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Chapter Text

“Gotcha.”

As if she were a famished predator stalking through the woods and unexpectedly catching sight of her favored quarry, Benedikta’s head snapped in the direction of a distant, blazing fire amidst the darkened forest. A fira spell streaked its way through the trees and burst onto a colossal arachne. The gruesome beast emitted its last screech before slamming down into the earth in silence. Its spindly legs curled inward.

Benedikta’s hazel vision remained fixed instead on the hooded figure who had just cast the spell, standing a few paces away from the slain beast - a man judging by his stature. There was a momentary pause as the hooded man slowly lowered his outstretched arm. He turned away and strode towards an injured man on the ground nearby leaning on a tree trunk. Kneeling down, the hooded man conjured flames from his hand which encircled the outstretched leg of the injured victim.

Benedikta’s gaze shifted towards a young, short-haired woman clad in green and brown leathers. She was holding a lantern and kneeling beside the hooded man, offering better illumination. Though the distance obscured facial features, Benedikta perceived a protective aura emanating from the young woman as she constantly made vigilant glances towards the woods surrounding them. This young woman would not be able to catch Benedikta watching them from afar as the skies tonight were overcast. In addition, Benedikta had already extinguished the light of her smoking pipe to avoid exposure some time ago.

Within seconds, Benedikta drew several conclusions upon analyzing the scene before her. The cloaked man was undeniably the rumored second Dominant of Fire, notorious for slaying the Phoenix thirteen years ago. The telltale evidence included the massive fira spell along with the vibrant healing flames which plainly marked him a fire Eikon. His powers surpassed that of a mere fire or healing Bearer. Accompanying him was a solitary bodyguard and a female one at that. It suggested that the Dominant did not wish to draw attention to himself yet he required the supplementary protection - the reasons why remained elusive.

Benedikta’s lips curved sensuously into a smirk and she arched a discerning brow. That’s him. The second Dominant of Fire…accompanied by his little pet coeurl. Looks as if he harbors a soft spot for the weak. How sweet….and sickening.

Her last thought made her sneer in disgust.

She continued watching eagerly as the hooded man’s flames subsided from his hand, leaving only the glow of the young woman’s lantern as the sole source of light. A weighty silence followed as the now healed man gingerly adjusted his leg. He expressed his heartfelt gratitude with great enthusiasm by clasping the hooded man’s arm. But it was the young woman who addressed the healed man instead. Benedikta could only hear the muffled conversation between them but no words. After a brief exchange between the woman and the healed man, the trio rose to their feet and parted ways. Slowly, the hooded man and the young woman disappeared into the depths of the dark forest, their lantern light gradually fading into the distance, leaving nothing but a faint bobbing glow.

The hunt is on, the Warden of the Wind whispered to herself and let out a soft snicker. She waited until they were completely out of sight before turning around and sauntering back to the Royalist camp. She was in no rush. Her coveted prey would be caught in her hands soon enough.

Grateful that she had taken the respite to enjoy a solitary smoke away from those godforsaken and malodorous Royalist soldiers, Benedikta twirled the empty smoking pipe between her green-tipped fingers. Relentlessly pursuing the meandering rumors of the second Dominant of Fire from Dhalmekia to Sanbreque had finally paid off. Every rotten drinking hole searched, every backwater alley explored, and every peasant forced for information by her Intelligencers had finally culminated to this. At the most opportune yet unexpected moment, the Dominant had wandered straight into her territory.

She was already envisioning the grand reception awaiting her along with the warmest of welcomes, in many senses of the word, from King Barnabas once she presented the Dominant before him. It would serve as the ultimate testament of her unwavering loyalty and devotion to the indomitable Kingdom of Waloed. With three Dominants at its helm, Waloed and its King would ascend to unmatched supremacy not only across Valisthea but the Continent and beyond.

That dirty traitor…he can finally be replaced.

Benedikta seethed inwardly as images of the traitor’s handsome and alluring features flashed in her mind’s eye along with his signature charismatic smile and husky voice. Even the mere thought of him had the effect of undoing her and awakened sensuous desires that no other man ever had or ever will. She scoffed and forced her mind to dissolve his image before it could kindle any further feelings.

Sometime later, Benedikta reached the reconnaissance camp with its bonfire still burning in the center. One of her Intelligencers was standing on patrol near the entrance and had noticed her stride in.

“My lady –”

“Summon Gerulf immediately. We have a Dominant to catch.”

Chapter Text

“Lostwing, your Grace,” Jote proclaimed with finality while standing beside Joshua as they fixed their gaze upon the entry beyond. Shattered remnants of the Fallen above them naturally formed arches covered in lush and verdant vines, guiding the eye towards the narrow path winding down the hillside and into the concealed village below. Up ahead, they could see the once majestic Fallen airship towering over the village, a testament to its former glory.

It was already late into the evening yet the calming sound of crickets enveloped and soothed them while the humid summer air felt cooler and less oppressive with every step they took downhill. Lighting the way with her swaying lantern, Jote examined their steps ahead as they descended down together. The humble and idyllic town was peppered with torches every few paces, providing a welcoming yet secretive setting.  A moment of respite washed over both of them after their weary trek across the sweltering and unforgiving forests of Sanbreque in midsummer. Having camped for several days now, exhaustion had undoubtedly taken its toll.

Joshua gave a soft sigh within the large hood of his brown cloak, his features mostly hidden underneath the cowl which he had just pulled up further. Relief settled around his shoulders like an old, hospitable friend but in the back of his mind, he knew that their expedition was just beginning. They were here to delve into the relics of the Fallen in hopes of garnering vital information that might shed light on Ultima’s past. There would not be much time for idleness but at least they had proper shelter and access to provisions.

The pair reached the village’s official entrance marked by a piercing obelisk.

“Let us proceed with the plan we devised earlier,” stated Joshua in a lowered voice as he turned his covered eyes towards her. It was highly likely they were already within earshot of Lostwing’s residents from where they stood. Jote nodded in agreement and Joshua had taken notice of the slight shadows beneath her eyes that were not the result of the torches or her lantern.

He felt a wave of relief particularly for Jote knowing they would finally have the comfort of decent pallets for the night. Perhaps he was pushing her too hard, consumed by his singular focus on unraveling the nature of Ultima. He knew she would never protest or voice her exhaustion aloud to him, always dedicating herself to exceeding his expectations in her role.

Crossing the wooden planks and hearing their own footsteps, their pair admired the picturesque landscape before them. The serene village was overlooked by layers of the Fallen airship towering high above with a scenic pond in the center surrounded on all sides by planked walkways. Residential structures were nestled into the ivory relics with tiered balconies and ladders. In the distance, there was a stone bridge and additional levels which could be accessed through stairways.

From a mere glance in her direction, Joshua already knew Jote would require they study the town’s layout tomorrow at first daybreak. An unmistakable habit of hers with every new city or village they entered. Surreptitiously, a corner of his lip tugged upwards at this realization. After travelling together for the past year, he had picked up on many of her habits. It felt like second nature to have her beside him– from the moment the two of them crossed through the threshold of the Undying headquarters in Tabor until this very moment in Lostwing.

Even at this hour, there were still some Lostwing natives milling about as they partook in wine or trudged back to their dwellings. Like they always did prior to every expedition, the Undying had informed Joshua and Jote through stolas about the history of Lostwing and its inhabitants. A man named Quinten who used to be part of Imperial judiciary had founded the town as a solace for Bearers. Gaultands Bales vineyards nearby produced fine coveted wine that attracted traders to the town and provided sustenance to the natives.

The pair would have to tread carefully and present themselves visibly as travelers seeking refuge from the beasts of the night. The last thing they wanted was to draw suspicion to themselves as Bearer antagonists. Surely the inhabitants feared being discovered by malicious visitors and being reported to Sanbreque’s constabulary. A few Lostwing residents passed by bearing the mark on their cheek. From their gait alone, one could tell they served no master.

Bearing left towards the entrance of the inn called The Hanged Man, Joshua and Jote attempted to make their footsteps as inconspicuous as possible on the planks. Slurred drawls of Lostwing inhabitants drunk off ale and brandewine could be overheard further down the hall of the cozy inn as the pair made their entrance.

“My lord Margrace, the innkeeper’s board is over yonder,” Jote whispered.

“Hm,” Joshua affirmed beneath his hood.

When the two of them were in public, they strove to keep their identity unremarkable, making every effort to blend into the background and divulge little information to potential eavesdroppers. Jote would use the code name “Margrace” whenever in the presence of others. Though at times, Joshua pondered if their state of incognito unintentionally attracted more attention rather than less.

They crossed through the center of the inn with its candlelight chandelier hanging above and approached the counter on the other side. A few guffaws pierced the air down the hall from the merrily drunken folks. Perhaps their distraction was for the best so the visit from the Master of the Undying and his Knight would seem less impressionable, especially the next day.

 A man with a scarf tied around his head was wiping a wooden mug from behind the counter. He turned his attention towards them.

“Good evening, lads. Master Quinten ain’t here but I can assist. What can I do fer you?” He beheld them with a mildly disengaged expression. Clearly, he was attempting to keep the tone casual but was doing a quick assessment to see if these rare visitors would present a potential threat to their Bearer refuge. Sometimes Joshua could sense when eyes were boring through his hood - eyes attempting to pry a glimpse at his face. It helped when his eyes were hidden and he only had to concentrate on discerning a stranger’s tone so that he could make subtle indications of dishonesty to Jote.

“My comrade and I are traders seeking solace from our tedious journey to Rosaria. One of your sheltered lodgings should suffice for us both. Perhaps your most secluded room,” Jote easily stepped in to respond. Joshua could always count on her to conduct the communications on his behalf.

“Aye, 300 gil for one evening,” declared the inn worker. With barely a pause, Jote brandished a bag of coins with the precise amount and placed it on the table. Transactions of any sort were always brief when it came to her.

Succinct and efficient, Joshua thought with a faint smile.

The inn worker told them how to access their chamber through usage of stairs and ladders and assured them it would be secluded.

~*~*~*~*

The dim lodgings of The Hanged Man embedded themselves in parts of the Fallen relic and could be accessed through a complex network of spiral staircases and ladders. The rooms were perfect for Bearers and anyone who wished to stay concealed. Many rooms had hastily constructed wooden balconies draped in colorful fabrics. The gaps between the planks did little to insulate the rooms and blankets were haphazardly tucked into the cracks to keep out the draft. It was a blessing they were in the midst of the summer and thus spared from winter’s frigid and unforgiving gusts.

The moment they entered the modest room, Joshua and Jote set down their belongings and began quietly unpacking - a familiar routine of theirs. Joshua let out a sigh as he drew back his brown linen hood and felt a sense of freedom. Already he felt the exhaustion slouch his back and sleep deprivation pull a shadowy blanket over his eyes. But he tried his best to stay alert and energized in Jote’s presence.

She was strategically unpacking their essentials from the knapsack onto the table before them including his bitter medicine that she would undoubtedly ask him to take within the next few minutes. The clinking of the glass flask on the table and the reflection of the flame from the candle that Joshua had lit himself earlier created a soft atmosphere. Joshua pulled off the top half of his muddied robes and rejoiced at the chance to fully slough off his disguise. The billowy white tunic underneath allowed the cooler night to flow within.

Though Joshua was slowly fading, he understood that Jote’s night was just beginning as she would work to obtain necessities for their stay. Personally, Joshua detested not being able to assist her in the menial tasks by vacating the rooms in which they stayed throughout their travels. Jote discouraged him from revealing himself more than necessary to the public eye. As his guard, she tried her best to minimize the times they were apart. Hence the main reason why they shared one room instead of two.

“Your Grace, the washroom is just there and the water buckets are filled. I have already provided the soaps and oils for your convenience. I shall fetch fresh water and provisions for us and launder the fabrics in time to dry for tomorrow’s expeditions,” Jote explained. Joshua keenly perceived the concealed fatigue in her voice and shook his head in response.

“Jote, I thank you but you require rest as well. We can address the cleaning at another time as I suspect we shall be staying in Lostwing for a few days. I insist that you have care for yourself as well.”

A hint of a smile graced her lips and her solemn countenance relaxed. He noticed the candle’s flame within her expressive, fine eyes. Even in his weariness, Joshua felt warmth in his chest –not the kind kindled by fire but by the soothing flow of water.

“Thank you, your Grace. I shall solely fetch us fresh water and provisions for the night.”

She nodded and crossed through the room’s threshold, closing the partition behind her.

~*~*~*~*

After bathing himself in the washroom and feeling the lukewarm water cleanse him, Joshua felt the tension leave his shoulders and ease settle around him for the first time in weeks. After travelling through Sanbreque’s woods and up the river, their clothes had become heavy with mud and moisture. Now as he bathed, he felt he could allow his thoughts to wander freely without having to be on constant vigilance.

Permitting himself to let his guard down behind closed doors, he encouraged Jote to do the same when they stayed at inns. Though he sensed that she naturally could not fully decompress even during those times. Her ears were always listening and her eyes piercing through walls even when she was sitting still and writing in her travel journal. Her signature dirk was always within reach when it was not attached to her belt behind her.

In those moments, Joshua sought to ease her burdens with the gentlest of gestures. He would kneel beside her and hope that his presence provided a comforting distraction as he shared passages from his tome. Or he'd stand close and admire her writings and her sketches and inquire about what they meant to her. Sometimes, he'd place a chair nearby and draw near her to discuss their discoveries and the weighty implications behind them. And when they reminisced about past adventures, delight would fill his heart when laughter danced between them.

Jote’s mirth was a rare treasure, indeed. They shared fond memories of their youth growing up under the care of their Undying kin. In those fleeting moments of connection, he'd tenderly take her hands as they spoke and hoped the gesture would ease the troubles on her mind. Though the holding of her hands had happened only a few times – shyness was a burdensome trait between the two of them.

Joshua could not help but draw parallels between his beloved older brother Clive and Jote. He saw echoes of Clive in her furrowed brow, her dignified posture as his shield, her caring and concerned nature, and her silent yet formidable strength. Even after years together, Joshua sadly confessed that he could not see through Jote’s veil of formality at times. There were moments when he sensed uncertainty within her whether it was in her carefully guarded expression or how she appeared hesitant to reach out and touch him. Self-doubt would seep into Joshua’s heart, leaving him apprehensive if he was overstepping boundaries with her.

There were moments when she seemed melancholic and he’d reach out towards her while her back was turned only to retract his hand to his side once more. Truth be told, there were times when he yearned to tenderly draw her close and encircle her within his arms until she melted into his embrace. But he would die before he made her feel the slightest discomfort.

The most excruciating part was the fact that he was the Master of the Undying. He knew Jote would never refuse his affections should he ever unveil them. If she felt compelled to accept his affections out of obligation, he would rather say nothing at all. Though if Jote were to confess her own sentiments first, would she give her heart to the Phoenix’s Dominant - a piece of divinity in human flesh - or to Joshua Rosfield?

Furthermore, Joshua held an uncanny feeling throughout his life that he would not live to see old age. It was for this myriad of reasons that he forced himself to maintain a certain distance from Jote - to shield her from inevitable anguish.

The weight of these undesirable reflections was physically painful to his chest and Joshua pushed them gently away to finish his cleansing. When he came out of the wash room with his damp, clean hair and a cleaner set of clothing, he saw Jote had just returned with their provisions and had just finished neatly laying the rest of their items on the center table.

“Have you consumed your medicine, your Grace?” she inquired innocently but with an underlying tone of authority.

“Jote….” Joshua looked at her with an uncharacteristically dry expression. He nodded his head towards the washroom behind him while keeping his eyes on her.

She mirrored his features with an equally deadpan expression of her own.

“I shall take my bathing after you take your medicine–” she glanced at his bedside table and immediately noticed the empty glass vial.

“….I see you have already taken your medicine.”

“Go.”

Joshua gestured with his hand in a sweeping motion towards the washroom.

“As you wish,” Jote’s shoulders sank and she softly exhaled.

Jote took her towel and her evening clothing with her into the washroom, passing by an ever-watching Joshua and closed the door behind her. Joshua made his way over to the table to pour water from the pitcher into his cup to drink. He lay down on his bed with his hands tucked behind his head and stared at the distressed wooden ceiling, eyes tracing the uneven gaps between the wood planks, deep in thought once again.

Luckily this time, there were two small beds in the room which was the ideal sleeping situation for the both of them. Throughout their travels, Jote always asked for their lodgings to have two beds but at times was brusquely told by innkeepers that they had only one bed. Sometimes these inns would have only one small bed. Sometimes they’d have a single bed big enough for two people.

Upon entering their shared room and seeing the single large bed, the two of them would visibly blush. Jote would automatically state that she would sleep on her camping cot to which Joshua would automatically object. He simply hated being treated like an indulged prince sleeping in the bed while his female attendant was on the hard ground beneath. Something about the concept made his chivalrous nature mentally flinch in horror. He was provided with quite enough indulgence both in his previous life in Rosaria and even his new life with the Undying to a degree.

After their bickering, his stubbornness would have him sleeping on the floor near her on his own cot while the bed remained empty throughout the night. Then Jote could not conceal her huff of indignation which Joshua admitted he found endearing - though he disliked the fact that he had provoked her reaction. They were both creatures of deeply entrenched stubborn habits.

There were a couple times when Joshua was unwell and Jote pleaded with him to take the bed so he may recover. He would finally yield and shamefully take the bed for himself. It was seldom when Joshua had managed to successfully convince Jote to take the bed, almost to the point of commanding her. If anything, he would rather she had the best sleep possible to stay sharp as his guard and attendant. Joshua even entertained suggesting that they share the large bed and create a divide between them with blankets but he was far too nervous to consider her reaction.

He sighed in relief as they would not have to engage in those trivial disagreements tonight. He assumed sleep would find him as soon as he placed his head on the pillow but found his thoughts thoroughly engaged once more on her.

Whenever he expressed his concern for her well-being, her expressive eyes gave him a surprised look like they did just moments ago before she entered the washroom. Did she truly believe that he viewed her solely as his servant? Merely existing to cater to his needs? It pained him to consider that she might hold such a perception of him. He wished that she allowed him to treat her as an equal but felt the unseen hand of duty force an uncrossable rift between them.

It was true that his mission to uncover Ultima’s machinations had driven him like an eternal flame. His faith that one day he would reunite with his brother also fueled the burning flames within him. The gratitude and support he felt towards the Undying and his Knight in helping him achieve this mission was endless. But he always had Jote’s wellbeing in the back of his mind even when she was right there by his side. He simply could not allow himself to be self-centered in his goals.

Continuously, she proved her astronomical resourcefulness and confidence as his shield but he naturally felt protective of her as well. She had saved his life many times throughout their expeditions on numerous occasions. Jote had the gift of perception – always three steps ahead of their adversaries with her eyes simultaneously in many places. Often times, her knifepoint would already be at an enemy’s ribcage before a plan of attack could be executed upon Joshua. Though Joshua was technically much stronger than her by the grace of his Eikon’s powers, there were enemies that could cause mortal wounds beyond the repair of the master of healing. As he often discovered the hard way, his blessing was not boundless.

In time, Joshua hoped to become Jote’s protector and no longer be a burden to her. Someday I will free her of the duty of wardenship and let her live a life on her own terms he promised himself as he fixed his determined gaze through the dark ceiling. In another reality, if they were born into equal status, he would demonstrate his true feelings to her first and allow her into his innermost thoughts, and court her in a way that wouldn’t leave any room for doubt as to the nature of his affections.

These contemplations drifted his eyes close and his breathing became shallow. At some point while almost in the depths of sleep, he heard the washroom door quietly open and Jote’s muted steps. With his eyes still closed, he felt his blanket being tugged from beneath and draped on top. Unsure if this was a figment of his dream or reality, he reached out and gently clasped her small hand, giving it a mild squeeze of gratitude.

~*~*~*

The sunrise found Jote already donned in her green leathers and brown capelet and seated at the common desk with the sound of her quill gliding across the pages of her worn travel journal. It was imperative that she take time at night or in the early mornings to chronicle any noteworthy findings from flora and fauna to discussions overhead before they escaped her memory. She did not wish to disturb the still sleeping Dominant who was currently nestled within the blankets like a bird, his strawberry blond waves peeking from the top.

It had been weeks since the two of them were able to enjoy the humble comforts of an inn. Though Jote wished to begin the day by exploring and mapping the village and scouring the place for archaeological traces of Ultima’s whereabouts, she was content to let her master rest. Founder knows the last time they were able to enjoy a peaceful night’s rest without having to keep the night watch while camping in the wilderness.

Once Joshua awakened and readied himself for the day and dressed in his hooded cloak, the pair stepped out onto the spiral staircase to witness the dawn’s golden rays gleaming through uneven slants from the wooden planks. Morning birds chirped and it was incredibly quiet indoors, save for the distant sound of a few early risers milling about as they began their day. After descending down the labyrinth of ladders and stairwells, Joshua stopped by one of the balconies to admire the scenery in silence for a few moments. They continued down the stairs and headed to the mess hall to obtain some provisions for breakfast.

Oftentimes, Joshua and Jote did their best to keep the mingling to a minimum when it came to tavern and mess hall society. Too many eavesdroppers and prying eyes were eager to share what they saw and heard for the right price if ever questioned. The pair would often acquire their meals and carry them elsewhere if they were able. Naturally, much time was spent in each other’s company. Today they would take their shared bread, cheese, and waterskins with them as they toured the grounds and relics of Lostwing.

They spent the rest of the day combing every corner of the village and around the woods and rocky areas, searching for ancient ruins. From the vineyards of Gaultand’s Bales to all exits and entrances into and out of the village. The layout was far more complex than they initially realized the night before when they had wandered in at nighttime. Time was melting away much quicker than anticipated as the sun pulled itself overhead.

As Joshua had expected, Jote had already devised an exit strategy should a forced separation occur, a natural habit they developed upon entering a new location. According to a map that Jote obtained, they were to meet down a path called The Weeping Rent on the Northeast side leading to Claireview. In addition, they agreed upon a timeline as to when they should meet in Tabor should they become permanently separated, especially where Joshua was concerned. Jote emphasized that Joshua always make his own life a priority as was a requirement with the Undying – though Joshua’s consternation would have him disagree with her on that statement only to have him yield and reluctantly agree.

The sunset was already approaching fast and despite their efficiency, the pair still had a few areas they had yet to search much to Joshua’s dismay. But all hope was not lost. There was a place they still had yet to visit. One they could visit at night – the Greagorian church in Lostwing. Throughout the realm, Joshua and Jote found that priests of the area’s respective doctrine would often have archives of their own – books on local history and other vital knowledge. Their energy was being slowly siphoned away by hunger. It was agreed that they would visit the church to speak with the head priest and see what he knew of the local lore – after supper.

Joshua requested to Jote that they stay another night in order to fully complete their investigation of Lostwing to which she acquiesced.

Neither of them anticipated that this decision to linger for another evening would set in motion an irreversible fateful chain of events.

~*~*~*

Tonight, the local patrons of The Hanged Man were more numerous and the clanking of tankards in tandem with the uproarious laughter meant that the wine was being poured and supper was underway.

“Wench! More wine!”

“Aye, I’ve heard this tale a thousand times…tell us somethin’ new, lad!”

“Another round!”

“Where is the bard? Summon the man and let us have a song.”

Joshua and Jote wordlessly swept by and claimed their table in the furthermost and darkest corner of the mess hall. They agreed to splurge on their meal tonight as they required the energy. The Hanged Man’s culinary offerings seemed more than adequate to meet their needs. Thus, taking the entire meal they planned to order back to their room would prove near impossible.

Joshua stayed at the table while Jote managed the meal transactions. Once the barmaid brought their meals and drinks to the table, they ate mostly in silence and kept to themselves – to focus on their own eavesdropping of others. Though they were informed by their Undying brethren of current events, they needed to be aware of local chatter for their own safety in the field.

The lack of spoken conversation between them, however, did not imply an absence of nonverbal gestures. When hearing something peculiar, Joshua would extend his arm next to Jote’s on the table and lightly nudge hers. Jote’s eyes would focus away from Joshua but her fingertip would draw symbols on the table within his line of sight. They had developed each symbol together as a means of a communication. Mistrustful individual on the left. Listen to the woman on your right. Shall we vacate the premises? Yes. No. Wait.

As they dined on their supper, there was one point where Joshua looked towards Jote’s side, his eyes focused beyond the edge of his hood and fixed onto her wooden cup.

“Lord Margrace?” she inquired, taking notice of his stillness.

“Is that the carrot broth mentioned on the bill of fare?”

“It is, your Grace. It is savory yet holds a hint of sweetness.”

Jote could feel the impish smile on her lips blossoming but strove to suppress it as she looked away and daintily sipped her Chocobo stewe which was rich and comforting. Joshua had gone completely motionless with his arms on the table and she could sense his horror of the orange culinary invention even with the hood covering half of his face. Eventually he relaxed his posture and went back to dining on his plate of salted loach which was smoky yet tender. If they were alone in each’s other’s company, Jote may have lightly teased him about his reaction to the carrot broth.

The merrymaking around them grew louder but remained jovial. There was a particularly rowdy table with a couple of Bearers and non-Bearers not too far from them. One of the non-Bearers was a tri-braided blonde young man garbed in orange and ashen clothing and he was noisily sharing tales of his adventures with his high-pitched expletives, waving his mug of ale in the air. Joshua overheard the young man and somehow found his imbibed personality, though unruly, good-natured.

Once they fully finished their meal (with the exception of the ever-present carrots remaining in Joshua’s bowl), the pair made their way towards the outside of the inn and up a couple flights of stairs to the church, passing by a few curious townspeople. The summer air was finally relaxing its scorching grip on the village and cooling down. Jote and Joshua felt a sense of relief underneath their layers of thick clothing.

They approached Lostwing’s place of sanctuary embedded in the Fallen relic then stepped through the large threshold. The atmosphere within the church held an unbroken serenity as they walked down the aisle, the sides enveloped with candelabras. The priest was currently lighting the candles around the altar of Greagor and worshippers seated themselves on the stone slabs or knelt in front. Jote scanned the corners and the floor as was her habit whenever they entered a new place, especially if it was an enclosed room. She quickly took note of a trap door to their left upon entering the church. They approached the priest and Jote took the lead in greetings and conversations, inquiring about their archives. Every now and then Joshua would pose his own questions in the conversation.

The priest eventually referred them to a quaint bookshelf that held tomes containing archives related to Lostwing and the surrounding areas. Jote and Joshua chose a stone bench and sat next to each other, their knees almost touching as they quietly skimmed through the books. After some time, they rose and returned the books to the priest and expressed their gratitude as they headed back to the inn to settle in and stay another night. The church had provided some valuable information worth ruminating over.

After speaking to an inn worker to pay for the additional night’s stay, they noticed that some of the rowdy people from earlier were now asleep on the tables before them. Even the tri-braided young man from earlier seemed less enthusiastic as he drank the last of his tankard. There were still some sounds of mugs clanking and lively conversations from others in the mess hall and the scent of smoked kippers from the last orders of the evening. The bard was winding down his song.

~*~*~*~*

Climbing the labyrinth of stairs and ladders once more, they entered the same room from the night before, their belongings still present. Joshua immediately drew his hood down and he could feel his dampened face and neck already cool off. It seemed this productive day had paid off in terms of working them to the bone once more. He was reaching for a reference book on the table to confirm something the priest had told them when he heard her soft voice behind him.

“I believe now is the best time to address the laundering, your Grace. I shall start with the small garments and come back later for the larger ones,” Jote was already gathering articles of used clothing they had separated earlier.

He noted that she held the verdant square cloth in her arms – the handkerchief that he had just recently purchased for her from a merchant in Northreach. When he gifted it to her, he insisted that it solely be for her use alone - never to use on him. Her uncertain yet bright expression when he gave it to her delighted him. She seemed shy but he noted the pink tint in her cheeks as she expressed her appreciation. The Undying rarely ever gave gifts to each other and often preached against attachment to possessions.

“Is there a washtub inside of the inn?” Joshua inquired.

“No, I shall have to go outside on the piers by the pond. There is a large tub and washboard. I took note of it earlier during our exploration.”

Jote was always observant even of the seemingly mundane aspects of their environment.

The hour was late but it was a task that had to be accomplished assuming they would continue their journey the next day.

“Have care,” Joshua replied in a concerned voice and gazed directly at her for a few moments.

She nodded but then glanced at his bedside table at the glass vial full of medicine Joshua had yet to take. Medicine she had crafted for him last night before she slept. Noticing the direction of her gaze, he spoke before she could say anything.

“You have my word that I shall take it before you return,” Joshua promised.

Jote cast her eyes to the side and a smile tugged at one of the corners of her lips as she turned around to take her leave. The articles of clothing and a bar of soap were already collected within the crook of her arm.

When his tone held such sincerity, it meant he would keep his promise.

And Joshua was not the kind to make a promise if he held the slightest doubt that he would have to break it.

Chapter Text

When Jote left the room, Joshua strode to his bedstand and took the medicine vial into his hand. He pulled out the stopper and drank it in one shot. The flavor made him cringe – an expression he tried to hide in front of Jote. She tried to modify its bitter taste by adding flower nectar but one could only do so much with a curative that tasted like poison. He chased it with a cup of water. From the moment he had awakened from his comatose state and throughout his three-year convalescence, Joshua had unintentionally laid bare all of his weaknesses to Jote. Now that he was stronger, he held a certain pride and endeavored to hide any signs of fragility in her presence.

Turning around, Joshua stepped towards the balcony that was draped in a blue blanket for privacy. The slight evening breeze rustled through the trees and eased his mind as he ruminated over the day’s events. Joshua breathed in deeply and exhaled as he leaned forward on the balcony railings and looked out into the inky night. The scent of Lostwing was an amalgamation of fermented grapes, damp wood, pondwater, and burning oil.

He was already pondering about the areas they had yet to search the next day before moving onto Phoenix Gate. He regretted the fact that Jote was doing the laundry on her own this time as was the typical protocol for Joshua to stay in the room. He remembered a time long ago when the Undying were surprised when he insisted upon learning how to do basic tasks such as preparing ingredients, purchasing essentials, and laundering. The former Rosarian prince helping his servants was a site to behold, especially for the Undying Elders.

Gazing into the distance, his brows furrowed when his eyes caught an unusual sight above the hill that preceded Lostwing’s entrance. A group of what seemed like soldiers were loitering about at the top of the hill. He could barely hear their voices but it sounded like they were questioning the last laborers returning to their homes from the vineyard. The soldiers turned and began marching closer to the quaint village and the torchlights of the town glinted on their dark armor as they approached.

Joshua’s stomach dropped.

Royalists.

Founder, what are Royalists doing in Storm let alone Lostwing?

There were no reports about this from the Undying.

But a voice within ominously answered his question.

Looking for you.

Joshua was already back in the room, eyes sweeping around to see if they had left anything important behind and quickly assessed that Jote had their most essential items on her person. He quickly acquired a couple of essentials and fastened his ornate weapons to the belt hidden underneath the top portion of his robes. They could always purchase new provisions in the future if they were unable to retrieve these items later. He pulled on his hood as he swept past the threshold and began heading down the sets of stairs and ladders. If the Royalists were headed towards the inn, Joshua would be trapped and unable to escape. Should the soldiers search the town, at least Jote was outside already and could escape more easily. Surely, she would have seen them and fled by now.

Or so he told himself.

He reached the first floor and brushed past some villagers who were whispering amongst themselves. Then he heard the unmistakable thick Waloeder accent from somewhere beyond The Hanged Man’s entrance.

“Have any of you seen a Dominant of Fire here in the village?”

That confirmed it for him.

Joshua moved closer to the back of the inn to make his swift exit and began climbing up the large staircase but then stopped. He strongly considered searching for Jote. Afterall, this was truly the first time Jote and him knowingly had targets on their backs.

They always rehearsed various exit strategies and mastered the art of escapism during their mutual training with the Undying. Naturally, Jote demonstrated far more proficiency than himself. Now their training was truly being put to the test. In those few seconds of hesitation, his heart was torn between leaving the town for the meeting point or turning around to go find her. Then he recalled Jote strongly emphasizing that they should never search for each other, lest both of them are caught or killed. They would always meet at the location agreed upon beforehand.

Just as Jote placed her trust in him, he had to place his faith in his most capable and closest friend that she would reach their designated point safely. His departure would surely keep the villagers safe from the Royalists as all were blissfully ignorant about his existence.

He planned to meet with Jote and assess how they would protect the villagers while anonymously dealing with the soldiers. Even if she insisted that they run, he would surely convince her otherwise. He continued up the stairs seconds later and walked past more villagers who spoke in urgent whispers, not paying him the slightest attention.

Walking opposite from the direction of the slight disturbance, he headed toward the northeastern path that was blocked with stones with a triangular opening at the top. Their designated meeting point. Fortunately, no Royalists were present in that part of the village…yet. Joshua scaled the rocks and hid behind, impatiently waiting for Jote’s arrival.

~*~*~*

Earlier when Jote left their room, she deftly balanced the articles of clothing with the soap on her shoulder as she gracefully stepped down ladders and stairs and made her way across the planks to the washing bucket on the other side of the pond. Fortuitously, the washing bucket was free for her use. She took the pail and obtained water for the laundry. Once the tub was filled to the required amount, Jote knelt down, took off her black leather gloves, pushed back her sleeves, and used the soap and washboard to clean the small articles of clothing.

The evening scenery was incredibly peaceful with the sound of scrubbing, the turning of the nearby water mill, the sight of green fireflies hovering over the pond, and the scent of summer flowers. It had been some time since Jote allowed herself to be present in the moment. She scrubbed away at the fabrics and her default hypervigilant state slowly dissolved away. Her thoughts settled down as she recounted the day’s events. Naturally when she performed these menial tasks, she let her thoughts wander in an affectionate direction towards Joshua.

But her thoughts were interrupted from voices louder than usual from across the pond. She glanced up and beheld a most unexpected sight. A group of soldiers stood on the planks right across from her and were making inquiries of random villagers – Royalist soldiers. They slowly walked along, asking more people their questions.

Jote had already ceased her scrubbing and was looking straight at them, her figure perched low and still like a coeurl. She gave herself a few seconds to create her exit strategy to the meeting point where she would await Joshua.

One of the Royalist soldiers was clearly losing his patience at the timid or silent replies. He walked towards the entrance of the inn so that people inside and outside could hear him.

“We are losing our patience. Where are you hiding the Dominant of Fire? Tell us now!” he yelled, causing nearby villagers to flinch.

Jote’s eyes widened and she could feel the color drain from her face. She glanced up at the balconies and rooms above The Hanged Man in anxiety and prayed that Joshua had witnessed the Royalists’ approach from his vantage point before she had. She cursed her foolishness - the sounds around her, her exhaustion, and her own thoughts dulled her senses and distracted her from perceiving their quiet arrival.

“We don’t know of any Dominant of Fire,” one of the villagers answered in an exasperated voice.

“You dare speak to me? Fucking Bearer!” The Royalist soldier struck the man across the face which elicited gasps from the villagers. Chaos was brewing fast.

Jote needed to take her leave. Now.

But it was imperative that she present herself as composed as possible. Running fast would only catch the attention of the Royalists on the other side. Drying her wet hands on her cloak and donning her leather gloves, she swept up the remaining dry articles and left the wet ones in the bucket. She planned to use them as a ruse in case she was stopped. Despite the crashes of objects and crates slamming to the ground accompanied by panicked screams on the other side of the pond, Jote rose up as casually as she could and began taking wide strides across the planks. She headed towards the stone staircases that would lead her to the northeastern path towards The Weeping Rent.

As she approached to take the first stair, she immediately pulled herself underneath the bridge nearby and pressed herself against the wall. She was surprised to see that a legion of Royalists had entered from the other side of Lostwing and were marching on the bridge above her. She waited until they passed to prevent herself from intercepting their path. Hearing the clunking of their armor, Jote was perplexed why these soldiers were no longer afraid to keep their presence noiseless.

By the Flames! They must have already set up blockades around the village!

Jote’s pulse quickened but she forced herself to take a deep breath to clear her mind and focus. Now was not the time to panic as she had a duty to uphold. She was a Knight and she needed to reach Joshua at the The Weeping Rent and flee with him all without a single eye to notice them. She focused on the present moment down to the current second in order to reach the safety point. Every moment of time was crucial to her successful escape.

Once the last Royalist passed by on the bridge overhead, Jote swiftly climbed the stone staircases and turned past the church entrance. She headed straight for the triangular exit and hoped that no Royalists had thought to station themselves in front of an exit already blocked with boulders. It appeared the coast was clear and so she quickened her pace towards it. She gripped the clothing in her arms as she walked briskly but her heart plummeted as she noticed a couple of Royalists stationed near the Chocobo pen.

Refusing to give herself away that she was changing direction, Jote kept her head down and veered away from them and headed towards the residences.

“Where do you think you’re going, bonnie lass?”

She halted and turned slightly towards the two soldiers as they sauntered over towards her. Barely making eye contact, she tried to play the role of a demure and frightened woman but she was disappointed to hear that her voice came up strong and vexed instead.

“Back to my dwelling. My husband awaits me.”

It was certainly not the first time either Joshua or her lied about the nature of their relationship to outside parties as a protection measure. Jote's capacity for deception was limited; she could only conceal the truth for so long. In contrast, Joshua’s earlier upbringing in high society cultivated within him a talent for polished words and persuasion.

The Royalist soldier was holding a torch in his hand and waved it near her face. She refused to make eye contact. That would only challenge him further. She sensed that he was observing to see if she had the Bearer’s mark on her left cheek. Little did he know that she was an unmarked Bearer herself. Only a few times in her life did Jote feel terrified at the prospect of being detected. Her heart pounded at the thought of being discovered here. Her Undying brothers and sisters had reports on how exactly Waloeders treated their Bearers…it made the Bearer masters of Storm seem kind and compassionate in comparison.

“I’m sure your husband could spare you for a few moments. Tell me, would he happen to be concealing a Dominant of Fire within the residence?” pressed the Royalist.

“I do not know to what you are referring,” Jote answered in an even tone. She tried her best not to give away Joshua’s location with her eyes. There was a possibility he was located about twenty or so paces in front of where they stood.

She suddenly heard yelling behind her and turned her head towards the source of the shouts and found a group of Royalists roughly shoving Lostwing villagers towards the direction of the church - their hands were tied.

“There is no Dominant of Fire here!” cried out an desperate male Bearer.

“We don’t know what you’re talkin’ about! Let us free!” shrieked a blond female Bearer.

“SHUT UP!” screamed the Royalist solder as he kicked the captives along, eliciting cries of pain from them.

As the group veered towards the church, one of the soldiers broke away and walked towards Jote and her pestering Royalists. Based on his armor, he gave the impression of a higher-rank.

“Arrest everyone, even the non-Bearers. No one is talking so we’ll throw them all in the cellar until someone confesses.”

“Understood,” replied the torch-bearing Royalist next to Jote. With that, he roughly grabbed her upper arm and forced her to drop the articles of clothing.

“You’re coming with us.”

The Royalist kicked away the clothing pile she dropped into a nearby grassy area as he veered her away.

Jote let out a sound of indignation but realized now was not the time to fight back. Should she manage to successfully escape and flee, it would immediately give away Joshua’s location. If she chose to flee in another direction, she would run into other Royalists or dead ends based on her mental mapping of the village. Perhaps she would be able to escape later on when the opportunity presented itself. She let them push her in the direction of the church which was gradually being filled with groups of Bearers and now non-Bearers, forced to climb down the open trap door’s ladder into the cellar.

The priest stood in horror upon the sacred altar up ahead, eyes wide in disbelief.

“This is the hallowed domain of Greagor! You have no right to –”

“Unless you desire your tongue severed from your mouth, never to mention that whore’s name again, I suggest you keep silent, father,” a Royalist guard threatened.

The priest's complexion drained of all color and his body became rigid with terror. He pressed his lips tightly together, succumbing to a dreadful silence as he bore witness to the dreadful scene unfolding before him.

Some of the male villagers resisted and were met with blows to their faces or bodies. The Royalists threatened the Bearer women with assault should they try to make an escape. Their graphic word choice alone was enough to scare them into silence. A few children were weeping but were rebuked by Royalists. One man was taking too long to climb down the cellar ladder which resulted in a Royalist kicking him down. The poor man fell straight down the opening and his agonized scream resonated upwards.

“For fuck’s sake, man! Was that bloody necessary?” The rowdy tri-braided blond-haired man garbed in orange and gray from earlier was waiting his turn to climb down the ladder into the cellar. He stood and stared at the Royalist perpetrator with an almost comedic wide-eyed revulsion, his hands gesturing towards the trap door’s opening.

“MOVE!” bellowed the Royalist.

The resigned young man shook his head and expertly scaled down the ladder and, based on the conversations down below, seemed to be attempting to help the injured man up.

Only a few Bearers were left and it would soon be Jote’s turn to go down into the cellar. She calculated whether it was worth breaking away and fleeing fast enough to scale the rocks of the northeast exit without being seen when –

“WAIT! Is that not the description Lady Benedikta gave us for the Dominant’s wench?”

A Royalist scout had just entered the church gripping a Bearer and pointing a finger right at Jote.

A momentous silence settled over everyone in the church as some of the captured villagers stopped trying to writhe free.

The remaining Bearer victims fixed their intense stares upon her – looks of terror, confusion, and even anger and disgust.

In response, the Royalist holding her arm forcibly pivoted her around and seized her by the chin.

“You’re right! The same travel clothing…and the physique matches.”

Her self-possession splintered like lightening and her hand instinctively flicked to the dirk on her back as she jumped away and stepped into a readied stance. That move alone was confirmation of her identity. Unfortunately, her position was the furthest away from the church’s exit. She was cornered like a mouse and had no choice but to fight should they decide to attack. Mentally, she cursed herself for choosing not to wear a nondescript cloak like Joshua.

The weighty silence in the church precariously teetered on the edge of a knife. Then one of the high-ranking Royalists stepped forward in a calm manner.

“It appears she is not one to talk. The kind who will protect her master. Why don’t we give her a chance to escape so she can take us right to him? Let us enjoy a game of coeurl-and-mouse,” he suggested in an oily voice.

Jote felt her chest enflame with cold fury – they deemed her a fool. But even if she were to miraculously escape, she may accidentally lead them to Joshua. That momentary hesitation was enough to cost her greatly.

She felt a jolt of pain behind her, her dagger forcefully released and her small hands were promptly seized. When she glanced back, she was shocked to find the person restraining her was not a Royalist but a non-Bearer villager.

The high-ranking Royalist smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps not?”

He approached her with a strange set of handcuffs.

“Good work. You shall be paid handsomely,” the Royalist addressed the traitor behind her who was digging his large fingers painfully into her hands.

The Royalist stepped behind her and cuffed her wrists. Immediately, she felt energy sap away from her but she channeled her pained expression to make it seem as if it was the rough handling that was causing distress, not the handcuffs. The Undying had mentioned these types of restraints intricately forged from crystal to which only Bearers and Dominants reacted.

“Those fetters are a precaution in case you have some magic up your sleeve. You there –”

He pointed to a scout outside of the church. “Report to Commander Gerulf and Lady Benedikta immediately that we have captured the Dominant’s attendant.”

“Aye, sir!” The scout ran off quickly in the other direction.

The Royalist turned his head to address the soldiers in the church.

“Gather the Bearers for transport to Caer Norvent. We shall have the attendant follow behind the entourage as bait. Surely the Dominant will follow to retrieve his precious servant. I shall retain possession of her weapon for the time being.”

Jote's heart sank in despair as a rough hand pushed her down and her bottom slammed hard on the stone pew. The godsforsaken guard from earlier hovered over her and fixated his steely gaze on her face. She eventually cast her eyes upon the floor yet tried to keep her posture strong and unyielding. Mentally, she plummeted into a chasm of hopelessness. She had failed the confrontation miserably. Despite her capture, her instincts made her confident that Joshua had managed to escape. Hoping he was headed far away towards Tabor by now, she prayed that he would reach the Undying in safety and inform Cyril of her sacrifice for his sake.

Drilled into her since infancy, the Undying’s formality insisted that her mind conjure that scene. Yet the other part of her that had grown up alongside Joshua, learned more and more about him, and travelled with him whispered a contradiction.

He will never truly abandon you unless it be in eternal death.

Even then she held onto the steadfast belief that he, as the arbiter of life and death, would still find his way back to her.

~*~*~*~

Hearing the muffled chaos unfold from behind the large stones, Joshua remained immobile behind them, listening carefully as he impatiently awaited Jote’s arrival. There was yelling among the Royalists and the villagers though he could not discern the exact words that were exchanged with the exception of an earlier “Search the houses!” exclamation. Sounds of metallic armor clanked together as their owners ran close by Joshua’s hiding spot. Sounds of pillaging and raiding resounded throughout the village as crates and materials were splattered across the planks. Yet Joshua could not tell what else was happening beyond the cacophony.

As he kneeled near the stones blocking the triangular entrance into the village, Joshua kept his hearing attuned for the signature soft steps of his petite companion. Surely any moment she would deftly scale the rocks and her dark form would appear from the summit. He would reach out to her and lend a hand for assistance. First, he would confirm that she was good health and then they would devise a strategy to stop the Lostwing raid. His plan to abandon the village in hopes that the Royalists’ would find their search fruitless and move on had miserably failed. Joshua once again felt the familiar pang of shame that others were suffering because of him.

He raced through countless tactics to keep his mind occupied. Strategies to execute once Jote joined him. They only had the minimum essentials on them as the rest of their supplies were left behind at The Hanged Man. The optimal solution was if Jote and Joshua could form a course of action to liberate the villagers, assuming they were being held hostage, and deal anonymously with the Royalists. They could lead the Royalists away from Lostwing but keep themselves well-hidden.

If they were sighted, they would be forced to flee far away and hopefully arrive at Northreach within the late hour. They would find temporary safety there as surely the Royalists would not consider revealing their unexpected presence in a Sanbrequois town. If he and Jote could not reach the town, at the very least they could find shelter in a cave to hide from beasts of the night. The next morning, they would reconvene and decide if they should gather supplies, continue to Phoenix Gate, or delay their journey and head back to Tabor to consult with Cyril and the Undying.

Joshua was still reeling from the fact that spies from Waloed were looking for a Dominant of Fire. He had to abandon the village as soon as he had heard them but now, he unfortunately had time to ruminate about the consequences of his decision. He always attempted to keep his powers inconspicuous whether it was fighting beasts or healing injured people on the journey. But perhaps these rumors were not his doing – perhaps they were a culmination of contradictory reports…could these rumors pertain to Clive as well? Has he revealed his own Eikon’s powers separate from those of the Phoenix’s Blessing?

Joshua turned these thoughts over in his mind but he reached the final thread. Now his mind fixated on his attendant’s absence. Though Jote and Joshua have separated before, it was never like this. There was a dark tempest on the horizon – one that beheld a destructive cyclone within it threatening to force him and Jote apart. Time was slipping by far too quickly for comfort.

Where is she?

After some time, the shrieks from the villagers faded into complete silence. Joshua felt like he had been in hiding for an eternity and completely powerless yet he held onto high hopes that perhaps now Jote would emerge.

Perhaps she is waiting for the opportune moment to abandon her place of hiding to scale the rocks.

But seconds passed by and even the crickets and the creatures of the night seemed to hold their collective breath along with him. Doubt began seeping into his heart alongside its close companion – dread.

 Dread that the worst scenario had come to pass. His breathing become louder.

Jote was never this late.

A memory of her face flooded his mind, her captivating eyes framed by delicate lashes.

“If we are to ever part and I cannot reach you within our agreed time, please flee to Tabor, my lord.”

Since the day they crossed through the threshold of the Undying’s headquarters one summer ago, they shared a pact: if they were ever parted and unable to reunite, they would meet in Tabor.

But Joshua’s instincts demanded that he disregard that pact. Guilt and shame fully submerged him now and left him feeling like a coward. It was clear that these Royalists had intentions to raid and ransack the village from the start. While reuniting with Jote was shamefully Joshua’s ultimate priority, he felt compelled to help these innocent Lostwing Bearers and non-Bearers alike whom were suffering because of him.

Tabor, your Grace. Please…I beg of you. Go!

Jote’s pleading voice reminded him.

These were Royalists from the enigmatic Kingdom of Waloed, a place reported to treat their Bearers in the most unspeakable ways. They would take all the imprisoned Bearers with them. Jote was an unmarked Bearer. Should they ever discover her secret, they would take her to Ash with them…and the unimaginable things they would do to her there…

Joshua scaled up the rocks and peered over the top to search the scene.

The shadowy path leading to the residences and the main village lay bare before him with not a person in sight. The panicked yells from the villagers and the forceful shouts of the Royalists along with the crashing of objects had stopped some time ago except for the occasional yells in the distance. Waiting a few moments to confirm there was no sign of life around him, Joshua stepped over the rocks and climbed down quickly. He kept himself hidden in the edges of the rock walls as he swept past the Chocobo stand and around the corner, stopping every few steps to observe his surroundings.

Something on the other side of his path caught his eye. Joshua stopped briefly to glance from where he stood and immediately recognized the articles of clothing haphazardly tossed near the grassy area. Even in the subtle lighting, he could pinpoint Jote’s green handkerchief. She was so close to their meeting point but had somehow been prevented from continuing her path. Cold dread washed over Joshua and he felt his face paling.

Before he allowed himself to confirm the worst had happened to her, he heard distant shouts on the other side of where he stood. Joshua stopped at the corner heading towards the church and leaned forward to better hear the distinct Waloder accent.

“You there! The entrance has been barred. Stay in the village and keep your eyes open for the Dominant. He may still be here. The Bearers and the Dominant’s attendant are being transported to Caer Norvent.”

His breath caught in his chest and Joshua had to stop himself from running towards the source of the voices. His heart sank in horror as his worst fear was confirmed.

Founder, they have captured her.

He allowed himself only a few moments to feel the cold shock wash over him. His chest weighed down in pain and not from the typical ailments that possessed him. His gloved hands were gripped into tight fists. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes to clear his mind and slow down the hammering in his chest. His quickened heartbeat was not due to fear for himself but for the inevitable pain they would inflict on Jote all to trap him.

He had to ensure there was not a pair of eyes in sight to witness his presence. Each step forward had to be carefully measured. It made the most logical sense to follow the voices of the Royalists which sounded resonated from the village’s southeast exit. Crossing through the bridge in front of the church was the only way towards that path but it left him the most exposed. He needed to cross through swiftly and discreetly.

Rounding the corner as quietly as possible, Joshua walked swiftly to the church’s threshold, eyes darting around underneath the cowl. Tilting his hood towards the church’s threshold to glance inside, he found the trap door wide open and heard the noises of Royalists but none currently standing in the church. He was already on the other side as he snuck past and arrived at his next hiding point.

Seeing a pair of Royalists from a distance coming from the village exit, he hid further in the shadows of the small trees and bushes that lined the path. Their voices must have been the source of the talking earlier.

As they strolled by, one of the Royal guards spoke aloud to his companion.

“Villagers have either been captured or are in hiding. Our men are searching every corner now.”

“Has Commander Gerulf been informed of the capture of the Dominant’s attendant?”

“Aye, he has. Even if we don’t find him here, it’s only a matter of time before the Dominant shows up to claim his loyal dog.”

Both men snickered as they passed by Joshua’s place of hiding.

Their scornful laughter made Joshua’s black leathered hands form into tight fists again as he hid in the shadows watching them with a burning gaze.

So this is how they are playing the game…she is my bait, Joshua mentally snarled. This was not a situation where he could use Phoenix to assist him. He had to think twice before starting any fires as Jote was now strategically placed in the crossfire. This situation would require a more delicate approach.

Joshua glanced at the path up ahead as he crossed through the mass of darkened trees and surrounding foliage. He noted that the entrance had been completely barred with a mass of objects thrown hastily on each other until they reached the top of the closed log gate. Shattered wheelbarrows, crates, and tables assembled the barricade. Forcing himself to channel his adrenaline to focus, Joshua’s eyes scrutinized the area, identifying points of weakness. He refused to create a contingency plan that would further delay him from reaching Jote.

An impulse forced him to consider combustion of the gate yet logic insisted that he stop and reconsider the immediate attention he would inevitably draw to himself. He would not allow himself to be captured and kept away from Jote.

Like a hawk, his vision honed in on a gap between the wooden posts that formed the tall fence next to the barricaded door. His tall but slender frame could surely slip through if he pushed himself.

With a backwards glance to confirm the Royalists were far away, Joshua squeezed himself through the wooden posts. The dark path lay before him and, after a number of strides, he conjured a fire orb as he distanced himself further and further from Lostwing.

~*~*~*~*

It felt like leagues as Joshua slowly crept along the darkened forest path headed in the direction of the military fortress, his fire sphere floating ahead and partially lighting the way. He could hear the crunch of leaves and vegetation underneath his steps. His determination kept him sharp and focused on his mission, eyes intensely observing and ears keenly listening.

Initially, Joshua could not hear or see anyone up the path ahead for some time. Staying within the confines of the trees rather than the trail, Joshua briefly stopped at times to listen carefully for voices or footsteps other than his own. Though the route to Caer Norvent was lengthy, he knew if he took too long, they would already begin harming her for information about his identity and his whereabouts.

Jote would not dare yield a single piece of information and that was exactly why he was greatly concerned for her safety. A stellar example of the Undying’s caliber, she was incredibly devoted and extremely loyal - to a fault. At least in Joshua’s mind. Though he was sure Cyril would respectfully disagree with him.

Halting to a complete stop and ceasing his breath, Joshua finally heard shouts in the distance ahead. He could barely discern what was being said but could tell there was some inkling of a Waloed accent. He heard the sound of foliage being briskly brushed to the side as if someone was running only to discover it was himself as he ran quickly towards the source of the noises. The glowing sphere of fire slowly faded as he gained ground closer and closer.

He noticed torches heading down a sloped path next to the flowing river on the right. Joshua kept himself close to the shadows as he followed the group of what was now obviously Royalists. He had to keep his distance so they would not hear his approach. Fortunately, the silver moon softly illuminated the region with her radiant beams, providing visibility - her red companion ever by her side. Were it not for the current grim situation, it would have been a glorious summer evening.

There she is.

As if the clearing of the trees and the moonlight had generously permitted him a moment of respite. Flanked by guards, she was still much further up ahead but he could tell by the torchlight shining on her dark hair. Part of Joshua sighed in relief that she was within his sight and did not appear to be obviously injured.

Thank the Founder she appears to be in good health.

The other part of him was filled with anger as her current situation confirmed what the Royalist soldier had mentioned back in Lostwing. Her small entourage was kept apart from a much larger one ahead. She was indeed the bait - drawing him inevitably closer into the trap.

Caer Norvent loomed in the darkness like a foreboding ship emerging not from the sea but from land. The Royalists and their captives crossed the bridges leading into the River Gate entrance and Joshua made his way to a hiding area right by the bridge to observe. The Royalists had taken over the entire fortress from Sanbrequois soldiers.

Now that Joshua was finally lured right outside of the enemy’s trap, he evaluated his final options. Until he realized with a sinking feeling that there were absolutely no options. His thoughts were interrupted by a different pair of Royalists standing in the path between the two bridges, their voices uncharacteristically loud.

“Sire! The Bearers and the Dominant’s attendant have been taken inside,” reported one of the guards.

“Good…we shall wait to see if the Dominant will grace us with his presence,” the higher-ranking guard who had recently arrived to the scene replied in a sardonic manner.

Hearing that solidified Joshua’s resolve. The sole path to reaching Jote was to willingly subject himself to imprisonment. He was not arrogant enough to think that he could sneak into the complex and massive fortress that was Caer Norvent - one that was unfamiliar to him - find Jote, release her from prison, find and release the Bearers, and successfully escape all without being seen by the numerous Royalists.

No, your Grace! There is another way. Escape from this place and save yourself, I beg of you!

He felt her grab his wrist with both of her delicate hands, the panic in her voice evident. She was ever at his side even within his imagination. Now that there was a chasm between them, he painfully felt the void left by her absence.

Yet, resolutely, he kept his gaze fixed on the castle, steadfast in his determination to cross that divide and reach her.

For what? So that I can return to Tabor and demand that Cyril assemble the Undying combatants to rescue you - only to be told that I should accept your sacrifice as proof of your faith?

Even if he commanded the Undying by stolas to deploy their assassins to rescue Jote, she’d either be dead or taken far away to Ash alongside other helpless Bearers by the time they’d reach this place.

With that final thought, Joshua cast a glance beside him only to find her absent once again. He stood tall and proceeded onto the bridge with purpose.

~*~*~*

With every heavy step upon the stone bridges, it dawned on Joshua that the last time he was truly in peril was Phoenix Gate. Yet he was infused with strength to confront the future, knowing that others were in danger because of him, especially the woman he cherished so deeply. Surprisingly the group of Royalists guarding the entrance had their backs turned to him, engaged in their own conversations. But eventually Joshua made himself visible and stopped at a distance until one of the guards pointed straight at him. They all turned to face him and Joshua could practically see the whites of their eyes even through their helmets.

Only ten paces away.

There was a moment where they all froze and regarded each other in silence. A gust blew by and fluttered Joshua’s robes and the hood in an almost threatening fashion.

To affirm his identity before the baffled Royalists, he held out his hand to the side and a sizeable flame burst above it. The sound of the ignition reverberated around them.

“It’s the Dominant of Fire! SEIZE HIM!”

Several of the Royalists ran forward and it seemed as if they were heading towards him in slow motion. The sheer overconfidence in these men – as if they assumed that he would refrain from summoning walls of fire to burn them and the castle to ash. Perhaps they were somehow informed that Jote was his weakness…the thought brought a chill over him.

Within moments, his arms were grasped painfully and he was flanked by guards. Yet he did not resist. He was jostled towards the entrance of the castle but before he could gain his bearings, his wrists felt as if hundreds of cactuar needles had simultaneously lodged themselves into his skin. The initial feeling ceased the breath in his lungs yet the potential mercy of relief was taken away as he felt himself drained of life essence. It felt like blood was quickly spilling from a fatal wound. Thank the Founder his face was concealed within his hood to mask his pained expression. He mentally fought any display of weakness but the slight hiss of pain escaped from him and his posture was slightly bent forward.

The Royalist who had placed the cuffs on his wrists emitted a scornful chortle.

“He’s a Dominant all right! The crystal fetters did a number on him. Make haste back to the Lostwing campground and inform Lady Benedikta directly that we have captured the Dominant.”

“Yes, sir!”

Joshua heard the sound of armor clanking behind him as the Royalist scout ran off onto the bridge behind them.

The procession enveloped Joshua as he was escorted, propelled forward by numerous hands through the entrance. He silently prayed that this moment wouldn't mark his final departure from the open air. Rather, he hoped that the next time he crossed this threshold, it would be with Jote beside him, escaping to freedom unscathed.

~*~*~*~*

Sitting on the hardened stone surface of the floor that she was shoved upon some moments before, Jote wondered why they had not allowed her to sit upon the crate. The damp air of the prison with its sconces fixed upon the walls and the Royalist standing guard on the other side of the room already felt stifling. Somehow with a sinking feeling, she knew why she was kept on the floor like an animal. They were expecting to place the Dominant of Fire upon that crate next to her like a treasure on a pedestal.

She prayed once again that he had fled to safety and was far away from the chaos. Throughout the long and dark trek from Lostwing to Caer Norvent, she noticed that the procession around her kept itself behind the Bearer entourage. Her heart ached when some of the Bearers were met with additional blows to the head and expletives from the Royalist guards even though they were being obedient. Her personal Royalist guards prodded her forward and seemed to be listening to the woods around them.

Surely, they were not expecting Joshua to appear in their midst. He had surely escaped far, far away.

He did not.

She ignored the inner voice that quietly addressed her reflections. Joshua needed to put his duty as the Phoenix ahead and save himself.

He is coming to take you back with him.

No, she was not a damsel. She was his retainer and his shield. He, her master. It was of the utmost importance that he prioritized himself. Since she proved herself too weak to avoid capture, the Keeper of the Phoenix Flame certainly warranted and deserved a more capable guardian to replace her.

Now she was mentally steeling herself for questioning and for impending torture. And now was the time to call upon all her years of training with the Undying assassins. She would rather die than reveal Joshua’s identity. If that was the last duty she could offer him, so be it.

The voice within offered its rebuttal.

Are you sure he would allow that to happen? You know him better than anyone–

The door scraped open with a jarring noise as it turned upon its hinges.

A Royalist guard strode inside with –

No….NO!

Jote shrieked in her head and the blood drained from her face. With anguish, she flicked her head away from the all-too-familiar hooded figure and looked straight ahead at the wall before her. She knew they were being watched and she could not already reveal more information than necessary.

She knew he had already perceived her expression beneath the shadow of his cowl. The guard escorted Joshua to the crate and pushed him down upon it roughly. The Royalist walked away and told the guard to expect Lady Benedikta’s arrival before the end of the night.

Jote’s upper back felt pressure by a comforting presence. Joshua had slightly moved himself towards her and the side of his leg was firmly touching her. Like he desired to comfort and support her. Let her know she was not alone.

Why did she have the strong feeling that he had turned himself in? Afterall, he was a Dominant and could easily escape if he truly wished. Yet she did not need that internal voice to confirm the obvious.

Conflicting feelings spun in her heart – relief that he was alive and well, exasperation of why he turned himself in, and…a tender emotion that she begged not to reveal itself in that moment.

Any vulnerability would get them exposed and killed.

Now was the time to mentally prepare herself as the Phoenix’s shield.

Tonight, she would show Joshua and the soldiers of Waloed what it truly meant to be a Knight of the Undying.

Chapter Text

White-hot heat seared through his chest but Joshua refused to slow down the pace of his running. Jote was swiftly running as well, ever by his side. Sheer adrenaline was the only force that kept his intense sleep deprivation at bay as he and Jote fled from the Royalist guards chasing them.

They had not slept for two nights.

Two nights.

For over twenty-four hours, they had endured imprisonment in the hell that was Caer Norvent. The traumatic events that unfolded during their captivity stretched out before them as they ran through the grass fields.

The mind games, Jote’s excruciating torture, the sheer number of disturbing injuries inflicted upon her to manipulate him, the anguish of hearing her screams from the other room, the absolute hatred he felt towards the Warden of the Wind, Benedikta Harman. Once he was freed from the crystal fetters and then found Jote to heal her, he witnessed much she had suffered on his behalf by the sheer amount of healing it took to bring her back to her normal state.

Although Joshua healed all of Jote’s egregious wounds, he knew that she would always carry that memory underneath her skin until her dying day. That thought alone made him wish he could burn down the entire fortress if he had the luxury of time. Thankfully, he felt Benedikta’s powers disappear from her which implied her probable demise – a debt of gratitude he would one day owe to Cidolfus Telamon.

When he requested Jote to create a distraction to release the Bearers, he knew that Jote had used a bit of her efforts as an unbranded fire Bearer to snap her fingers and ignite crates of gunpowder to explode. The resulting flames that burned parts of the castle were good enough for Joshua.

Despite the fact that a separate unknown commotion had set the Royalists into a frenzy, a few straggler guards had spotted them as they fled from the castle.

Joshua and Jote fled in the direction of Rosaria because fleeing to Tabor would only bring the Royalists closer to their hideout. And yet how much longer would they have to run before the Royalists gave up or lost them?

The answer came to Joshua immediately as soon as Jote let out a cry of pain.

One of the Royalists had thrown a dart knife and it had grazed Jote’s upper arm.

Enough.

With that thought, the rage consumed Joshua and burst forth in the form of flaming columns and explosions as he ceased his running and turned around to direct them at the guards. This was the first time since Phoenix Gate that he had unleashed catastrophic flames with lethal intent.

The Royalists screamed in agony as they keeled over, their bodies charred and turning into ash, much like the guards that were burned away in a fiery inferno at the Caer when Joshua had stepped out of his prison cell.

Though he rarely used his Eikon’s gifts to kill and destroy, he did it for the woman that protected him and suffered tremendously for him.

It was retribution.

Though she was his shield, he swore he'd sooner face damnation than allow any further harm to befall her. In the past day and night, she had suffered enough in the name of the Phoenix. This moment solidified into a crystallized vow within Joshua’s heart. He would protect her in any way he could - even if that meant pulling himself away from her.

~*~*~*~*

Beyond the rocks bordering the meadows, the blond-haired young man with the orange and ashen garbs stayed hidden out of sight as he spied upon the scene with wonderous eyes.

Gav could feel the heat of the flames all the way from his hiding spot. Spewing great bouts of fire like a volcano, the Dominant of Fire stretched out his hand and annihilated the Royalists before him, his petite retainer standing by his side, gripping her arm and attempting to catch her breathing.

There was a silence as the flames ceased and all that was left was smoky entrails. The Dominant placed his outstretched hand back to his side and turned towards his retainer.

Gav immediately hid behind the rocks so that the Dominant would not sense his presence and direct his holy flames of hell right at him.

“Holy fuck! That’s the Dominant of Fire all right! Better haul ass and tell Cid and Clive about this.”

He listened carefully to make sure there were no other sounds. The morning birds timidly resumed their melodies. Gav’s eyes peered above the rock, revealing only the early morning sunrays illuminating the blackened field. The charred remains of the Royalists lay scattered about while the hooded man and his green-clad retainer vanished without a trace.