Machina, she sets down something next to him. It clinks as it meets the age worn metal. A cup.

"I brought you tea."

Those words immediately capture his full attention. Hood shifting on his head from his ears perking, he at last looks up, a thinly veiled excitement clear in his voice, "Tea?"

K'delika smirks, a certain glint in her eye. "So that was the magic word needed to bring you back to the living. Yes, it's indeed tea."

G'raha blinks, bemused. Despite his considerable time spent with the order, he cannot recall them ever having had tea. Watered down bitter coffee at most, if lucky. Something he never had or developed a taste for.

His gaze falls to the offered steaming cup. The cup itself is nothing of note, drab and off white as it is. Rather, it is its contents that beckons to him, inviting, a warm opaque amber fluid held within. Already a pungent, earthy yet floral aroma wafts up to him, and despite himself, he leans in closer to get a better whiff.

"I did not know we had tea."

"Which comes as no surprise. It's from my special stash. I've been saving it."

G'raha looks up at her, still bemused, but the hows and whys of it have already started to take form in his mind. After all, he knows this scent. This tea is steeped from a valerian root and dream flower blend. Its soothing effects aren't lost on him, and especially so with the inclusion of dream flower, a plant well known for its sedative effects. So much so it is associated with something going by another name, the illegal drug: Somnus.

Something of which should never be used in excess, lest one risk falling into an eternal slumber.

Already this implication has him frowning. He has never partaken in anything containing the plant himself, illicit as it is, and here she is, offering it to him so freely. How K'delika even got her hands on such plants, and especially so in a dying world, eludes even his sharp, inquisitive mind.

It fills him with disquiet. A disquiet he does not hesitate to voice as he rises his gaze to look her square in the eyes. After all, he and K'delika and their relations still stand on uneven, rickety ground. "But this is a valerian root and dream flower blend. Such ingredients must be highly sparse, if not impossible to find or grow as things stand. Especially so knowing of their illicit nature. I cannot in good conscience accept, nor should I."

He steels himself for any possible backlash. While she did reach out to him in the Tower, and has made her concern well known for him since, there is so much he yet doesn't know about her, and knowing her former conduct of being snappy with him or avoiding him outright, to bring his hackles up around her still comes much too easily. A second nature.

K'delika meets his burning gaze evenly, her ears drawn back, tense. For a fleeting tense moment, G'raha fully expects to receive the fiery anger he has come to know from her, her callous words, her sharp tongue, but instead she deflates. Her ears drooping slightly, she averts her gaze to look into her lap, her tail drawing close to come to rest there. The dark, matted fur is a stark contrast to her white tattered coat. She takes hold of her tail with a hand, almost bashful. What truly grabs G'raha's attention, however, is the understanding, yet imploring smile gracing her lips.

"I wouldn't have offered you this if I didn't think you need it. Dream flowers have this reputation to them, I know, but in small doses they do so much more good than harm. I know you have no reason to trust me. Not so soon, but please, if anything, trust me on this. I'm not blind. I can see how much your nightmares bother you, how they rob you of your much needed rest. Your peace of mind." Her hold around her tail tightens, biting her lower lip. A profound sadness glints in amber depths. "And I can see how much it bothers Toshi..."

The utterance of his name, and from her lips, and the sadness accompanying it she tries so hard to hide pokes at a sore spot, something bruised that is never far from his mind. Seeing how much the state of Toshi's wellbeing still affects her, how much his slow decline hurts her, that he is the one responsible has a sharp pain ringing out in his chest. G'raha is quick to avert his gaze to the still open book in his lap. This is a can of worms he'd rather not open, that he rather want to leave well alone and toss far out of sight. While Biggs assured him K'delika doesn't blame him for it, the way she holds herself in this very moment tells him otherwise. She is avoidant, leaving a lot unsaid.

'Tis only right. This is my fault. Toshi is dying, because of me.

Despite himself, his tail curls closer to his leg, his lips pressing together into a thin line. Already he braces himself, expecting the censure, the vitriol that is sure to come his way.

Instead, there's another sigh, this one heavier than the last. There's a resigned tone to K'delika's voice as she speaks "Just, take better care of yourself will you? If not for yourself, at least do it for me and Toshi?"

Not quite the response he expected, but he takes it. Ears laid low against his head, concealed under his hood as they are, he subtly looks at her from beneath the shadows, past the rim. Her eyes aren't looking in his direction. In truth, she isn't facing him at all, but rather looking at something in the distance, the ever present Crystal Tower he realizes. The orange light cast from the flames plays along her face, casting gentle shadows across her umber skin. The sight, for a split second it takes G'raha back to happier days, brighter days where he spent many a starlit night just like this at Y'sato's side. Just him and his dearest friend, regaling each other with stories and chatting about everything and nothing by flickering firelight long into the night.

Simpler days, treasured days, and now bygone days...

"... I'll give it an attempt." He musters at last. His head bowed, his tail once more seeks out Y'sato's journal lying at his side. K'delika's eyes are on him; he can feel it, but he cannot bring himself to meet her gaze.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Although he doesn't look at her, he can still hear the smile in her voice. A tired smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A smile that soon falls. "... Why did you save me?"

The question is so unexpected it draws G'raha's eyes back to her in an instant. She is not looking at him anymore, but rather into her lap, her tail still held in her hands. Yet, the pensive look on her face tells the tale. It is clear this is a question she has wanted to ask him for a long time.

The answer comes to him easily, a warm smile bright enough to touch his eyes; "Do I need a reason? I cannot stand idly by and watch someone die if I can intervene, if I can see a life spared. So I did. 'Tis as simple as that."

One of K'delika's ears twitch upon hearing the warm understanding in his voice, and yet she avoids looking him the eye, "But the way I treated you, the words I said... I had done nothing to deserve such kindness, and even now I-"

She cuts off, looking off to the side. Her tail twitches in her lap, her firm hold on it stopping it from lashing outright. For the first time G'raha can tell it lashes at herself this time. Not him.

Another sigh escapes her, ears drooping slightly as she once more deflates. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

Before G'raha can do or say anything, she has already pushed herself her feet. She turns to regard him, and while her smile is tired and strained, the worry for his well-being she carries in her eyes is genuine.

"Whether you partake of the tea or not, I leave up to you. Just know its effects are pretty fast acting. It helps with nightmares. It has helped me." And with that, and a final strained smile, she takes her leave, just as quick as she came. G'raha's gaze lingers on her retreating figure, her shape at last blending into and becoming one with the shadows. It's clear she's troubled, and she leaves a lot unsaid, but regardless of her true feelings, her care for him and his well-being is sincere. It gives G'raha hope that perhaps, perhaps, things will work out better for them, in the end.

At least one can always hope...

As if on cue, the earthy yet floral aroma wafts up to him, tickling his senses. He had almost forgotten about the tea, and peering down at the cup, he can tell from the diminished steam it must have cooled. Cooled enough for him to comfortably drink it.

G'raha frowns at it. Dreamflowers... should he trust K'delika at her word?

By closing and putting the book still in his lap aside to rest alongside Y'sato's journal, he tentatively picks up the mug to hold it comfortably in his hands. The warmth from it warms his palms, spreading to his chilled fingertips in a prickling tingle and pleasantly so. A welcome respite. He hadn't realized just how cold his hands had become in the cool night air.

Now, if only he could attain this same reprieve in his dreams...

A frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, he scrutinizes the golden liquid held within. It has been so long since he had the opportunity to drink tea, to relish the rich flavors playing on his tongue.

His exhaustion, his desperate need to escape this hellhole of a world, if just for a fleeting moment gets the better of him, clouds his judgment. He brings the cup to his lips, tentatively sipping at the inviting warm liquid, and at once his eyes fall closed in bliss. This earthy flavor, the sweet undertones, followed with something else, he chases it. A floral taste. Distinct, unusual, but not unwelcome. He hungrily takes another sip, bigger than the last, first now realizing just how parched his throat is.

He likes to think he took his time draining his cup, but in truth he emptied it within moments, craving the warmth, the feel of it soothing his throat, and with it, his frazzled nerves.

K'delika wasn't lying. Already he can feel its sedative effects tug at the corners of his mind, gradually seeping through it like water seeps through a sheet of paper. A feeling that is not helped by his building exhaustion, no doubt. Yet it's a comfortable pull. Not too overbearing and yet one he can give in so easily to.

He barely manages to do as much as put his cup aside, his mind already muddled, overcome by the instinctual need to sleep, right this second, his eyes burning something fierce.

A somnolent call he can do little to resist, and so he heeds it. Letting out a deep sigh, his eyes closing in the progress he leans back against the rocky outcrop behind him, allowing the sleepy pull to drag him under as soon as the back of head rests against it, him facing the stars, his tail still resting on Y'sato's journal at his side.

Before he knows it, his exhaustion gives way to vivid dreams.

Dreams of the luminescent crystal formations jutting forth from the crystalline earthen ground in the Mor Dhona of his youth manifests before his mind's eye. They shimmer in the sunlight, fractals of light scattering prisms of color across the rocky surface, across a friendly face he knows so well. A face he longs to behold more than anything else.

The gleaming bright green eyes regarding him this time aren't filled with malice, nor are they cutting or accusing. Instead, they crinkle at the corners as a smile radiant enough to rival the sun itself plays on his lips, the warmth in his gaze infectious. Y'sato, in his purest, most happy self, stands before him, hand outstretched in a playful gesture, beckoning, inviting.

"Swim with me?"

The way Y'sato's ears wiggles with joy, one of his fangs peeking through with his tail swishing to match has an elated, yet nostalgic feeling rush through G'raha, a fluttering warm feeling bursting to life in his chest. How can he in any way resist?

His eyes shining, the vibrant red of his irises and his red hair a shock of color against the crystalline blue surrounding them, he stretches out his hand, his fingers trembling, tentatively. Only for a sound of surprise to escape him as Y'sato takes hold of his hand eagerly, already pulling him along. His skin is so warm, so wonderfully full of life.

In the face of it, G'raha can do nothing but laugh, carefree and filled with mirth. Of disbelief. For once, he is free. Free of the gnawing heartache, the grief that ever hounds his every step.

And so he follows Y'sato's lead, his heart light, almost soaring. Together they swim, they frolic, laughing and one upping each other as only young boys can. The azure endless skies above stretches ever onwards promising new adventures. A new tomorrow.

This dreamscape, of him and his dearest friend ever riding the eternal winds, becomes his new refuge.

His sanctuary.