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Chapter Text

Preface

Ivalice.
This world is blanketed in an energy known as myst, upon which the workings of both magic and technology rely. Magic channels myst naturally, while technology manages it artificially. These two forces support the livelihood of all who inhabit Ivalice. Magic relies upon the inborn ability of its user, while technology uses other catalysts to focus myst into usable energy. The most widely used myst catalyst is magicite, a mineral formed from condensing myst. These stones contain a spark of life, though this is unknown to most. Magicite powers lights, weapons, and any form of machinery. When crafted into a special form called a skystone, magicite even powers mighty airships that fly through the sky. Myst, magic, and magicite- all the people of Ivalice rely on these three things.
The people of Ivalice come from seven different races: Humans, Bangaa, Seeqs, Moogles, Viera, Garif, and Nu Mou. Humans are a familiar race, and they are the most abundant and prosperous of the seven races, holding general dominance over the others. The Bangaa are like large lizards, with floppy ears and long tails, while the Seeq are porcine in nature, known for their great strength and minimal intelligence. The Moogles are small, furry people, rabbit-like in their appearance. They have small wings, though few can use them to fly. Moogles are renowned for their dexterity and often work as mechanics or artists. The Nu Mou are small and hairy, and they live far longer than most other races. They are a rare species now, and even rarer in large cities.
The Viera and the Garif live separated from society. While the other five races share the same history and mix amongst the nations, the Viera and the Garif have their own unique culture. The Viera live deep in the forests of Ivalice and have long, rabbit-like ears. They shun communication with the outside world, and those who choose the leave their homes are considered outcasts. The Viera are known for having a deep connection to myst and can use powerful magical spells. The Garif are few in number and live only in the land of Jahara. They wear masks made for them at birth and never remove them, so their appearance is a mystery. The Garif keep to themselves, though they do not consider communication with other races a crime as the Viera do.
The two largest nations on Ivalice are Archadia and Rozarria, and over time they have annexed many of the smaller nations. As these two great empires grow, they vie for power and territory. For now, the two smaller kingdoms of Dalmasca and Nabradia stand between them, but who knows how long the unstable peace will last before war erupts…?

Chapter Text

Part One: The Prelude
Chapter One

The imperial capital, Archades
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Lightning cracked across the black sky, rending the blanket of storm clouds. The flash of light flared through the windowpane, lighting the dark hallways of Draklor Laboratories. A boy in his nightclothes, elbows leaning on the windowsill, couldn’t help but grin.
Ffamran counted the seconds until the rumble of thunder came, calculating that the lightning wasn’t very far away. This night was dark and stormy, and the twelve-year-old boy couldn’t sleep. Who would want to, when the sky was alive and furious? The view from his bedroom just wasn’t sufficient to watch this magnificent storm.
Ffamran knew if his father found out he was out in the laboratory at night, he’d be in trouble, but Ffamran had no fear of getting caught. Imperial knights were stationed through the hallways at night, but Ffamran had long since memorized their positions, and was confident in his ability to avoid them. Draklor was always well-guarded, being a governmental lab. The single most prestigious and respected experimental weapons lab in the Archadian Empire, Ffamran reminded himself, the collection of the greatest minds in the Archadia. His father, Doctor Cidolfus Bunansa, known by the Draklor staff as Dr. Cid, was the director of the entire establishment. An eccentric old man, many said, but a brilliant man. Ffamran and his father lived on the top floor of the Draklor building, and the laboratory was Ffamran’s whole world. He was very proud to think that he was already an integral part of the staff, showing the intelligence his noble family was renowned for. Dr. Cid’s father had been the director of Draklor before him, Ffamran knew, and he expected one day he’d take over.
Sighing, Ffamran leaned against the windowsill, imagining he was in some forest far away, sheltering for the night while the rain dripped off the leaves around him. Yes, he loved Draklor, and Draklor was home, but sometimes he felt that twelve whole years was far too long to stay in any one city. Archades was the grand capital of the Archadian Empire, a city of splendor; off in the distance rose the spire of the massive imperial palace, where Emperor Gramis lived, washed with rain and lit by lightning’s fury. Even if he was proud to call it home, Ffamran couldn’t quench the longing to see, really see what else was out there, beyond the sprawl of Archades.
Another blade of lightning pierced the clouds, its crash splitting the air. As the light died, a flicker of movement caught the edge of Ffamran’s vision.
He jerked back from the window, warily scanning the hall. His eyes went wide; just creeping around the corner, back against the wall, a bald man in black scowled down the hall he’d just come from, muttering under his breath. Ffamran stood with a jerk.
“Hey!” Ffamran called, and the man spun in alarm. “Who are you? What are you doing?”
The intruder’s eyes narrowed, and he heaved a sigh. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He marched closer, looming threateningly. “So, kid, if I let you go, you’ll go fetch the guards, right?” he growled.
No one should be here now but armored guards. This man was hardly denying that. Ffamran’s brain spun in sudden panic.
“Well, this... This is a governmental research lab! You can’t just break in here!” Ffamran fought to organize his thoughts. Who would want to break in? A Rozarrian sympathizer? Foreign spy?
“Then look, I can’t have you telling on me, kid. So, apologies, but…” The man pulled a short sword from its sheath at his side and marched towards Ffamran. Ffamran backed against the wall, his thoughts all in a jumble. He needed the guards here, now, but how? He could run, but he was sure this man was faster than him.
Ffamran’s panicked thoughts were shattered as the intruder swung his sword. Ffamran dodged away, and the sword hit the wall with a dull thud.  
“Hold still!” The man hissed, spinning around to face Ffamran. “The more you move, the more this will hurt!”
The man swung his sword, and Ffamran bent to avoid decapitation. Ffamran ducked under the intruder’s arm and grabbed his wrist. He twisted it, and the sword clattered to the ground. Yes!
Ffamran dove for the fallen weapon, closing his hands around the hilt just as the intruder grabbed the back of his shirt collar. The man jerked him back to his feet, and Ffamran swung the sword around, catching the man’s arm. He released Ffamran with a muttered curse. Moving and thinking fast, Ffamran swung one leg out, sweeping the man’s feet out from under him. He tumbled to the ground, and Ffamran rushed to hold the sword over his neck.
“Don’t move! Or I’ll… I’ll… Just don’t move!” Ffamran struggled to keep his breathing calm and his hands steady.
“You’ll do what?” The intruder looked up at Ffamran with narrowed eyes. “You’ll kill me?” He broke off with barking laughter, and Ffamran felt his shaky grip on the weapon slipping.
The intruder stood and wrenched the blade from Ffamran’s hands. He brought it around, swinging down for a crushing overhead strike. Ffamran crossed his arms over his head, though he knew that wouldn’t provide nearly enough protection. It was all over…
Thump-thump. Ffamran felt something, a warm trickle awakening in his chest. A rush of energy surged through his arms, and he recognized it instantly. That energy… he’d felt it before. The blast of power sent Ffamran flying backward, white light burning his eyes. Ffamran crashed into the wall behind him, the force driving all the air from his lungs. His vison blurred, and his chest felt tight. Energy like static burned through his body, sapping away his strength and breath…
The lights snapped on, stinging Ffamran’s watering eyes. A division of guards rushed into the hallway, their clinking with every step. Then Ffamran saw the intruder…
He was slumped back against the opposite wall, which had crumbled from the force of the impact. Blood ran down the man’s shoulders from the back of his head, and Ffamran couldn’t see him breathing. That sucked the breath out of him far more than the aftershock of his powers.
“Ffamran!” one of the guards shouted, kneeling beside him. Most of the staff knew the director’s son. “Are you alright? What on Ivalice happened in here?”
Ffamran could barely get in enough air to breath. After a few moments, he managed to gasp out a horrified question.
“Is he… dead?”
The guard glanced back at the slumped body of the intruder, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I think so,” he replied. “Ffamran, what happened?”
Ffamran tried to talk, but he couldn’t. That rippling static that clogged up his lungs grew thicker, and the horror of what had happened threated to overwhelm him. He’s dead… I killed him…
And then the world spun, and faded away, and everything went black.

Each breath brought fresh pain. Ffamran’s chest squeezed on his lungs, like it was determined not to let him breathe. His head swam, and for a few moments he couldn’t tell which way was up. Ffamran recognized the soft covers around him, the mattress underneath. He forced his eyes open; he lay in his bed, in his bedroom. Morning light fell gently through the window, sliding over the bed and over the floor. Ffamran turned his head, painfully. His father paced beside the bed, hands folded behind him, brow furrowed in worry. Ffamran sat up, holding a hand to his pounding forehead.
“Father? What happened?”
“Ffamran!” Dr. Cid spun around, relief flooding his face. He dropped to kneel beside the bed, gathering his son in his arms. Ffamran cringed a moment, then allowed himself to find relief in his father’s embrace. The memories of the previous night came flooding back: the storm, the intruder, and Ffamran’s powers…
“Are you alright?” Dr. Cid asked. He pulled back, still holding Ffamran’s shoulders. Ffamran nodded. His throat felt as tight as everything else, and speaking was difficult. He wondered why his powers had hurt him so much, and then he remembered… They’d hurt that thief a lot more.
“Th-That man… is he dead?” Ffamran asked.
“Yes, the man who broke in last night was dead when the guards found him,” Dr. Cid replied. “What about you? Ffamran, are you alright? What happened?”
“He’s… dead?” Ffamran echoed, hardly hearing his father’s questions. “I… I didn’t mean to!” Ffamran blurted out. “I don’t know what happened!” The memory shook him; the power waking, hot fire surging out… “It just… just happened. I… I’m sorry!”
Dr. Cid squeezed Ffamran’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Ffamran. It was an accident.”
“But I… wait…” Ffamran trailed off. His father was talking like he knew. That couldn’t be…
“Ffamran, I know.” Ffamran froze at his father’s words, instinctively shrinking away from him.
“But… how? I tried so hard to hide it.”
“I’m your father,” Dr. Cid said, staring into Ffamran’s eyes until he looked away. “It would be hard for me not to notice.”
Ffamran fumbled for what to say. His father knew about his… abilities? Ffamran had always known he was different. He could make that white, hot light, though it never seemed to do exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t magic; Ffamran had studied magic his whole life, and that wasn’t it. Magic wasn’t that wild, that hard to control. Magic flowed from a predictable source, from channeling myst. This power woke when it wanted, its heat pouring from deep inside.
And that thief… It had been an accident. Ffamran hadn’t tried at all; his power had been the farthest thing from his thoughts, yet it woke all on its own. The thought that Ffamran could kill someone by accident terrified him. What if I hurt someone I care about?
“Do you feel alright?” Dr. Cid asked, finally breaking the silence.
“I think so.” Ffamran didn’t meet his father’s gaze. “I’m just… tired.”
Dr. Cid nodded. “You rest.”
He stood up from the bed and, after lingering a few moments, walked over to the door. Ffamran, exhausted both physically and emotionally, crashed back into his bed and closed his eyes.

A little later, Ffamran crawled out of his bed and left his room. He was surprised to find his father waiting outside. Dr. Cid usually had his hands full handling Draklor Laboratories. If he’d abandoned that duty to wait for Ffamran, he must’ve been very worried indeed.
“Are you feeling better, Ffamran?” Dr. Cid asked.
Ffamran just nodded.
“Then, I have something for you.” Dr. Cid held out something small and long, silver, made of metal. Frowning, Ffamran took it and examined the object; a wrench, the words Ffamran Bunansa emblazoned along its length. Ffamran stared at it, brow furrowed in confusion.
“Now, there’s a story that goes along with that wrench,” Dr. Cid said, setting a hand on Ffamran’s shoulder. “It may look like an ordinary tool, but that thing has been passed down in our family for as long as anyone cares to remember. That name written on it, too, has been passed down through our family for centuries.”
Ffamran looked up at his father, frowning. “Father, Ffamran isn’t your name.”
Dr. Cid let out a short sigh. “No. You see, I had an older brother, and his name was Ffamran. But he died when he was very young. It was left to me to carry on our proud line.” Dr. Cid shook his head, sighing again. “But you, Ffamran, have inherited a very special name, and that wrench comes along with it.”
“So, you mean this thing is hundreds of years old?” Ffamran asked, suddenly growing excited. He scrutinized the wrench in his hand. “But there’s no rust on it or anything! How is that?”
“Well, we Bunansas have taken good care of it over the years. That’s your duty now, Ffamran.” Dr. Cid’s voice grew more serious. “You know, they say the intelligence of our family is passed down with that wrench. But there’s more. My father told me about… powers, as well.”
Ffamran snapped his gaze up to meet his father’s. “You mean… like mine?”
Dr. Cid nodded. “My father never talked much about it, but I wondered. Since I never experienced any sort of… abilities, I thought it must have been just a story. But now…”
Ffamran nodded. “So you think it’s… hereditary?” he said. “Is that what he said?”
“I never listened much,” Dr. Cid said with a shrug. “But from what I know… I believe so.”
Ffamran nodded again.
“You have to promise me you’ll take care of that, Ffamran,” Dr. Cid said, nodding to the small wrench in Ffamran’s hand. “It’s more than just an old piece of metal. It’s your name, it’s our family, and it’s your heritage… whatever that means. Promise me you’ll pass it on to the next Ffamran Bunansa when the time comes?”
Ffamran looked down at the wrench. Your heritage… whatever that means…
Ffamran closed his hand around the precious treasure his father had entrusted to him.
“I promise, Father! You have my word.”

Ffamran awoke, letting out a groan. Sunlight fell through the window into his bedroom, proclaiming that the new day had begun.
Ffamran hated that dream. Living that scene once had been bad enough; he didn’t need to keep reliving it in his dreams. Eight years had passed since that night, still the memory was as vivid as ever.
Ffamran climbed out of bed and hurried to dress and prepare for the day. He ended the routine in front of the mirror, scowling at the sharp-chiseled features that stared back at him.
This room was one of only two on a second-floor apartment; a little place, but it suited Ffamran’s needs fine. It wasn’t Draklor, and it was away from his father.
Eight years was a long time. A lot had changed.
About four years after that nightmarish night, Dr. Cid started changing. He mumbled constantly to people who weren’t there, feverishly addressing some “Enyah.” Or was it “Venat?” Ffamran never cared to remember. Cid became obsessed with a new research specimen brought back around that same time, a stone he called “nethicite.” The nethicite resembled magicite, but held many strange powers. Even weirder, whenever he was around it, it sent a strange tingling through the back of Ffamran’s head, an odd throbbing he knew no one else could feel. That the stone reacted so weirdly with his powers disturbed Ffamran nearly as much as his father’s odd behavior.
As for his powers, after that night, Ffamran had determined to shut them out. He never used them, and the longer he suppressed that white heat, the more it faded. Now, Ffamran didn’t have to think about holding it in. Like muscle neglected, those powers shriveled up and disappeared.
There was one aspect he still used. Skystones, the magicite cores that powered airships, had a kind of intelligence. Their personalities were all very similar, and none of them were very smart, but they were alive. They didn’t have free will enough to control the actions of their shells, but they could listen. And Ffamran could communicate with them. He could reach out with his mind and talk with airships in the same way they talked with each other. They were hardly people, all with the same voice and same dull outlook, but they often knew almost anything you could think to ask. Whatever someone said inside an aerodrome was soon known by almost every airship in the city, and Ffamran could easily find out. The only reason Ffamran hadn’t sealed away this talent along with the others was because airships were a readily available source of knowledge, and it would have been horribly inefficient to let that go to waste.

After four more years of nethicite at Draklor and his father’s degrading sanity, Ffamran found he could stand it no longer. He left Draklor and moved out. Ironic that he’d done the one thing his father had been urging him to do for months: join the Judges.
The Judges were a board of highly skilled tacticians and soldiers that served as the elite guard of the ruling house Solidor and overseers of the empire’s vast collection of knights. One or two commanded the knights in other large cities, about a dozen worked in Archades, and five of those formed the board of Emperor Gramis Solidor’s personal guard. About a month earlier, Ffamran, along with three others, were welcomed as the Judge’s newest apprentices by the rather ill-tempered Judge Gabranth, a member of that respected council currently in charge of initiating the new recruits. An old acquaintance of Ffamran’s, named Ross, also joined the Judges around that time. Part of him was glad to have someone he knew around.
The day before, Judge Gabranth had informed Ffamran that the Judges had finally selected a mentor for him. Honestly, they should have made that decision long ago. Ffamran had heard the rumor was that no one would volunteer because he had such a reputation for being reckless and unteachable. Preposterous, of course, Ffamran thought. Due to his combination of wit and familial connection, he felt confident his internship would last only a short time.
Completing his change in life, Ffamran had recently gotten engaged.
Reina. That thought banished the foul mood brought on by his reoccurring dream/memory, changing his scowl to a smile. Ffamran had known Reina all through school, and she worked at Draklor. Though her older sister was always a hassle, the thought of marrying Reina and starting his own life, separate from his father and the insanity that now surround all that, set a shiver of excitement through Ffamran. Two more weeks until their wedding, and then everything would be perfect.
Dressed in the black metal armor customary of the Judges, Ffamran left his apartment. Today, he did have to go to Draklor. They had scheduled some top-secret experiment, ranked class five. By law, they were required to have some high-ranking government official, like a Judge, present. Ffamran’s new mentor was assigned to that mission, Judge Gabranth had told him the day before, and Ffamran was to meet him at Draklor and accompany the experiment with him. He didn’t even know what the man’s name was, but it excited him to finally be starting his apprenticeship.
A new mentor, new job, upcoming marriage- Yes, Ffamran thought. His life was finally starting.

…

The sun was bright that morning, golden light falling over the rooftops of Archades. Serah had seen many mornings like this one; she didn’t really see the appeal of staring at the horizon, but she knew her little sister would be raving about it. And she was probably already awake by now.
Serah threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, hurrying to get changed. She tugged a brush through her hair a few times, then decided it was pointless to try and get all the tangles out. The stuff was sun-bleached blond, curly like springs, and a lost cause when it came to neatness. Serah tied it back in a lop-sided ponytail and called it good. She only had so much time before she left for work, and she didn’t want to waste it.
For eight years, since her parents died, Serah and her little sister, Reina, had worked at Draklor Laboratories. Back then Reina had only twelve, and Serah sixteen. Technically it was illegal for kids like that to work in a government lab, but Serah sure hadn’t minded. Her and Reina had both been prodigies when it came to science, and the director, Dr. Cid, had been willing to pay them for their services as long as they made a contribution. It was that or go to an orphanage, and Serah would have fought tooth and nail to keep her and her little sister out of that place.
Serah straightened out her dull grey Draklor uniform and pulled on a pair of high heels before leaving her room. She was already six foot one, but the extra inch made her more intimidating. Serah knew she had quite the capacity to scare people if she wanted to, and she liked that.
Serah and Reina’s house was a tiny apartment with only two bedrooms and a joint living room and kitchen. That was alright; they hardly spent any time there anyway. In the living room-dash-kitchen, Reina was already preparing breakfast. In a way, Reina was everything Serah knew she could never be. Reina was kind, selfless, innocent, sweet, and though she never came off that way, stubborn and spunky. Yes, Reina acted like a perfect lady most of the time, but she could be as stubborn as a mule when it suited her. Serah had done all she could to protect Reina since their parents died, and she was satisfied with her performance. Soon, she wouldn’t have a chance to anymore.
Reina was about to get married. Serah was happy for her; it meant she’d done her job, that Reina had grown up properly and was about to start a nice, normal life. Serah was happy for her, but she wished she could have fallen in love with someone else.
The man Reina was engaged to was Ffamran, the son of Draklor’s director Dr. Cid and a newly appointed Judge. Serah and Reina had known him all through school, and he’d always been around at Draklor. Ffamran, well… he wasn’t Serah’s favorite person. He was a stubborn, cocky, pompous kid who talked way too fancily, but Serah knew he wasn’t a bad person. Reina loved him, Ffamran loved her- Serah knew that was good enough, and she had to accept it. She would see Reina through to a happy, successful life, even if she did marry a guy who Serah couldn’t stand.
“Good morning, Reina!” Serah called out. Reina looked up as she set plates on the table.
“Oh! Good morning, Serah.” A smile spread over Reina’s face, that bright, innocent smile lighting up her green eyes that surely must have caught Ffamran’s attention. Serah smiled back; she knew her own grin was less a charming smile and more of a toothy smirk, but Serah didn’t envy Reina’s romantic statis.
“Eat quickly or we’re gonna be late,” Serah said, plopping down in the seat across from Reina. Reina obediently sat down and started eating. Serah wolfed down her own portion and finished before Reina.
“Reina, I’m gonna be going on that class five they’re having today, you know,” Serah said once she finished.
Reina nodded. “And you want me to be careful while you’re gone, right?” she asked after swallowing.
“Yep,” Serah said, grinning. Reina had lived with her long enough to know the drill. Serah just hoped she really would be careful. Serah knew her sister; if she got her mind set on something and no one was there to stop her, Reina could get into all kinds of trouble.
“Ffamran’s coming as one of the Judges accompanying that experiment. You know that, right?” Reina said. Serah could see the hidden plea in her eyes; Please, get along, okay?
“Don’t worry, Reina,” Serah said with a sigh. “I won’t kill your fiancé.”
Reina sighed, then stood and gathered the dirty dishes, setting them in the sink.
“Ready to go?” Serah asked, standing out of her chair.
Reina nodded. “Ready!”
The two sisters started out the door into the streets of Archades.

…

“We had a deal, Dr. Holdre,” Judge Zargabaath’s voice echoed inside his full body armer and horned helmet. The Judge was dressed in his full, formal uniform, and Dr. Holdre was certain it was designed to scare him. But he didn’t scare that easily.
“We do have a deal,” Dr. Holdre replied calmly. “The Archadian government has funded our experiments, and we will provide you with the results. But, according to the terms of our agreement, we still have a month to complete our research. I will have you know, Judge Zargabaath, that YPA is private laboratory, and you have no right to change the terms of our agreement.”
“From what I’ve heard, you’ve completed the necessary testing,” Zargabaath said. “So, I don’t see why you can’t hand over the craft now.”
“And why do you need it so soon?” Dr. Holdre struggled to keep his calm. “It’s just a fighter craft. I don’t see why you need it so badly now.”
“We both know this is no small matter,” Zargabaath shot back. “To my understanding, this fighter is equipped with new, specially designed weapons and has a unique power source. It’s supposed to be a controversial weapon. What I don’t understand is why you won’t give it to us per our agreement if it’s completed. What use is a fighter craft to a scientist like you?”
Dr. Holdre sucked in a sharp breath, trying to maintain a calm exterior.
“YPA is a private research organization,” he repeated. It seemed like the Archadian government couldn’t get that through their heads. “Our agreement dictates that we will give you the new fighter craft in one month’s time. Come back then and it will be ready.”
“We need to weaponry now!” Zargabaath’ slammed his fist down on the desk. “You may be a private laboratory, but you are based in Archadia. And as such, you answer to the Archadian government.”
Judge Zargabaath turned and exited the room, slamming the door behind him. Dr. Holdre was glad he left before things got even uglier. But the project…
“What do we do, Dr. Holdre?” Dr. Carks, Dr. Holdre’s assistant and secretary, asked. He’d been so silent through the debate that Dr. Holdre had forgotten he was there.
“We give them what they want,” Dr. Holdre said after a moment. He hated admitting defeat, but there was little choice. It seemed the Archadian government did whatever it wanted these days.
“But what about Project Buversia?” Dr. Carks asked. “We need that specimen!”
“It will have to go on hold,” Dr. Holdre replied. He hated saying that, saying that the project they’d worked on for so long would have to be halted. He’d been a fool to make a deal with the government. That basically removed YPA’s independence and made them another government lab like Draklor. He’d been a fool to think they could finish the project in peace with Archadia peering over their shoulders. But at least the government didn’t know about the full extent of the project. They only knew they got a shiny new destructive toy. And it was only on lease. Once Archadia was done destroying whatever they needed destroyed, YPA would get their work back, and Project Buversia could continue. That, at least, was a comfort.
Dr. Holdre reached under his desk and pulled out a small black box. They kept the specimen in his office, because that was the last place anyone would think to look for it. And he liked to have it nearby. He placed the box on the table and opened it, drawing out the specimen.
Specimen GB47 was a skystone, at least in theory. The small, orange crystal was so much more. They just needed that one more month to finish the experiments. They had been so close…
Of course, the original intent of Project Buversia had been to create a military airship unrivaled in power output and weaponry, and that side of the project had been completed long ago. But with the new information they had, Holdre knew such broader fields were open to them. To waste such potential on an airship…
Dr.  Holdre picked up the skystone, and it responded to his touch with a warm glow. The clear orange surface, smooth as glass and streaked with a vein of red, shimmered with an inner light. A glistening glow rippled over the surface, then again and again in uneven patterns. Each ripple sent a tingling feeling up Dr. Holdre’s arm. Holdre stroked the stone’s smooth surface until the flickering stopped.
Don’t worry, little one. You’ll be back.
Holdre stopped himself from speaking aloud. So often he found himself talking to this rock. So often it was the only one around. With great hesitation, Dr. Holdre held it out to Dr. Carks.
“Take this down to the docking bays and have it installed in the shell we prepared,” he said. Dr. Carks nodded and took the skystone. He left the office though the same door Zargabaath had used, carrying the precious specimen with him. Dr. Holdre dropped into his chair, simmering over the interruption to his plans.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

The imperial capital, Archades
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Late that morning, just before noon, Ffamran headed for Draklor. After the lunch break, they’d leave for the experiment, and Ffamran would be going along. Though he was intending to snoop around and find out more about the nethicite, Ffamran was also excited about leaving the city. It wasn’t something he got to do very often, and, well… there was a part of him that never forgot how much he wanted to see the rest of the world. The more dangerous experiments that Draklor preformed were always done in remote testing grounds so that, if anything went wrong, they wouldn’t accidentally blow up something important.
Ffamran conferred quickly with the guards and entered Draklor Laboratories. Brown tiled floor, dull yellowish walls: the place was just the same as when he’d lived there. It never changed.
Ffamran made his way up to the lunch hall, where scientist sat around ever table, chattering and comparing findings as they hurriedly ate their lunches. Ffamran recognized almost every one of them. Then his eyes rested on one face he knew very well.
“Good morning, Reina!” Ffamran called out, worried his voice would be lost in the din of the crowded room, but Reina looked up from her table, her green eyes lighting up as she saw him. She called something back, but he couldn’t hear. There were several tables and even more people separating him from her.  During lunch break, the place was like the school cafeteria; people, people, everywhere. Ffamran remembered many days as a boy when he would hang around the scientists as they ate, listening to their chatter. He’d learned a lot by just listening.
Ffamran weaved his way through the crowd until he reached Reina’s table. Serah sat there, too, to Ffamran’s disappointment; of course, where you found one of the sisters, you were bound to find the other.
“Hey there.” It was Serah who spoke. She wore her characteristic smirk, as infuriating as ever. Even if Ffamran loved Reina, he couldn’t find it in himself to be friends with her big sister.
Ffamran ignored Serah’s greeting, pulling out a chair and sitting next to Reina. His full Judge armer made chinking sounds as he sat down. The uniform was required for his official accompaniment of the experiment, even if he thought all that dark metal looked obnoxious. He had left the helmet behind; there was no way he was wearing that gaudy thing over his head all day.
“Good morning, Ffamran!” Reina said, her whole face lighting up with that wonderful smile of hers. Before Ffamran could reply, Serah spoke up.
“What are you doing, Ffamran? Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”
Ffamran sighed. “I think any bad luck I work up will dissipate in two weeks.”
“It’s only one week and six days now!” Reina said.
Ffamran turned back to her with a smile. “Well… You’re right.” When he thought about that, he could forget about nethicite and his father, about his powers and just be a normal person, even for a moment. It was an incredible feeling.
“Okay, lovebirds, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” Serah said, spoiling the moment. “The kid and I’d better scurry down to the ship or they’ll leave without us.”
“What, still trying to keep me away from your little sister?” Ffamran asked, arching an eyebrow at Serah. Serah smirked, happy, as always, that she’d succeeded in annoying him.
“I won’t be allowed to much longer,” she replied.
“I’d say you failed spectacularly before, or that wouldn’t be an issue.”
Serah’s smirk changed to a scowl. “Careful, kid. I’m not too pleased with you robbing the cradle as it is.”
Ffamran raised an eyebrow. “Reina and I are the same age,” he replied evenly.
“I know. You should both still be in your cradles,” Serah huffed.
“I’m twenty.”
Serah rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, it’s been nearly a year since you were a teenager.”
“As a matter of fact, it has,” Ffamran said. “You’re only four years older than I am.”
“Four years is a long time, kid.”
Ffamran’s jaw tightened. “I really wish you wouldn’t call me-”
Reina set on slender hand on Ffamran’s, a pleading look in her emerald eyes that silenced him instantly. She sent Serah the same look, and Serah sat back with a sigh.
Ffamran withheld his own sigh. There was no fighting with Serah with her little sister around. 
“I suppose we should be going, then,” Ffamran said, standing. This experiment… He wanted to learn more about that nethicite and what it was, but the thought of being around it for an extended period of time made him uneasy. But not much choice. This is my job.
“I’ll see you when I get back, Reina,” Ffamran said, nodding to his fiancée.
She smiled and nodded. “Be careful.”
“I will.” Ffamran considered kissing her, but with Serah standing right there, that was bound to end badly. Ffamran settled for accepting her bright smile, then started towards the elevator at the end of the room.
Ffamran knew exactly how to get to the docking bays; he did grow up here, after all. Serah said something to Reina and followed him. 
And then they were both in the elevator, Ffamran and Serah. Ffamran hit a few buttons, and the lift began to descend. There was awkward silence between them until they hit the first floor. Serah started off instantly, using a wide stride to put distance between them. Ffamran made no attempt to catch up. They had never gotten along, even before Ffamran started going after her little sister. Now, how would he stand her? Ffamran let out a sigh; there were bigger problems in his life than a disagreeable soon-to-be sister-in-law.

On the edge of Draklor Laboratories’ first floor was a small hanger, where supply ships and the like docked. Today, there was a small transport craft waiting to carry the scientists of Draklor out to the testing grounds. Ffamran didn’t see his father anywhere; presumably, he was already inside, along with the nethicite. Ffamran wasn’t disappointed he didn’t get to talk with his father. Such a conversation wasn’t likely to end well, and the last thing Ffamran wanted was to chat about this experiment with him. Whatever reason Dr. Cid wanted him there for, he’d figure it out on his own. The last thing Ffamran wanted was to see his father acting… well, the way he always acted now a days. Strange, dark, even just a little bit… mad.
A crew of twenty-four- including Ffamran and whoever the other Judge was- would be going on this experiment. Most had already boarded the vessel. It was large as far as transports were concerned. Ffamran climbed on board and found a secluded corner where he wasn’t likely to be bothered. He figured the best way to learn something about this experiment was to talk to the transport herself. That was how Ffamran learned most things he wanted to know. He reached out and made contact.
“Hello?”
“Oh. Hello,” the airship replied. That same voice as always. “Wait, are you a human? Then…”
“Yes, that’s correct.” One convenient thing about being the only human in existence who could speak with airships was that Ffamran never had to introduce himself. Information traveled quickly in the airship world, and it seemed every airship had already heard about the one person who could talk with them.
“Really? It’s a pleasure to meet you!” the airship said. Of course, she was just like every other aircraft; chatty and dull. “I’m called the Formidable.”
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” Ffamran said. “Do you know where we’re headed?”
“I’m not sure, actually,” Formidable replied. “From what I’ve heard, somewhere southwest of Archades. It seems like it’s a ways away, too. The pilot said the flight will probably take a few hours.”
“A few hours?” That surprised Ffamran. “What, are they planning to fly us over the border?”
“I really don’t know,” Formidable said. “Nobody’s saying much. It’s weird, actually.”
That unsettled Ffamran. If even Formidable didn’t know, that meant no one had said anything. If really no one had said where they were going, did that mean they were keeping quiet on purpose? It just smelled a bit too suspicious.
“Do you know what this experiment is supposed to be, exactly?” Formidable asked. She sounded a little nervous. “People keep talking about something called ‘nethicite,’ but I don’t know what that is.”
“No, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on,” Ffamran replied, “but the nethicite is a research specimen that Draklor’s had for a few years now. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I think it’s some kind of magicite.”
“It feels weird,” Formidable said. “Like… I’m not sure. But I can feel weird power coming off that stone. They’ve got it done in my hold. There’s a few people there, too.”
That was information Ffamran could use. Perhaps, later on in the flight, he could sneak down there and have a look at that nethicite.
“There’s someone talking to you, you know.” Formidable’s words caused Ffamran to start, suddenly aware of his surroundings again. Another Judge, also dressed in full armor, stood in front of him with his hand held out, as if he’d just introduced himself. My new mentor! Ffamran quickly collected himself and shook the man’s hand.
“I’m Ffamran,” he said, trying not to sound startled.
“He said his name’s Zecht,” Formidable said.
“Thank you.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Ffamran,” Zecht said. He looked around thirty and was bald with a small beard; the pale hair looked white against his dark skin. “You’re the director’s son, yes? I look forward to our partnership; I’ve heard much good about you.”
The floor shook as Formidable took off, headed for whatever mysterious destination they were bound for.
“Really? Well, I can’t think of anything I’ve done that’s particularly noteworthy,” Ffamran replied.
“Oh, you know,” Zecht said. “In Archadia, noble birth gets you all the attention.”
Ffamran let out a light chuckle. “That’s certainly true. From your accent, I’d say you’re not Archadian, correct? Where’re you from?”
“Bhujerba,” Zecht replied, then chuckled. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell. Don’t get out of Archades much, hmm?”
That comment brought Ffamran’s hidden wanderlust out with a vengeance. He winced inwardly.
“No,” he replied. “Not much.”
“Well, you’ll get a look outside today.” Zecht cast a quick glance out a nearby viewport. The Formidable was gaining altitude, and the layer of clouds was fast approaching. “Have you any idea where we’re headed?”
“No, I’m not sure,” Ffamran replied. “I was rather hoping they told you.”
Zecht shook his head. “Your father didn’t tell you? That is rather surprising, isn’t it?”
Ffamran shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about that. “How did you become a Judge, Zecht? I’m surprised they’d allow a foreigner to join.” Ffamran hoped that would guide the conversation on to a safer topic.
“I’ve lived in the empire for ten years, now,” Zecht explained. “I was just a lad like yourself when I first came here. I suppose it’s been long enough now to prove myself trustworthy.”
Ffamran wasn’t pleased with being called a “lad” but made no comment.
The ride was long, as Formidable predicted, and Ffamran and Zecht eventually fell into a discussion about politics and current events. Ffamran hadn’t enjoyed a conversation so thoroughly for a long time. As a noble’s son, he’d learned early in life to make a splash in the social world, but that didn’t mean he always enjoyed it. Ffamran lost track of time and almost forgot about why he was here, but never fully. The thought of his father, the nethicite, the experiment and their mysterious destination never quite left him, always lingering in the back of his mind. Regardless, hours passed uneventful, until Formidable interrupted the talk.
“Ffamran!” Her voice was worried, and Ffamran stopped mid-sentence in his discussion with Zecht.
“What is it? I’m rather busy at the moment.”
Formidable’s words weren’t anything near what Ffamran expected. “We’ve crossed into the Nabradian airspace!”
“What?!” Ffamran couldn’t stop the words from spilling out loud. Zecht stared at him like he’d grown another head, but Ffamran ignored him and marched straight for the bridge. The Formidable wasn’t that large, and just through one doorway Ffamran found himself in the cockpit. He walked up to the pilot.
“What is this? Is it true we just entered another country’s borders?” Ffamran couldn’t keep the hot, angry sting out of his voice, nor did he wish to.
“Look, complain all you want, but I have my orders,” the pilot said with a shrug, like he didn’t even care.
“That’s the oldest excuse in the book, you know,” Ffamran said. The pilot didn’t respond.
“Where are we going?” Ffamran asked, managing to keep his voice calm now. Perhaps the pilot would answer better to that.
“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t tell me?” Ffamran said. “I’m a Judge. You’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“I’m busy right now. And I’m sorry, I really can’t tell you anything,” the pilot sighed. Ffamran couldn’t believe it. He had no real idea of what was going on, but he had enough of one to know it wasn’t good.
“Ffamran? What’s happening?” Zecht arrived, pushing through the door to the bridge.
The pilot let out a sigh. “All of you go and talk somewhere else, okay? I’m trying to fly an airship here.”
“Hold on.” Ffamran wasn’t going to just do what this man said. “This is supposed to be an experiment. Why have we left Archadia’s borders?”
“Look, if you haven’t been told already, it’s not my place to say.” The pilot looked tired, perhaps even a little guilty. “Go find someone like the director who’s allowed to tell you these kinds of things.”
The director. My father. What on Ivalice is going on?
“Left Archadia? What is all this?” Zecht, standing in the doorway, looked thoroughly confused.
“Both of you, leave!” The pilot raised his voice to a shout. Ffamran couldn’t think of anything to do but obey. He headed for the doorway, pushed past Zecht, and walked back out into the passenger room. Several other scientists situated there were staring at him, but he didn’t care at the moment.
“Formidable? Is the director down in the hold with the nethicite?”
“Yes, he is,” Formidable replied. “There’re one or two other scientists with him, and right now they’re doing something with the nethicite. I don’t know what it is.”
“Thank you.” Ffamran started straight for the door to the hold. It was time he had a talk with his father.
“Wait a moment! Ffamran!” Zecht called out, stepping into Ffamran’s path. “What is going on?”
“We’ve crossed Nabradia’s borders,” Ffamran replied.
“How did you know that?” Zecht asked.
Ffamran had no answer for that. He certainly wasn’t going to say the airship they were riding in told him.
“Listen, Zecht. I have to talk to my father right now.” Ffamran pushed past Zecht and through the doors into the hold. Zecht didn’t follow, and Ffamran was glad. He had enough problems on his plate.
Down in the hold, a handful of scientists were fiddling with electronic devices. If he hadn’t known better, Ffamran would have thought they were making explosive charges, but that couldn’t be. Could it? Oh, no, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is…
Ffamran walked through the busy crowd and found his father at the back, holding the nethicite in his hand and mumbling to nobody in particular.
“Yes, we’re almost there. Soon, soon. It will all come together soon. Yes! I am certain this will work. You’ve no need to doubt. Just a little longer and you’ll have it, Venat.”
Ffamran sucked in a breath, trying not to feel sick as he watched his father talking to people who weren’t there. It almost looked like he was talking to the nethicite, that cursed stone…
Ffamran could feel it now, that weird, throbbing, sensation brought on by the nethicite. That, and the sight of his father’s madness, really made him feel sick. He had intended to ask his father about where they were going, but now his mouth felt too dry to form words.
Dr. Cid didn’t even seem to notice Ffamran. He kept right on chatting with his invisible friend.
“Yes, I remember. You don’t think I’d back out now, do you? After all the hard work I’ve put in, putting the pieces in the right place? Fear not; soon our plans will be fulfilled. What is that? Ahh…”
Dr. Cid turned suddenly around to face Ffamran.
“Hello, Ffamran,” he said, as though nothing was wrong. “We’ve almost arrived at our destination, correct?”
“What is going on here?” Ffamran asked, barely managing to get words out. He’d avoided talking with his father for a long time, it had been months since he really had a conversation with him. Still, he couldn’t let that get in the way of him getting answers. “Where exactly is this airship going? This is no experiment, is it?”
“Ah, then you’ve realized?” Dr. Cid said. “Yes, you never were stupid. Don’t worry, Ffamran; you’ll have your role to play.” Then Dr. Cid strode off. But Ffamran wasn’t letting him go that easily.
“Wait! What are we doing in Nabradia? Is this some kind of preemptive strike?”
“Emperor Gramis himself ordered this,” Dr. Cid called over his shoulder, letting out a knowing sort of chuckle. “We are to use the nethicite and destroy Nabradia’s capital, Nabudis. Drop the stone, rigged with an explosive charge, and a storm of myst will wipe the city off the map.”
Ffamran felt his jaw go slack. Dr. Cid just kept walking away, like this all didn’t matter. He started talking to a few of the gathered scientists, instructing them on how to attach the nethicite to the bomb they were building.
And Ffamran just stood there, completely at a loss. What was he supposed to do? Archadia was making war with Nabradia? This experiment was really a mission to wipe out Nabradia’s capital? Now he knew; Ffamran knew where they were going and why, but he had no idea what to do with the information. They were going to destroy a city that housed hundreds of thousands of people. Ffamran’s instincts told him he couldn’t let that happen, but what could he do to stop it?
“Formidable?” Ffamran reached out to the airship. “How close are we to Nabudis?”
“We’ll be there any minute, now,” Formidable replied. Ffamran knew she had heard that whole exchange, but she didn’t seem to care.
Only a few minutes left. What was he supposed to do? Ffamran couldn’t think of anything, so he just left the hold, hopeless. For the rest of his life, he’d never forgive himself for doing nothing that day. He should have done something. He should have tried.
Outside of the hold, Judge Zecht was waiting, looking none too pleased.
“Ffamran? What on Ivalice is going on?”
“We’re…  we’re going to drop a bomb on Nabudis,” Ffamran said dully. He watched the color drain from Zecht’s face.
“What?” Zecht said in horror. “How…?”
Crackling sounded through the air as Formidable’s intercom came to life.
“Everyone, brace yourselves!” It was Dr. Cid’s voice.
What happened afterward was always fuzzy in Ffamran’s memory. There was a feeling in the air, like that horrible feeling the nethicite gave him. It was everywhere, filling the air and Ffamran’s head like fog. And then everything shook, and there was fire. Screams filled the air, and everything went black.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Nabradia’s capital, Nabudis
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

When Ffamran woke, everything hurt. That was the first thing he noticed; he felt like every bone in his body was broken. After a few moments, he forced his eyes open and sat up.
The Formidable had crashed. Apparently, the nethicite had created an even stronger explosion than they had expected, and their airship had been caught in the blast. All around Ffamran was twisted metal, large slabs of hull strewn over the ground. He couldn’t see any other survivors. However, he could see Nabudis.
The Formidable had come down less than a mile outside the city, and Ffamran could see it not so far away. The cities walls and buildings had all caved in, wrecked and destroyed. Myst ran off it, thick enough to be seen in billowing clouds of gold. The land all around, out past where the Formidable crashed, had been caught in the nethicite’s blast. The earth was wet and torn up, any semblance of life or greenery obliterated. There was nothing left of Nabudis but death and destruction.
Ffamran staggered to his feet, leaning on a piece of Formidable’s hull sticking up out of the ground. She was most certainly dead. What about everyone else? Ffamran decided he had to look for survivors. Some might have survived the crash, but of the city… No, no one could survive that.
Ffamran struggled to keep his balance and he took a step. Every inch of him was battered and bruised, and his head was spinning. Still, he had to look for the others. If he had survived, then surely someone else must have.
Ffamran walked through the wreck until a spark of light met his eye. Something was hidden under the rubble, glowing brightly. Ffamran’s head started throbbing when he looked at it, like when he was around the nethicite. Ah. Is that…?
Common sense told Ffamran to leave whatever it was alone, but his instincts told him to go and see if it really was the nethicite. It would have been wiser to listen to common sense, but Ffamran followed his instincts. He knelt down next to the source of light and heaved the wreckage off of it. It was the nethicite, alright, glowing with unimaginable power. Ffamran’s head felt fuzzy with all that energy rippling through the air. That small stone, small enough to hold in one hand, glowing in shades of white and pale blue like a winter storm, had just destroyed an enter city, thousands of lives snuffed out in an instant. Something so horrible shouldn’t be possible.
A sharp jolt of energy caused Ffamran jump. The stone sparked myst like a firepit spitting sparks. The air around it fuzzed as if with a heat wave, even though the stone gave no heat. Ffamran felt dizzier than he ever had. He tried to stand and back away from the stone, but he couldn’t get his feet under him. Everything spun and his head throbbed… Why had the nethicite suddenly started giving off so much energy?
“At last…” An unfamiliar, rattling voice pulsed through the air, one with that rippling power. The world stopped spinning, and Ffamran found himself slumped amongst the rubble, staring at the nethicite. The air around the stone was clouding with some kind of black mist… no, it was a figure?
Yes, it was a figure, but not a human one. It was some creature, shimmering like a ghost, all pale grey, its face swathed in black shadows save for glowing yellow eyes.
“To think, after centuries’ wait,” the creature continued, “my prey comes crawling straight to me. What irony.”
Ffamran struggled a moment, finally managing to get back to his feet. He had no idea what was going on, what that thing was, floating over the nethicite like some sort of ghost. The only thing he could think to do was run, but with all that energy rushing off the nethicite, he could barely stay standing.
“Who are you?” Ffamran managed to wheeze out. “What are you?”
“Don’t fight, Ffamran,” the creature said in its calm, rattling voice. “It will make this easier on both of us.”
Ffamran’s head exploded with a sudden pain, and he dropped to his knees with a gasp. It felt like the creature was digging invisible claws into his mind, tearing up every thought and feeling besides pain. Ffamran pressed his hands against his temples, barely able to even cry out.
He could feel the creature’s satisfaction, like it was fulfilling a mission it had begun long ago. Ffamran saw a rhapsody of images from the creature’s mind, flashing so fast he couldn’t make them out. Somehow, that thing was clawing into his mind with its own. Any ordinary person would have been completely helpless.
For the first time in his life, Ffamran was glad he wasn’t an ordinary person. He pushed back at the intruding force, trying to remember what it felt like on that night so long ago when he killed the man in Draklor. Maybe he could pull that long abandoned power out again and shove this creature out of his head.
Ffamran could feel it, the struggle. He was fighting back. Only it hurt, his chest tightening and mind on fire. He could hold off the mysterious, horrendous creature, but not forever. Not even for a few seconds.
Ffamran had long ago abandoned his abilities, shoving them away into the deepest corner of his mind so he wouldn’t have to worry about them. He’d abandoned his powers, never learned how to use them. Now, he regretted that more than anything. The creature shattered his pitiful defenses, and he felt its grip tighten… then loosen.
“No…” the creature hissed. “That fool fails me yet again. Am I still tethered to this stony prison? No matter. After a thousand years, I can wait a while longer.”
And then it was gone. As quickly as it had come, the creature vanished, disappearing like the ghost that it was, sliding back to hide within the nethicite. Ffamran collapsed onto the ground, struggling to even draw breath. Everything around him was spinning and fuzzy, blurry like he viewed it through wet glass. It kept spinning, spinning and spinning until everything was a flash of chaos. Ffamran closed his eyes against the painful sight, giving in to the blackness that called him.

…

Zecht struggled to his feet, taking a moment to take in his surroundings. Everything was destroyed: the Formidable, the city. So many were dead. A stab of gilt hit him; he should have realized sooner. Everyone who died that day, he felt the responsibility of their deaths weighing on his shoulders.
Zecht shook his head; he could not dwell on the death now. He had to search for survivors. Zecht didn’t wait a second, not to catch his breath or take stock of his own injuries. He set off, looking for someone else who had survived this terrible tragedy.
A cloud of dust and myst covered the sky, so Zecht had no way of telling the time. His search felt like it lasted hours, until he spotted a form crouching in the debris. He quickly made his way over within an arrow shot and saw it was a woman kneeling on the ground. She was tall with blond, curly hair, trying to unearth someone else. Zecht could see a gloved hand sticking out of the rubble where she dug.
“Hail! Over here!” Zecht called out, and the woman looked up. She waved a “come here” motion and went back to digging. Zecht hurried over to her.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
The woman shrugged. “Sure. Now help me dig this guy out, will you? I think it’s Dr. Cid.”
Zecht nodded, suddenly unsure. This was Dr. Cid, the man who led this horrific assault on Nabudis… and Zecht was to help save his life.
“Are you just gonna stand there and gawk all day, Mr. Judge?” the woman asked, still digging.
“My name is Zecht,” Zecht said.
“Yeah, and I’m Serah.” The woman still didn’t stop her task. “Now, are you gonna help me, or what?”
Zecht let out a sigh; whatever the man had done, he couldn’t just leave him there to rot under the rubble. Zecht crouched down next to Serah and helped her shovel through the debris.

It was, indeed, Dr. Cid. It took a while for the old man to wake up, but he was remarkably unharmed. They decided that Serah and Dr. Cid would set up camp there, where the ground was clearer, while Zecht continued to look for survivors. Amidst his search, he found only one.
It was his new apprentice, Ffamran. Zecht had enjoyed their little conversation that seemed so long ago now. Ffamran had seemed like a very reasonable young man. Now, he lay unconscious on the rubble. The way he lay, it almost looked like he’d fallen there afterward rather than being in the ship as it crashed. Zecht came over and knelt down beside him.
“Ffamran. Ffamran, can you hear me?” Zecht shook Ffamran’s shoulders, but the only response was some delirious mumbling. Zecht shook his head and let out a sigh. “Too young for war’s horrors.”
A glittering caught Zecht’s eye, coming from the debris just a few feet away. Lying exposed among the rubble was a small stone, glowing in shades of white and pale blue. Zecht had no idea what that thing was, but he decided it was better left where it was. He grabbed Ffamran under the shoulders and started to drag him away, back to where Serah and Dr. Cid were setting up camp.

…

Everything hurt. That was the first thing Ffamran knew. His chest was tight, his whole body ached, and his head was pounding. His mind was blurry, fuzzed and fragmented. He couldn’t remember what happened, why everything hurt so much.
Ffamran forced his eyes to open, and at first, everything was fuzzy. There was a person, a woman, sitting close by, leaning against a large lump of rubble. Her eyes were an unusual, bright green…
“Reina…?” Ffamran managed to gasp out. The woman looked over at him sharply.
“Uh, no, I think you got the wrong girl there, Ffamran,” she said.
Ffamran knew that voice, and well. He closed his eyes, letting out a painful breath. “Oh. Hello, Serah.”
Ffamran took a few moments to get his bearings. He was lying down on a clear patch of ground, dirt underneath him. He could hear a fire crackling nearby, too, and feel the warmth. But what had happened? He woke up, and Nabudis was destroyed. He went to look for survivors and found… the nethicite. And then there was that thing, that creature inside the stone. Something composed of myst, perhaps? That would be the only way it could hide itself inside the nethicite. But what was it? And what was it doing there? The things it had said… My prey comes crawling straight to me… Am I still tethered to this stony prison? And it had known Ffamran’s name… None of it made any sense. Perhaps it was all just some kind of dream. But if it was, why did his mind still feel like something had gone tearing through it?
“How’re you feeling, Ffamran?” Serah’s voice broke through Ffamran’s confused jumble of thoughts.
Ffamran let out a pained chuckle, not opening his eyes. “Like someone took a pickax to my head.”
Serah let out a small chuckle in response.
“How did I get here?” Ffamran asked.
“That Judge Zecht hauled you over here,” Serah replied. “He’s alive, and so is your father, but we haven’t found anyone else. Well, anyone else alive.”
“Where are they now?” Ffamran asked.
“Zecht’s out looking for more survivors, though that seems like a lost cause, and Dr. Cid is looking for his nethicite of all things. Zecht told me to stay here in case you woke up.”
Ffamran heard the shifting of dirt as Serah moved closer. He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him. Her hair had fallen out of its ponytail, and a bruise painted the side of her face. Other than that, Serah seemed her usual self. The sky beyond her was dark and speckled with stars. Hadn’t it been morning when he stumbled over the nethicite?
Serah reached out and put a hand on Ffamran’s forehead, her touch starting him.
“You’re burning up,” Serah said. “We should get you away from the fire. You think you can sit up?”
“Yes,” Ffamran hissed through clenched teeth, his pride deeply wounded. Of course he could sit up. Did she really need to ask that?
Sitting up was a lot harder than Ffamran thought. Every movement brought piercing pain through his whole body. After several minutes of inching along, Ffamran managed to prop himself up against a large slab of Formidable’s hull with Serah’s humiliating help. Then it hit him. This was Serah, the girl who hated his guts.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ffamran asked. Serah, who leaned against the rubble next to him, shrugged.
“Because Reina’d be heart-broken if you got killed,” she said simply. “And I could never live with myself if let that happen.”
“What, Reina being heart-broken or me getting killed?” Ffamran asked.
“Reina being heart-broken,” Serah said. “I could live with you getting killed.”
“Ah. So this is all purely selfishly motivated?”
A familiar smirk crossed Serah’s face. “Yep.”
Awkward silence filled the next few minutes. The pain that filled Ffamran’s body and mind was starting to dissipate, and his memories grew clearer. His encounter with that myst-creature certainly didn’t seem like a dream. So, if it wasn’t a dream, what was that thing and what did it want with Ffamran? He almost didn’t want to find out.
After a while, Zecht came back. He seemed relieved Ffamran was okay, then ordered everyone to get some rest. That night passed slowly for Ffamran. He was desperately tired, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the nethicite’s pale glow and the ghostly figure of that horrible creature. Its rattling voice echoed in his ears over and over, as it had been burned into his senses. Dr. Cid hadn’t returned yet, probably still looking for his precious nethicite. Ffamran knew where it was, but he wouldn’t tell his father for anything. That stone was better left buried in the ruins of Nabudis.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Nabradia’s capital, Nabudis
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

No one slept well that night, and they were all up by dawn. By that time, Dr. Cid had returned. He sat by the ashy remains of the fire, mumbling to himself, or perhaps to the stone he held in his hand. Yes, despite Ffamran’s hopes, his father had found the nethicite and reclaimed it. No one bothered him much, seeing as he acted more insane than ever had before.
Ffamran had recovered enough to move freely. He still had an awful pain in the back of his head, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t unbearable, and if he just ignored it, perhaps it would dissipate over time. Besides, the last thing he needed was all the others worrying about him.
Once everyone was awake, Dr. Cid, finally acting sane again, declared he would work on salvaging the Formidable’s radio to call for a transport.
And that was it. They all sat around the campsite, waiting as Cid worked, muttering under his breath all the while. Once they got the radio working, if they could, it would be a good three hours before the rescue team arrived. Then they could go home.
And Nabudis. Until yesterday, the city had been a bustling center of commerce full of life, men, women, and children. All those people were dead, and for what? So Archadia could plow through and get to Rozarria? Or was it just because they wanted to increase their territory? Ffamran shook his head; it all seemed senseless to him.
Ffamran got up, setting off to pacing. It felt good to stretch his stiff legs. He passed by Dr. Cid, who worked by the dead firepit, babbling on and on to no one.
“Yes, yes, I understand. We all want the same thing, don’t we? I know, I can tell. It will be yours, fear not. Ah, yes, that could work.”
Listening to his father act like a madman wasn’t helping. Ffamran found a hunk of rubble and plopped down on it, watching the sun rise slow, the brilliant colors of the horizon dulled by clouds of ash and myst. He wondered if Reina was watching the same sunrise.

…

After an hour or so, it started to rain. Dr. Cid took the half-repaired radio and continued his work under a large slab of hull. Ffamran thought it was ironic; there he was, finally outside of Archades. Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? Now, rather than exciting, it just seemed dreary. Ffamran wasn’t sure he had it in him to be excited anymore, not after all the death and destruction he had witnessed. And what about that creature in the nethicite, the stone that was with them even now? It had wanted something with Ffamran, even though he couldn’t tell what that was. The more Ffamran thought about what it had said, the more confused he got. It had called Ffamran its “prey,” and yet it had also said something about “waiting for a thousand years.” Ffamran certainly hadn’t been around for a thousand years, so how could that creature wait for him that long? It just didn’t make any sense…
“And how are you, Ffamran?” Zecht’s voice broke Ffamran’s cloud of confusion as the other Judge sat down next to him. “Serah says you weren’t doing so well earlier.”
Ffamran frowned. Of course she’d say that. “I’m fine,” he replied curtly. “Who made her the authority on my wellbeing?”
“My apologies.” Zecht fell silent, and the only sound was rain pattering over the ruins. Serah was pressed up against a piece of hull, mumbling complaints about the rain, and Dr. Cid was busily working on the radio, still chatting away. Cid’s madness hadn’t been this bad, not right until the destruction of Nabudis. So many things had changed irreversibly in that moment. It was like Ffamran’s whole world had been wiped out along with Nabradia’s capital. No, there was still Reina, waiting for him back in Archades. He could cling to that fact.
The wind picked up, shifting the rain so it blew at the weary travelers. Dr. Cid’s voice drifted along the breeze.
“Indeed, indeed. Even if this fails, we’ll find some other way, Venat. What? Oh, now, whyever would you think that?”
Ffamran suddenly felt tired. Too much had gone on in the past twenty-four hours. And his father’s madness… Ffamran was certain now it was because of that nethicite. But really? Was all this really because Dr. Cid wanted its power? Ffamran had grown up a scientist, and he could understand the desire to understand, but to go this far? To sacrifice the lives of everyone in Nabudis? Could he really fall that low? Ffamran didn’t want to think about that…
“Courage, lad,” Zecht said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ffamran shirked away from the touch and bit back a sharp response, knowing that his bad temper wouldn’t make things any better. He just wanted to rest, and somehow not think about his father, or the creature, or Nabudis, or that nethicite that seemed to be at the center of it all.

…

After about fifteen minutes, Dr. Cid declared that he had fixed the radio and had sent a call back to Archades for help. All that was left to do was wait.
That wait was a long one. There was little talking. No one really had it in them for idle conversation. Ffamran was glad his father seemed to be acting a little saner now. He almost seemed like his old self, the father Ffamran had known four years ago. Those moments were bittersweet.
“How much longer, you think?” Serah asked, her question breaking the webbing of silence that lay over the four.
“Who can say? Probably a few more hours,” Zecht replied.
And then there was more silence. Just silence, silence, silence. Ffamran hated this silence. It was a dark, brooding thundercloud, full of all the horrible things the four of them had witnessed, all the death and destruction that weighed on their shoulders. In Ffamran’s mind, the strange events in Nabudis replayed, again and again; he found the nethicite, the creature emerged, attacked him, and everything went black. Those horrible memories filled the all-too plentiful silence, threatening to swallow him up. Ffamran thought again and again that he should have done something different, and again and again he couldn’t think of what. Could he have somehow convinced the pilot, who was now dead, to turn around? Could he have pleaded with his father not to go through with the assault? Another thing Ffamran was all-too keenly aware off was that his father, one of the only three people there with him, had orchestrated all that devastation, and he didn’t even look guilty. No, he was the same as ever, the only person not scarred by the destruction of Nabudis.
Ffamran wanted to ask him so many things- where he’d found the nethicite, what he wanted to achieve with it, how on Ivalice he could wipe out an entire city and not even blink. But he… couldn’t. Was he… scared? Ffamran had never thought of himself as a coward, and yet… now…
Ffamran shook his head, unable to sit still any longer. He stood up and walked away, headed behind a large piece of rubble where he could pace a bit and not worry about the others. His despair turned to anger, and he gave the nearest piece of debris a sharp kick. How could something like this happen? It just didn’t seem real.

An hour or two later, a small Archadian airship arrived. The tiny group of survivors hurried on board, and they lifted at last out of the ruins of Nabudis. Ffamran hoped he would never have to see that place again.
Ffamran found a secluded corner and didn’t bother reaching out to the airship. He wasn’t really in the mood for talking.
“You okay?” Serah said, walking over.
“I’m just fine,” Ffamran replied. He didn’t meet her gaze. Whether Serah was worried or not, he didn’t care. Not right now.
“Really?” Serah walked right up to him so he could get away. “You seemed pretty beat up yesterday.”
“I’m not going to die, so don’t worry about it,” Ffamran said. He thought she was bad being antagonistic. Her fretting over him was even worse.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Serah’s question caught Ffamran off guard. He didn’t really have an answer. Was he going to say he was attacked by some weird myst-creature? He wasn’t even certain that wasn’t some kind of dream. That was the excuse he used, anyway, not to tell her the truth.
“It was just a knock on the head. Why don’t you stop fussing and go back to being annoying?”
Serah let out a sigh. “Fine. Be that way.” She turned around and walked away. Ffamran sighed; the sooner they were back safe in Archades, the better.

…

When they finally landed, the group of four hurried off the airship. The transport’s pilot was there, too, but he wasn’t very talkative. The first thing Ffamran noticed when he got out was that the aerodrome was full of transports, and they looked like military issue.
“I should be getting back to Draklor,” Dr. Cid said.
“Wait a moment.” Ffamran rounded on his father.
Dr. Cid shook his head. He locked eyes with Ffamran. “I’m afraid I haven’t time to wait. There are many things that need my attention, you see.”
Angry, painful feelings with no words to describe them welled up inside of Ffamran as he strove for some way to deny what he saw in his father’s eyes. Nothing kind, nothing caring, something unfamiliarly cold and callous… Those eyes belong to a man Ffamran had never known. The Dr. Cid who was his father was somewhere far away, lost in that sea of cold darkness.
Then Dr. Cid strode off, nearly breaking into a run as he trotted through the aerodrome. Ffamran didn’t wonder what he’d meant by “things that need my attention.” He hardly cared. Whoever that man was, whatever he wanted, it was beyond Ffamran to do anything about it.
“Excuse me.” It was the pilot, speaking for nearly the first time. He’d said a few words to Zecht and Dr. Cid during the ride, but that was it.
“What is it?” Zecht asked.
“You two are Judges, right?” the pilot said, almost looking nervous. He seemed to have forgotten Serah was there, too. “All the Judges are gathering at the meeting hall. You see, uh, well… You should probably just go.”
Zecht nodded slowly. “Understood.”
“I’ll see if I can track down Reina,” Serah said. “I’d bet my boots she’s worried sick.”
“Right.” Ffamran nodded. “I guess we should be going. Right, Zecht?”
Zecht nodded, and the two of them headed off for the Judges meeting hall. Ffamran had been there many times before, but never was he so worried as that time.
…

The meeting was short, but very clear. Archadia was at war. Ffamran wasn’t surprised, but to hear it said out loud…
The nation of Nabradia was a tiny one, and the loss of their largest city had decimated them. The Nabradian people feared whatever weapon had destroyed the capital and had surrendered almost instantly. Currently, Archadia’s plans were to continue the conquest and advance on the kingdom of Dalmasca. After that, it would supposedly all be over. There would be no war with Rozarria, at least not at the moment.
In one swift, terrible moment, everything had changed. Ffamran would be leaving, along with all the Judges, to fight in the war. Leaving his home, and Reina. But she would still be waiting there. That was a comfort.
The Judges were to head straight to the aerodrome. Only about a dozen of them were in the Archades division, and Ffamran was sure someone would notice if he was missing. But there was no way he was leaving without seeing Reina once. If he was caught, he would likely be punished, but he didn’t care. They rounded a corner, and Ffamran let himself fall to the back of the line. Finally. This was his opening. Ffamran slowed his gait, drifting farther behind the others. Just a moment…. No one noticed…
Not waiting any longer, Ffamran turned and made a dash for the nearest alleyway. He could hide there until the other Judges passed, then slip back. If he was quick, he could see Reina and still make it to the aerodrome. It wasn’t that he was keen on fighting, quite the opposite, but Archadia delt out harsh punishment to deserters.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
Ffamran felt his blood freeze at those words, and he stopped short. It was another Judge, who’d noticed him lagging behind. Ffamran felt first fear at being caught, then a simmering anger, and finally dull disappointment. No visit to Reina.
“Nowhere,” Ffamran called back to the other Judge, despair weighing down his words. “I was just… catching my breath.”
With heavy feet, Ffamran rejoined the procession of Judges. There would be no goodbyes.

The Judges reached the aerodrome sometime in the afternoon. Ffamran wasn’t really sure of the time. He didn’t know how long he and the others had waited at Nabudis, or how long the meeting had taken. Quite frankly, the time didn’t really matter to him. Everything was just… over. Ffamran was completely drained of hope barely able to put one foot in front of the other. As the other Judges climbed onto the transports that would bring them to join the mounting forces ready to attack Dalmasca, Ffamran watched. He’d follow them, but… not now.
“Time to go, Ffamran.” It was Zecht’s voice. With war starting, all usual procedure among the Judges was ceased, including Ffamran’s mentorship; their partnership had lasted a very short time. Ffamran didn’t even bother looking at Zecht.
“What’s the point?” he said drearily.
“Snap out of it, lad!” Zecht’s sudden exclamation startle Ffamran. The older man set a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not dead yet, are you?”
“I might as well be,” Ffamran spat back. He clenched his fists as anger at the events of the past two days rushed through him. “Everything’s gone wrong, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it! What am I supposed to do?!”
“Thousands died at Nabudis,” Zecht said. “Thousands of people, who don’t have a chance anymore. No chance to change, to make this world better. You’re still alive, Ffamran. You still can. You and I, we have a duty, to the dead of Nabudis, to live and make this world better.”
Ffamran let out a bitter chuckle. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’ll find out in time.” Zecht pulled his hand from Ffamran’s shoulder and turned to walk away. “I know what I have to do.”
Then he was gone. Ffamran sucked in a sharp breath. Zecht’s words sounded right; he just wished he knew how to fulfil them.
You’ll find out in time.
Ffamran hoped he was right.

…

Reina felt a dizzying wave of relief as the door to her home swung open and Serah stepped inside. She looked horrible, dirty and worn, hair a mess and a large bruise over the side of her face. Outside, the sun was starting to set, and it had been nearly two days since Serah and Ffamran had left and not come back. Reina had barely slept and never stopped worrying.
“Serah!” Reina called, rushing up and wrapping her arms around her big sister. “You’re okay! What happened? Where’s Ffamran?”
“Reina…” Serah sucked in a deep breath, resting one hand in Reina’s hair. Reina felt a spark of new worry alight.
“What happened?” she asked again, stepping away.
“It’s… Well, a lot happened,” Serah replied. “Ffamran’s fine, but…”
Reina sat in horror as Serah retold the events of Nabudis’s destruction, the nethicite, and how the four survivors had got back.
“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” Serah said, “but some press people pinned me down and started asking questions. I told them to beat it and go bug someone else, but they were persistent.”
“What about Ffamran?” Reina asked. She knew Serah was safe and sound, but where was her fiancé?
“I told you, he’s fine,” Serah replied. “But… You see… Nabradia’s surrendered, but now Archadia’s declared war on Dalmasca. All the Judges have been called to the battlefield…”
Reina’s eyes widened. “What? But… where is he now? I… I have to say goodbye!”
“They already left, Reina,” Serah said.
Reina shook her head. “No… No, that can’t be right! I… I didn’t get to say goodbye…”
Serah said something else, but Reina didn’t really hear it. She was staring out the window, watching the sun’s last dying rays, trying to process what she’d been told. Ffamran was gone, off to war. There’s be no wedding, not even a goodbye…

…

Dr. Cid walked through the hallways of Draklor Laboratories, the nethicite in hand. The stone let out a steady pulse of power like a heartbeat, and it felt cool to the touch. The stone held so much power, and inside it, another force lay…
The lights were all off, and the halls of Draklor were dark. It was night, and Dr. Cid was expecting a very important visitor. Yes, this meeting would be quite important.
Dr. Cid pushed open the door to his office, and sure enough, the light was on, and someone waited inside. It was a man with long black hair, dressed in a noble’s outfit.
“Dr. Cid. All went well at Nabudis?” the man asked, his voice soft and suave as usual. “You know, it was most difficult convincing my father to go through with this.”
“I fear our plans did not come together as I had hoped, Vayne,” Cid said, picking his words carefully.
“Really?” Vayne said. “What went wrong?”
“The output of power did not free me from the stone.” A new voice, strange and rattling, entered the conversation. Above the nethicite Dr. Cid held, a form materialized. It was the ghostly shape of a strange creature, pale grey skin and face swathed in shadows. Its eyes glowed with an eerie yellow light. Dr. Cid smiled at his appearance, for he knew this creature well.
“Ah, Venat. I apologize for that. My calculations were… flawed.”
“Whatever the reason,” Vayne said, “our plans cannot continue until Venat is free from the Midlight Shard.” Vayne was not startled in the least by Venat’s appearance, for he, too, knew him well.
“Yes,” Venat said. “If only I had foreseen this when I hid in the stone millennia ago. After so long, I am unable to leave it. If output of power cannot shatter my bond with stone, then what else? Cid?”
“Yes, Dr. Cid?” Vayne turned to Cid also. “Have you any other way of freeing our ally?”
“Not at the moment,” Cid replied. “We have tried nearly everything I can think of.”
“Then what now?” Vayne asked.
“Though it pains me to say so,” Cid said, “I am not the begin all and end all of scientific knowledge. My efforts can only bring us so far alone.”
“You mean to say we ask for help?” Vayne said, as though the idea was unthinkable. “From whom?”
“I think it unwise to trust other humans,” Venat said. “Any will simply play for their own power.”
“That is true,” Dr. Cid replied. “But as long as we keep up the illusion that there is something in it for them, I believe they will lend us aid.”
“Then who?” Vayne asked. “Who is it you wish to ask for help?”
A smile wormed its way over Dr. Cid’s face. “Vayne, have you ever heard of the Red Fangs?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Archadian Military Camp on the Nabradian-Dalmasca Border, the Mosphoran Highwaste
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

It was nearly dark by the time the transports from Archades arrived at the makeshift military camp. Soldiers were being shipped from all over the Archadian empire to this one camp, where they would wait until the whole army was massed. Then they would begin the attacks on Dalmasca.
When Ffamran stepped off the transport, he was determined not to drift around in a hopeless daze. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. But following his own advice was harder than it seemed; the military encampment was hardly a bright atmosphere.
Where the transports landed, several military fighter crafts were anchored over empty fields with great cliffs at their backs, and Ffamran could see a large dreadnaught as well. This fleet was Archadia’s armada, a destructive force indeed. Ffamran made a mental note to check back here later and get the larger scoop on the attack plans. He wasn’t really looking forward to being surrounded by fighter crafts, though. While other airships were chatty and dull, fighters were, as a rule, brutal, bloodthirsty, cruel, crude, and not much else. All other airships considered fighters cruel barbarians, and the little contact Ffamran had with them supported that belief. Even so, these crafts probably had some information worth knowing.
Just south of the airfield was the soldiers’ encampment. The place was filled with Judges, knights, and ordinary young men unlucky enough to be drafted. They were everywhere, talking and training among the tents that made up the camp. A division of Seeq fighters was there also, and Ffamran was glad they kept to themselves. While Seeqs made fantastic solders, their brutish, dim-witted, porcine nature made them fit for little else. There were always exceptions, of course, but still, Ffamran had no desire to socialize with them. A large pen sat at the edge of the camp, where the calvary chocobos were kept. The large yellow birds were used for all sorts of things, from personal transportation to pulling carts to calvary mounts on the battlefield.  
Ffamran and the others from Archades were briefly told that what tents they would sleep in, then dispersed around the encampment. People talked all over, chattering away, but there was a feeling hanging in the atmosphere, dampening everything. It was fear. Fear of the war, of fighting, fear that they wouldn’t return home, fear that if they did, things wouldn’t be the same. Fears that were well grounded.
Ffamran decided that talking to these people would be a waste of time. At the moment, he wanted to know what Archadia’s general strategy for the attack would be, and how long it was until the rest of the army arrived. There was one place he’d find people who both knew and were willing to tell him: the airfield.

There were a lot of airships at the airfield, but Ffamran headed straight for the one he was sure would know what he wanted to know: the commanding dreadnaught.
Though it was true that no airship could move under its own power, the fighters in a fleet still looked up to their leading craft as the “commander.” Anything a random fighter had heard they would probably report to the dreadnaught. The general of the army likely spent a lot of time around her, too. All these things made that dreadnaught the best source of information.
Ffamran made his way across the airfield, straight for the dreadnaught. He didn’t have to be inside an airship to talk with it, but he did have to be very close. The underlying hubbub of a thousand telepathic conversations between airships hummed through the air, hidden to all but Ffamran. That was one of those all-too plentiful moments when Ffamran felt acutely different from everyone else. But there was no time for that now. He was here for a reason.
Ffamran came to a halt underneath the dreadnaught, then reached out with his mind, up to knock on her mental walls. The dreadnaught didn’t have to respond if she didn’t want to, but Ffamran was pretty sure she would.
“Who is it? Designation?” the dreadnaught asked, her tone entirely unfriendly. Yes, she was your average stock-type military craft.
“My name is Ffamran,” Ffamran replied. The dreadnaught seemed confused for a moment as she processed this. Then she let out a scoff.
“Oh, that human boy everyone talks about? How lucky am I?” That last part was heavily sarcastic. “I am the dreadnaught Ifrit. Now what do you want?”
“I was hoping you could fill me in on Archadia’s current plans for incursion into Dalmasca,” Ffamran replied. Ifrit didn’t seem happy with his presence. She was an airship, so he couldn’t really see her expression, per say, but the flow of her emotions through the mental connection was enough to give him an equivalent. The image he got then was that of a sour frown.
“General Gabranth said we’re to attack a small town called Lemahl, then push through to Nalbina Fortress,” Ifrit said. “We leave as soon as the army is assembled.”
“Thank you,” Ffamran said. It really would be soon, the start to this war and the end of life as it was.
“You don’t approve of this war?” Ifrit asked, sensing his apprehension.
“No,” Ffamran said back, his voice hard. “You do?”
“Of course! This is all part of the glorious cause of the Archadian Empire!” Ifrit said, sounding as happy as she ever had. “We will crush all of Archadia’s foes and end their miserable lives!”
Ffamran wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. He jubilance over this almost made him sick.
“You really think this is all right?” Ffamran said at last.
“Yes,” Ifrit replied firmly. “Oh, you’re a pacifist, aren't you? Just like that idiot test fighter. I can’t believe I’m surrounded by such fools!”
“Test fighter?” Ffamran asked.
“Yeah, that new test fighter, the little white one. GB47? You know, the moron?” Ifrit said. “What, just got here, did you?” 
“Yes,” Ffamran replied. He was just about done talking with Ifrit. He’d be glad if he never had to lay eyes on her again.
There was a moment of silence, and Ffamran took this opportunity to excuse himself.
“I should be getting back to the tents now,” he said. “It’s getting late, you know.”
“Not that late,” Ifrit said. “But I’m fed up with you, too. Go on, go away.”
Ffamran happily did as he was told. However, he did not go straight to the tents. Instead, he hung around the airfields, getting a feel for how many fighters there were. He talked to a few others, but they were all similar in manner to Ifrit and didn’t know anything else. Apparently, the word on the street was true; all fighter crafts really were cruel and bloodthirsty. But then again, all airships were the same. Ffamran knew that. If he had been after conversation or human interaction, he’d be back in the tents getting to know the men he’d be fighting alongside.
After fifteen minutes or so, Ffamran spotted a fighter anchored a little aways from the others. This one, rather than the dull colors of the other fighters, was all white with dark blue and gold markings. Ffamran, having grown up in a laboratory, immediately appreciated the complexity of the design. Six glossair rings and retractable wings must give it incredible speed and maneuverability, and the generous helping of weaponry indicated a high power output- truly a remarkable airship. Ffamran realized this must be the “test fighter” Ifrit had talked about. There was nothing more he needed to know, but his curiosity drove him to reach out to her.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Who’s this?” a female voice came in reply. All airships had the same voice, but this one sounded different. Younger. More alive. Strange…
“My name is Judge Ffamran Bunansa,” Ffamran replied. He really hadn’t thought ahead of that. But did he really expect a conversation with an airship to be interesting? He’d say hello, the airship wouldn’t care, he’d ask a few questions, then be on his way. The only difference so far was that this airship said ‘hi’ instead of the generic ‘hello’ the rest used. And her voice sounded different. But it wasn’t that strange.
“Judge… What? That’s a weird designation,” the voice replied, twisted in confusion. “Wait a moment… You’re… not an airship? What are you?”
“You don’t know?” Ffamran asked, arching as eyebrow.
“Wait, you’re… one of those human things?” she said. “I didn’t know you could talk to us. Ifrit said you couldn’t.”
“We can’t,” Ffamran replied.
“But… you are,” the airship said.
“I can; others can’t,” Ffamran clarified.
“What? Oh. Are you different, Judge Ffamran Bunansa?”
Ffamran let out a nervous chuckle at that. He’d wanted a unique conversation…
“Ah, you can just call me Ffamran,” he said.
“Oh,” the airship said. “I’m YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter. You can just call me GB47. It’s great to meet you, Ffamran. You don’t talk like airships.”
Ffamran scoffed. “I don’t? You certainly don’t. What is wrong with you? You haven’t said a thing about the war yet.” Not that he minded, but that fact baffled him. Airships are crazy about their given purpose. That’s just how they are. How can this one be different?
“Hm? Oh, Ifrit’s always talking about the coming ‘battle,’” GB47 replied. “I don’t know exactly what it is; it doesn’t sound good.”
“What, you don’t like fighting?” Ffamran said, disbelieving, still disbelieving.
“I don’t think so,” GB47 replied. “I’ve never actually fought before. But it sounds horrible! Ifrit keeps telling stories about bombings and fire and screaming… I never want to see it for real! But all the other airships think it’s so great; I don’t know why!”
Ffamran was speechless.
“You think so, too?” GB47 asked, then sighed. “I don’t understand. I guess I’ve only been for three days, and I don’t really know anything, but it sounds awful. And I don’t care what anyone else says!”
“No! I don’t want to be here, either!” Ffamran replied. “I hate the thought of fighting. I just want to go home.”
“Really?” GB47 sounded thunderstruck. “I didn’t think people like that existed!”
“Oh, they do,” Ffamran replied. “Plenty. I just didn’t think any airships like that existed.”
“But you’re… Oh, then you’re like me!” Brightness overcame GB47’s clueless tones. “I… I thought I was alone.”
“You are alone,” Ffamran said. “I have never met an airship remotely like you.”
“But I’m not alone!” GB47 said. “I met you. And…” She paused thoughtfully for a moment. “I think we’re going to be the best of friends someday!”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Ffamran couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Hm?” GB47 said. “What’s wrong with that?”
Ffamran had gotten a lot of unexpected things in this conversation, but explaining the mysteries of life to a childlike airship was not one he would indulge.
“Alright, look, I… I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” he said, “so…”
“Oh. Okay!” GB47 said. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” Ffamran said as he turned away, half-hoping it wasn’t true. “Later.”

…

The sun had fully set by the time Ffamran made it to the tent where he would spend the night. The place wasn’t yet full, seeing as the whole army had yet to mass. It would be somewhere around a week before the army was ready to attack. Until then, days would consist of training and waiting.
Ffamran found a quiet corner near his bunk where he could sit away from his few roommates. With nothing better to do, he pulled out his sword and started to polish it. It was a long blade, one he’d had since he joined the Judges a month ago. Ffamran had always been good with a sword, at least in practice; soon he’d be able to test his skills on the battlefield. He wasn’t excited, to say the least.
“Ffamran! Is that you?”
Ffamran looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Ross was standing over him.
“Ah, Ross. Good to see you,” Ffamran said, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
“Where have you been?” Ross asked. “They assigned tents a while ago.”
“Oh, you know. Just taking a look around,” Ffamran replied. “It seems like we’ll be here awhile.”
“Only a week,” Ross said. “But I see what you mean. That’s one week I’d rather spend not waiting for war to start.”
“It’s already started,” Ffamran said. “Who knows how long life will be this way? I think we’d best start getting used to it.”
Ross let out a sigh. “I suppose so.” There was a moment of silence, then Ross spoke again. “I’m going to turn in. You probably should, too.”
“I will, soon,” Ffamran replied.
Ross nodded. “Goodnight, Ffamran.”
Ffamran called a goodnight back as Ross left. Yes, he’d turn in soon. As soon as his brain quieted down. There was just too much to process; the destruction of Nabudis, though he hoped to move beyond that, the start of the war, and that curious airship GB47.

Ffamran got the top bunk, and of course, the man below was snoring. But it wasn’t really the sound that kept him awake. Ffamran just couldn’t stop thinking. This whole war had started at the drop of a hat. Was it really just for territorial expansion? Or was there something more sinister going on behind the scenes? And then there was GB47. Why was she so blaringly different from all the other airships? Airships talked and listened, but they weren’t really like people. Their personalities were all the same, at least among the same class, and their voices all alike. And yet GB47 acted just like a person, albeit an incredibly naive one. Why was that? What was she? How could she possibly be so vastly different when all other airships were the same? There were just too many thoughts and too many questions buzzing around in Ffamran’s head for him to sleep. Then another voice joined them.
“Ffamran! Can you hear me?”
Ffamran recognized the voice. The only airship voice that sounded like a human, different and alive. He sat bolt upright in bed.
“GB47?” But the airfield wasn’t anywhere near the tents. How could she reach him from that far?
“Oh, you can!” GB47 said brightly. “Good!”
“But… how…? That’s impossible!” Ffamran said, struggling not to shout the words out loud. “How can you reach me from this far away?”
“I just wanted to see if I could,” GB47 replied. “And I can! I… I just wanted to talk to you again.”
“You are like a lost puppy,” Ffamran said, holding in an audible groan.
“A what?” GB47 asked.
Ffamran sighed. “How old did you say you were again?”
“Three days.”
“Well, that explains things.” Ffamran thought a few moments. “I’ve assembled my fair share of airships, and it usually takes a lot more than three days just to put them together, much less ship them to the front.”
“Well, that’s the first thing I remember,” GB47 replied. “Back at YPA labs, when they stuck me in this shell.”
“YPA?” Ffamran frowned. “I’ve never heard of YPA labs.” And as the son of the director of Archadia’s most prestigious laboratory, Ffamran knew about a lot of labs.
“YPA is a ‘privately owned laboratory that operates independently of the government, and doesn’t appreciate it when the higher-ups swoop in to interfere.’ That’s what Dr. Holdre said to the man in the metal suit who took here from the lab.”
Ffamran sighed. This airship barely knew the words to convey information; he doubted she had the answers to the questions he had about her.
“Look, can you contact all airships from this far away?” Ffamran asked. Maybe she had the answer to that.
“I don’t think so,” GB47 replied.
“But you can talk to me?” Ffamran frowned. That made no sense.
“Yeah!” GB47 said. “See, we really will be friends! I knew it!”
Ffamran sighed. “I don’t think physics work that way.”
“Oh. Then how can I talk to you?”
“I… don’t know,” Ffamran replied. “But I will figure it out.”
“Oh, good!” GB47 said. “Then… can I ask you something?”
Ffamran sighed. “Look, I don’t want to insult you, but… I don’t really make it my business to mentor juvenile airship, alright? That in mind, could you please leave me alone?”
“And here I thought you were nice,” GB47 said with and exaggerated sigh.
Ffamran sighed. “Look, you’re not a bad kid, but-”
GB47 cut him off. “Who said I was a kid?”
“You’re three days old.”
“I guess,” GB47 said, not really sounding like she agreed. “So, what I wanted to ask was-”
“Did you not hear what I just said?” Ffamran asked.
“I heard,” GB47 replied. “But I still want to ask. You said you can talk to airships, but other humans can’t?”
Ffamran simmered a moment before answering. “That’s true. I’m different.”
“Then we really are the same!” GB47 said, a smile seeping through her words.
Oh, no, Ffamran thought. We couldn’t be more opposite.
“Have any more questions?” he asked. Hopefully the answer was no.
“Not now,” GB47 replied. “But we can talk again later?”
“Maybe,” Ffamran replied. As long as it was a lot later. “Goodnight, then.”
“Good… night?” GB47 said in confusion. Ffamran sighed.
“I’m going to sleep now.”
“Oh. Good-night!”
With that awkward farewell, GB47’s presence vanished from his mind. Ffamran crashed back down into his bed, dismissing every lingering thought. All he wanted now was a good night’s sleep.

…

Five more days passed in the encampment, and more and more shipments of soldiers arrived. Ffamran hated the way they said that, like soldiers were just another resource and not real people who would be putting their lives on the line.
Ffamran explored the encampment thoroughly talked to many people. He knew which tent Cheff, Ross’s younger brother, was in, as well as where to find the general, a Judge named Gabranth, though he hadn’t yet thought of a reason to talk with him. Ffamran hadn’t been able to find Judge Zecht, though, which was disturbing. Weren’t all the Judges from Archades here? And Ffamran had seen Zecht in the aerodrome as they were leaving. His last words still rang in Ffamran head: I know what I have to do. What did he mean by that? And where was he now?
The passing days consisting of little but training and dread of what was to come. GB47 by no means disappeared, either. Ffamran couldn’t believe he’d even crossed paths with such a ridiculous person, much less ended up talking to her as much as he did. He had nothing against GB47; she was young and lost, a full human mind trapped in the shell of an immobile airship. However, her constant questions, immense naivety, and bright, optimistic spirit exasperated him. Ffamran acknowledge that he was the only human being she could communicate with, but that didn’t mean he like the reality or the responsibility.
On the seventh day since Ffamran’s arrival at the encampment, the last shipment of soldiers arrived. As soon as the ships finished unloading, General Gabranth gathered all the soldiers together and declared the battle plan Ffamran had heard earlier from Ifrit. First, the Archadian army would attack a small town called Lemahl, then carry on to Nalbina Fortress. The Dalmascans were likely prepared for their coming, and the battle would be a long, hard one.
And they would reach Lemahl by the next day.
The war really had begun.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

The imperial capital, Archades
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Reina had one hope: that Ffamran would come home, and soon. She had Serah there, and many friends besides, but with Ffamran gone, Reina felt alone. It took all her effort to hold on until he came back, and that bright certainty was the only thing that kept her going. In Reina’s mind, it wasn’t a possibility that he could get killed; Ffamran would come home, and that was all that held her together: the absolute certainty that she’d see him again, he’d come home, and they could finally start their life together. That was Reina’s only hope.
It had been a week since the Judges left, and things in Archades were hardly bright. Every family was missing someone, a husband, a father, a brother, a son. Draklor Laboratories was operating in full force. They were a weapons research lab after all, and weapons were a valued resource during wartime. Reina did her best to stay focused, relying on that one spark of hope to see her through. Though it kept her going, every day seemed increasingly gloomy. It was even raining that day, adding to the depressing atmosphere.
And the nethicite… Reina had never thought much of it. It was just a little thing, some sub-class of magicite, or so she thought. She had never considered it could be so dangerous, powerful enough to wipe an entire city off the map. Ffamran had never liked talking about it, and she finally saw why. Dr. Cid's obsession with the stone had grown over the recent week, and more often one could hear him talking to himself. Reina had never really questioned the man’s sanity before; perhaps she had been overlooking this detail on purpose. Surely it had affected Ffamran, though he’d never said a word about it. Oh, Reina couldn’t wait until he got back home. Too much longer and she’d fade away into the sea of despair that swamped Archades. Why war? Why now? When would it finally be over?
Reina shook her head, trying to bring herself back to the present. She couldn’t dwell over what she longed to happen, she had to live in the present. Only, the present was so dreary and hopeless, it seemed the only light in her life came from the past and the future. Reina yanked her focus back to the matter at hand, hurrying to eat her lunch before the break ended. It was oddly reminiscent off lunch at school, hurrying to wolf down a meal before classes started again. Serah normally ate with Reina, but she’d chosen to skip lunch that day and stay in the lab. The hum of conversation buzzed through the air, backed by the patter of rain as poured out of the sky.
Reina quickly finished her meal and rushed out of the lunch hall, half running as she headed to join Serah at the lab. She went through halls, took the lift up a floor, and dashed down more corridors. She wanted to get back to work to have something to take her mind off her hopeless circumstances.
Reina was striding past Dr. Cid’s office when a sound caught her attention. It was a voice, but not Dr. Cid’s. This voice was strange and rattly. Reina didn’t catch its words, but clearly heard the weird voice. She came to an abrupt halt in front of the door. Dr. Cid was answering whoever else was in there.
“Yes, yes. We’ll be starting tomorrow, hopefully.”
Reina stared at the closed door, suddenly wondering what to do. Serah was waiting back at the lab, but lunch break wasn’t officially over, so she wouldn’t be missing Reina yet. Should she eavesdrop? No, that wouldn’t be right.
“How soon can we expect results?” This was a new voice, a man’s. That was all Reina’s curiosity could take. She looked down both corridors, then moved to stand beside the door where she could hear better.
“That’s difficult to say,” Dr. Cid answered the mysterious man. “Perhaps a week or two? It could be longer.”
“I see,” Mystery Man replied, slowly like he was nodding.
“And after that,” Dr. Cid said. “We can begin to uncover the nethicite’s mystery.”
“Indeed.” This was Rattly Voice. “We will put history’s reins into man’s hand. A new Dynast King, a new power to forge our new world.”
“Yes, yes!” Dr. Cid’s voice grew excited. “Everything is coming together quite nicely! And the front, Vayne? How do things go in Archadia’s conquest of Dalmasca?”
“They will make the first attack by tomorrow,” Mystery Man, or Vayne, apparently, replied. “Then onto Nalbina fortress and through to the capital, Rabanastre. Hopefully they will surrender before then.”
“All very good,” Dr. Cid said.
“I must take my leave now,” Vayne said. “I’ve matters to attend to in my own realm of our plans.”
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Cid said. “Until next time.”
“Good luck to you, Vayne,” Rattly Voice said.
Footsteps approached the door, and Reina felt a rush of panic. She quickly started off towards the labs, trying to move both quickly and silently while seeming normal. She heard the door behind her open but didn’t dare look back. It swung closed, and footsteps went in the opposite direction from her. Reina kept moving, and only when she rounded the corner did she stop to take a long sigh of relief. She let her adrenaline go down for a moment before thinking over what she’d just heard. Who were those people Dr. Cid was talking to? And what did they mean? History in man’s hands? A new Dynast King and a new world? These words meant nothing to Reina, but she was certain they had meaning. And they were talking about the war, and the nethicite that had destroyed Nabudis. She didn’t know what was going on, but Reina could tell it wasn’t good.
So what was she supposed to do? Reina couldn’t think of an answer to that question. What would Ffamran do? That was easier to answer. He’d do something. So Reina would do something. She didn’t know what, but it would be something. Should she tell Serah? No, Serah might do something about all this, but she certainly wouldn’t let Reina help. She’d take matters into her own hands and try to keep Reina safe from all harm.
So Reina decided there and then, panting for breath in the hallway at Draklor, that she would do something. Somehow, she’d unearth this conspiracy, all on her own, when she didn’t even have a plan. So it was a big somehow, but she would do it. Somehow.

…

That night, as they headed for home from Draklor, Reina told Serah she’d left something behind and had to go back for it. Serah made no inquiry about the item, only telling Reina to hurry. And just like that, Reina began her nighttime expedition to uncover the truth. Her rather hasty plan was to go down to the archives in Draklor’s basement, where detailed information on every experiment and specimen was kept, and find the file on the nethicite. Dr. Cid had mentioned the nethicite while talking about his “plans,” so perhaps that could shed some light on the puzzle. She knew better than to hope it would explain the mysterious man Vayne or that rattly-voice person, but it was a start.
Draklor’s front doors were guarded at night, but Reina knew the code to get through the back doors. She quickly typed it into the security keypad, excitement and fear running through her. This was probably the most thrilling and the most dangerous thing Reina had ever done. She had no idea what to do if she got caught, but hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue.
Once inside, Reina found herself sneaking through dark, moonlit hallways like some thief. She had to hide from several guards, but luckily, none saw her. Reina managed to make it to the elevator and took it down a level to Draklor’s basement. It was nearly pitch black down there, with no lights and no windows. After stumbling through dark hallways for a bit, Reina came to a large room with walls lined with folders and papers. A single lamp was lit in the corner, covering the whole room in a dim yellow glow. It was eerie, all alone in the utter silence and scarce light. But Reina couldn’t let that scare her. If she got scared just wandering around the laboratory at night, how was she supposed to go through the dangers of figuring out Dr. Cid’s plot?
Reina began to flip through folders, looking for information from four years ago, when the nethicite was found. After about half an hour, she finally found the records for that expedition. That trip was to the Jagd Difor. Jagds were areas swamped in myst, so dense that it overloaded airship engines, making it impossible for them to fly. There were three jagds over the face of Ivalice, each with their own names. Difor was the largest, lying far to the south of Archadia, beyond Dalmasca. That an expedition from Draklor had even made it there was astonishing, much less that they had brought back such a valuable specimen. The report was frustratingly vague, saying only that the nethicite was found in the Jagd Difor region, that it was thought to be a subclass of magicite, and that it possessed strange and prevalent powers. Oddly, the file hadn’t been updated since that time four years ago.
“Mm, I know. It is a conundrum.”
Reina’s heart skipped a beat as she heard Dr. Cid’s voice. A light was coming from the hallway she’d come down, and footsteps were approaching. Reina shoved the files back into their place in a panic and dived behind a tall crate containing who-knows-what. It wobbled a bit, threatening to fall over, but Reina managed to steady it. As Dr. Cid approached, the strange light grew brighter until it dimly adorned the walls of the small file room, drowning out the eerie yellow with a soft, mysterious white. What was making the light, Reina could only guess. With her back pressed against the crate, she couldn’t see Dr. Cid or whatever strange thing was glowing.
“This could prove detrimental to our plans,” an odd, rattly voice answered Dr. Cid. It was the same rattly voice Reina had heard in the Dr. Cid’s office the day before. But she was sure she’d heard only one set of footsteps. Where was this other person?
Reina readjusted her position, leaning her head around the edge of the crate so she could gaze out at Dr. Cid and his mysterious companion. She barely stifled a gasp at what she saw.
Dr. Cid held the nethicite, which cast the strange glow over the walls. The stone ebbed with a cold white light, and the air around it rippled. Over the nethicite and facing Dr. Cid hovered a ghostly creature, pale grey, its figure wavering like smoke. Its face was nothing but blackness, two piercing yellow eyes staring out of the shadowy depths.
“Oh, fear not, Venat,” Dr. Cid said, making habitual gestures with his hands. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. I know him, remember. The only problem is a slight delay.”
“Yes,” the creature, Venat, said. “Time’s tides will not wash us away as we wait.”
“Is it… really necessary, though?” Dr. Cid asked. “Surely, once we’ve made proper study, the nethicite’s power will be enough?”
“The nethicite’s power is useless in our ultimate goal,” Venat rattled. “It will serve nothing against my brethren, the Occuria of Giruvegan. Only the power born of her blood can awaken Nux and bring about our completion. However, against humans such as yourself, nethicite will indeed be adequate.”
“Then we do not need… this other power. Not at moment, I mean,” Cid said, suddenly sounding uncertain.
“Cid,” Venat said, “are you having second thoughts about our agreement? You wish to see history set in the proper hands, do you not?”
“Venat! I am offended,” Dr. Cid said. “I should think you would trust me after so long. We are friends! Allies! I will pay any price to see our future into reality.”
“Wait, Cid,” Venat said. “I sense… a presence. I believe we are being watched.”
“Ah…” Dr. Cid looked away from the ghostly Venat and scanned the room. Reina pulled her head sharply behind the crate again. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared they would hear it.
“Who’s there?” Dr. Cid called out. “I know you’re here, so spare us both a lot of trouble and come out!”
Reina closed her eyes, breathing hard as she struggled to form a plan. How could she get out without being seen? She heard footsteps as Dr. Cid came closer to the crate. Of course he’d look there; it was the most obvious hiding place in the room. Reina shifted, watching Cid’s shadow move along the wall in the nethicite’s glow. He was almost there…
With no real plan, Reina shoved the crate in Dr. Cid’s direction. It would be obvious that someone had been there, but perhaps she could get away without them seeing her face. The tall crate wobbled a moment, then fell on top of Dr. Cid with a crash. He let out a cry and dropped to the ground, covered in paper and broken wood. The ghostly creature still floated in the air, glowing with darkness rather than light. Reina wasted not a moment, streaking down the corridor and leaping into the elevator. She hurriedly slammed the button to bring her up to the first floor, hoping that Dr. Cid hadn’t followed her, that he wouldn’t call the guards, that the guards hadn’t already heard the commotion in the basement…
When the elevator stopped at the first floor, Reina dashed out of it, barely remembering to be stealthy. The back door wasn’t too far away, and somehow, she managed to make it out into Archades’ cool night air without being caught.

…

Reina stumbled back through her own front door, shaking all over. That had been too close. Her heart was thumping wildly and her mouth was dry, her legs were shaking so much she didn’t think she could stand for much longer. Reina just wasn’t made for scares like that.
Reina stumbled over to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, hoping that would help calm her nerves. She needed to get some sleep that night; there was work tomorrow, after all.
Reina’s thoughts were all in a jumble. She’d heard a lot, but little of it made sense. Venat? Occuria? Giruvegan? Nux? At first, Reina thought these words meant nothing to her, but as she’d made her way home, they stirred recognition in her mind. After much pondering, Reina finally remembered; her parents had once told her old legends about powerful spirit creatures called Occuria, how they governed Ivalice in ancient times from a city called Giruvegan. But couldn’t be what Dr. Cid was talking about, could it? And that Venat thing had called the Occuria its “brethren.” What did that mean? That creature was an Occuria, too? Was there some credibility to those ancient tales?
“Hey, sis. You okay?”
Reina jumped at the sound of Serah’s voice. Her sister sat in one of the chairs at the table, still in her Draklor uniform.
“Oh! Serah!” Reina stammered. “I’m fine. What are you still doing up?”
“You think I’d go to bed before you were safely home?” Serah asked. Reina should have guessed that; Serah was always fretting over her little sister.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Serah asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh, I… I almost fell. Over the railing, I mean.” Reina pointed out the window at the guardrail that bordered the street. It was a long drop to the lower level of Archades.
“Uh-hu,” Serah nodded. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
Reina wasn’t sure what to say after that. She was too tired and too worn out by her almost-capture to argue with Serah.
“You get to bed.” Serah nodded sharply towards Reina’s bedroom. “We’ve got work tomorrow, after all. We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?”
Reina nodded weakly, simply relieved she’d be able to lie down. She hurried into her room and collapsed into her bed. That had been far too close. She’d have to be more careful next time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Dalmascan township, Lemahl
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The town was right there, just down the hill. Ffamran stood among the ranks of Archadian soldiers, one hand always playing nervously along the hilt of his sword. The morning sun was low in the sky, bathing the town of Lemahl in bright, happy light. It all seemed too cheery for what was about to happen.
Lemahl was a small town, more like a village than a town. The small settlement had existed for a short time on Dalmasca’s northern border. It was a quiet place, never seeing much excitement. Now it was the target of the Archadian military forces.
General Gabranth stood at the head of the army facing them, a few of his lieutenants with him. He was dressed in full armor like the rest of the army, a helmet covering his face. His voice echoed out over the gathered forces, breaking the tension in the still, morning air. Gabranth spoke in a level, cool tone, an emotionless voice Ffamran had gotten to know quite well.
“We have sent a small party down to the township, offering terms of surrender. However, given that they have not returned, we can assume that this town will need to be taken by force. It is guarded only by a small militia force, so we can assume this battle will be a swift Archadian victory. The time is now. For Archadia!”
The whole army echoed Gabranth’s cry, and the sound resonated through the air. Ffamran called along with them, but his heart wasn’t in it. There was a time when he would have patriotically supported the glorious cause of the Archadian Empire, but now… Lemahl was practically defenseless. They had simply chosen to battle to the death rather than be subject to Archadia. This wouldn’t be a battle; it would be massacre. That thought pounding in Ffamran’s mind, shaking him to the core.
Ffamran recognized GB47’s presence as it touched his mind even before her words sounded, the small, female voice in his mind audible above the shouts outside.
“Ffamran?” GB47 said. “I… I’m scared.”
“I… don’t blame you,” was all Ffamran could say. Behind the army, a massive division of battle fighters hovered over the ground. That many airships weren’t needed for this battle, so only a few would be participating in the real combat. Gabranth had made sure GB47 was one of those. He’d said something about how the Archadian government wanted their new weapon tested before a major battle. It had taken a lot for Ffamran to hold his tongue, hearing the innocent little airship referred to as simply a weapon. Why he suddenly felt so protective, he had no idea, but… Well, in the week since they’d met, Ffamran couldn’t help but feel responsible for her. She had no one else to turn to, after all.
“You think… everything’ll be okay?” GB47 asked again, her voice shaky.
“Just calm down,” Ffamran said. “Freaking out isn’t going to help.”
“I know… it’s just…” The shaky fear in GB47’s voice simmering into angry defiance. “I don’t want to hurt people! I don’t want to do this! But the pilots are ready and my engines are going… Oh, how do I stop?”
“I…”
Ffamran didn’t have a chance to form his reply, because things had started happening. Several soldiers mounted on calvary chocobos were at the front of the army, Gabranth astride his own steed at their head. Ffamran was part of the infantry behind. From the front of the army, Gabranth slid his sword out of its sheath, slowly so the morning sun caught the blade. Ffamran recognized this display as a tactic to encourage his troops. It made everything seem so picturesque, like they were going to fight for some great cause. But it wasn’t so. They fought only to increase Archadia’s power. Ffamran didn’t want to be here either. He didn’t want to fight. But no choice…
Gabranth pointed his sword towards the small, helpless town that sat below the hill, peacefully bathed in the morning sun. The general’s cry rang out over the landscape.
“ATTACK!”

…

The battle was, as Ffamran had predicted, a slaughter. The tiny Dalmascan force crumpled easily, and the battle was over almost before it began. Even so, the defending army fought to the last man. As the final bedraggled militia soldier was cut down, Ffamran almost admired their resolve; even though they had lost, the Dalmascans fought to the last the protect their homes and their families from this great threat. It made Ffamran sick to think that he was part of that threat.
With all resistance eliminated, the Archadian army moved into the town. Clouds had moved in, and rain began to fall over the village. Bombing runs had demolished several houses, and ash was strewn about in the streets and the air. Woman and young children were standing near some of the wrecks, covered in soot and debris. It occurred to Ffamran that everyone able to fight had left their families and joined the militia. There really were so very few people left, and those who were left looked terrified out of their wits.
Ffamran could barely process the fact that they had done this. He, as a part of the Archadian army, had taken everything away from these poor, terrified people. The great army paraded through the streets, headed by Gabranth, who apparently had some destination in mind. The rain grew heavier, and the large droplets echoed off Ffamran’s helmet. Such great devastation… Just like at Nabudis. No, not quite so bad, but Ffamran had been right there, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was one of them that carried out this destruction, he’d fought with the great empire of Archadia and brought destruction upon these innocent people. Suddenly, Ffamran felt more helpless than he ever had.
The army continued its march through the ruins of Lemahl, but Ffamran pulled out of their ranks. He ducked into an alleyway, out of the downpour, just trying to catch his breath. How could they do this? Archadia was supposed to be a great nation, the greatest on Ivalice. To be a born and bred Archadian was the highest of privileges, or so he’d been told. And truly, Ffamran had believed it all his life. But now? Archadia, his Archadia, seemed like little more than a monster.
Ffamran pulled off his helmet and tossed in down into the mud of the alley. A sculpted helmet of black metal, the sign of great Archadia and their prestigious Judges… None of that seemed true anymore.
“Mr. Knight? I need help!”
The voice of a little girl made Ffamran almost jump. At the front of the ally in a tattered red dress stood a girl, probably only five or six years old, her blond hair tangled and full of ashy debris. Soot smeared over her tear-stained face. A survivor from the bombing runs.
“What?” Ffamran finally managed to say.
“I can’t find my daddy,” the little girl said. Rain dripped off the edges of her dress. “He took Grampa’s sword off the wall and said he’d be back soon. But I can’t find him!”
That hurt. The militia force had been entirely wiped out. No prisoners. These were real people with real lives. Ffamran knew that. He’d known it since this war began. But staring down at that pitiful little girl, it all became more starkly clear than he thought possible. Ffamran didn’t want to be here. He never asked to fight. He’d have stopped it if it were possible. But he’d been there, this was his fault…
“I don’t know where you father is,” Ffamran finally said. “Why don’t you… go home and wait for him.”
The little girl shook her head, her wet, dirty hair sticking to her cheeks.
“The fire broke our house,” she said simply. “Mommy’s hurt and won’t wake up.”
Ffamran didn’t want to do this anymore. It was too much, even for him.
“Go find friends or something,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t help you!”
He didn’t mean to shout that last part, but every bitter emotion he felt then was just boiling over. The little girl looked like she might cry again, then turned and ran off down the ruined street. Ffamran just stood there, dazed. He could barely even think. After a few moments, he pulled his sword out from its sheath and looked down at the blade. Crimson red stained its silver edges. The Archadia army had completely overwhelmed the Dalmascan militia, and the calvary had taken out most of them before the infantry even arrived. They didn’t have to do much fighting. Ffamran had cut down one man, middle-aged, his sword of an old design. That girl’s father? If not, someone’s father, son, brother, husband. Somebody who shouldn’t have died. None of it should have happened. Ffamran wanted nothing more than for this to be all a bad dream.
“Ffamran?”
This was Ross’s voice. Ffamran looked up from his sword and faced his friend.
“Yes?” Ffamran said, hoping his voice wasn’t too shaky as he slid his sword back into its sheath.
“General Gabranth’s sent out orders,” Ross said. “He says we’re to gather all the surviving townsfolk and met at the village entrance.”
Ffamran nodded slowly. This wasn’t over yet.

The entire army stood, rank and file, at the village entrance, General Gabranth at their head. Ffamran wasn’t sure why the army was there. Just to make a point? Gabranth seemed to like that. Facing them, a bedraggled group of women and children stood shaking in the rain. This all felt so wrong.
“Citizens of Lemahl,” Gabranth called, his voice carrying through the rain-filled air. “This town is now under the sovereign control of the Archadian Empire. It is the first to fall in our line of conquest and will not be the last. You must remember, from now on you answer to Archadia and our Emperor Gramis Solidor.”
And on and on it went. Ffamran stood in the army, listening as Gabranth told the gathered people that they were conquered and generally that life as they knew it was over. Did he need the whole army there to intimidate these poor people? Was Gabranth really that cruel? Or perhaps he was just following orders, like everyone else here. Like Ffamran. He hated thinking that, that he was “just following orders” when he fought against the people of Lemahl.
But what Gabranth said was true. This town was conquered by Archadia, and it wouldn’t be the last. They would be moving on, soon. On to Nalbina Fortress. That would be a far greater battle than this.

…

The army left to make camp outside the town for that night, and Gabranth left a small group to help resettle the townsfolk. Perhaps he wasn’t so cruel after all.
As the army came to a halt, everyone busying themselves raising tents and accommodations for the night, Ffamran stood still. He could barely lift his gaze from the ground. The hum of activity all around barely reached his ears; the sounds and sights of combat still flashed in his senses, but more than that, that little girl’s tear-stained face, the terrified looks on all those people’s faces…
“What’s wrong, soldier?”
A gruff voice close at hand called Ffamran to lift his gaze, pulling himself back to reality. In front of him stood a tall soldier in dark armor, his particularly carved helmet sculpted with a permanent frown. From his shoulders flowed a black cape, etched with a faint red symbol; the insignia of the high Judges, Emperor Gramis’s personal guard. Ffamran straightened instantly; General Gabranth!
“Ah…! Sir!” Ffamran stood at attention.
“At ease,” General Gabranth said, waving a hand dismissively. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Ah… My apologies. Sir,” Ffamran stammered. Gabranth stood expectantly, so he continued. “I… It’s just…” He sucked in a breath. What to say to the general? Several things came to mind. “This war is so pointless,” Ffamran said, letting his hands draw into fists. “Why are we destroying these people’s lives? How does it benefit Archadia?”
“You’re Judge Ffamran, aren’t you?” Gabranth said after a moment. “That rascal from Draklor.”
Ffamran’s shoulders stiffened.
“…yes,” he replied after a few moments.
“Hmph.” Gabranth grunted. His face was invisible beneath his helmet, but he seemed to study Ffamran closely. “I told them you were too young. And irresponsible.”
Ffamran stood silent, unsure of what to say.
“You haven’t been with the Judges long,” Gabranth continued. “Never got properly trained. I’ll tell you how things work in Archadia’s military: I receive my orders, and you receive yours. We follow them. We do not ask questions.”
The faceless black gaze of Gabranth’s helmet never wavered as he spoke, still as a statue. Staring into that cold, blank face, Ffamran felt hot anger fizzling up inside him.
“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t feel right slaughtering innocents who’re only trying to defend their families!” Ffamran shouted.
“Not point getting angry,” Gabranth said, voice as icily indifferent as the steel of his mask. “It won’t change anything.” Gabranth turned away speaking with looking back as he walked. “Be ready for the next battle, soldier. That’s all we ask.”
Ffamran stood there, watching the general walk away, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be away from all this horror, back in his own home, in his own bed, to see Reina’s face…

…

Once the encampment was set up, General Gabranth addressed the whole army, saying that because this border town was so poorly defended, the Dalmascan military must be consolidating their forces at Nalbina Fortress. Therefore, they could expect the battle there to be a hard one. As such, the Archadia army would wait at Lemahl for reinforcements to arrive from Archadia. For the request to be sent and the forces to arrive would take a little less than a week, Gabranth had said. In the meanwhile, all there was to do was wait and train. It would almost be like at the military encampment, only they knew what they were in for, now. Ffamran knew what it was like to be a soldier. To kill innocents, when he was “only following orders.”
The night after the battle, Ffamran had a hard time getting to sleep. He had his reoccurring dream again, back when he was twelve years old, finding the intruder in Draklor, the pulse of power that had killed that man. He’d killed two men now… Ffamran woke after that part and couldn’t fall back asleep. Instead, he sat up in his makeshift bed and pulled out the wrench his father had given him, eight years ago. It was dark in the tents, but the little silver tool caught the scarce light; the words Ffamran Bunansa flashed back at him. He’d wondered a lot about the things his father said that morning. Why a wrench of all things as the prized family memento? And his powers… Ffamran had wanted many times to ask about them, about Dr. Cid’s theory that this power was hereditary, but then he’d get too scared and put it off for later. Now, even if he did make it back to Archades, Ffamran wouldn’t dare raise the subject. So many lost chances…
Ffamran slid the little wrench back into his pocket and thought about going back to sleep. He wasn’t sure he could. The previous day’s memories still haunted him, all the death in Lemahl. The faces of those terrified people as Gabranth told them their freedom was over floated in his mind, chasing away sleep with a thousand accusations. Ffamran told himself again and again that he had no choice. No choice… Those words stung more and more every time they echoed in his mind.
After a moment, Ffamran decided to reach out to GB47. She could reach Ffamran from far away, and he’d found he could contact her as well. He had no idea how such a link could exist, especially between a random test fighter and a random Archadia Judge, and the implications of it were more than he wanted to consider. However, Ffamran was glad of it now.
“GB47?” Ffamran said, feeling the contact in his mind.
“Ffamran?” GB47’s voice echoed in reply. “Is… that you?”
“Who else talks to you?” Ffamran said.
“Heh.” GB47 breathed out a halfhearted laugh, without any of her brightness. Ffamran frowned.
“GB47?”
She was silent, a distressed silence.
“Oh, I… I hate this!” GB47 said at last, with hot frustration. “I hate this war! I hate this metal cage! Oh, Ffamran, I couldn’t do a thing. I tried so hard, even got my engine to stall, but I couldn’t stop it. I killed all those people, because that’s what they wanted! I can’t do a thing but watch because I’m just a rock in a stupid iron cage! No choice! I hate not having a choice!”
Those same words that had circled in Ffamran’s mind, spoken in her tear-struck voice, struck a nerve.
“You think any soldier in this war has a choice?” he said, voice hotter than he meant. “They say you can desert, but then it’s forever on the run. If any of us ever want to see our homes again, we have to follow orders. Your cage may be real, but we’re all caged. There’s no freedom in this war!” That little girl’s face floated in his mind again, scared and lost… “No choice…” What would Reina think? If she knew what happened here… “Not here, not at Nabudis-” Gabranth and his icy indifference… “I’d love to put a stop to it all, but I don’t know how! I can’t!”
Ffamran clenched his teeth, breathing hard and hoping he hadn’t shouted out loud. GB47 was silent.
“Ffamran…” she said at last. “I… Oh, Ffamran, I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to do. I… I’m so sorry.”
“No, I…” Ffamran sighed, breath catching shakily in his throat. “I’m the only one who has to be sorry.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

The imperial capital, Archades
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The next morning, Reina woke early. She had barely slept the night before, despite being exhausted from her late-night escapade. There was just too much in her head. As the sun peeked over the horizon, tinting the many houses of Archades with golden hues, Reina rushed about making breakfast as usual. She was dreading that “talk” Serah had promised. What would she say? Reina thought of a thousand excuses, but nothing good enough. If she told Serah what was really going on, Reina certainly wouldn’t be a part of it anymore. Who knew what Serah would do?
Reina set breakfast on the table, too nervous to touch hers. Why wouldn’t Serah just wake up and get it over with?
As if summoned by Reina’s thoughts, Serah’s door swung open. She strode out in her high heels, dressed in a grey Draklor uniform just like Reina’s. She plopped down in the chair opposite her sister. Silence reigned.
“So…” Serah said finally. “Where were you last night and what were you doing?”
Reina sucked in a deep breath, desperately hoping her fear didn’t show. “Nothing. Everything’s fine, okay?”
“Reina…” Serah’s face darkened in a way that Reina knew wasn’t good. This strategy wasn’t working.
“You really think I’d do something stupid?” Reina asked.
“Oh, you would,” Serah replied. “I know you’re quite capable of that.”
Reina scowled. “I’m not going to get myself killed, okay? You think I’d go and do something reckless, now? While I’m waiting for Ffamran to come home? I need to be in one piece when he gets back.”
“If he gets back,” Serah said.
Reina’s eyes widened. “Serah! What do you mean? He’s coming back!”
Serah let out a sigh. “You don’t know that, Reina. This is war. It isn’t pretty. There’s every chance that even Ffamran will get killed. I don’t want you putting all your hope on something that isn’t a given. What are you going to do if he doesn’t come back?”
Reina stood up abruptly, shocked. “What? Serah! He’s Ffamran. He’ll be fine! He’ll come home! He wouldn’t let anything stop him! How could you say that?”
“Reina…” Serah worry erupted in Serah’s green gaze. That was all Reina could take.
“I’m going to Draklor,” Reina said, turning towards the door. “I want to get an early start today.”
“Reina!” Serah called after her, but Reina didn’t stop. She stormed out the door, walking down the familiar paths that led to Draklor Laboratories. Serah’s words echoed like bells in Reina’s ears.
What if he doesn’t come back?
The answer to that question was simple; Reina wouldn’t survive. She needed Ffamran. She needed him back. Everything she did, even as she snooped around, trying to uncover Dr. Cid’s plot, she did with the certainty that her fiancé would come home. He had to come back, he had to survive. Otherwise, Reina wouldn’t be able to carry on. It was as simple as that.

Serah arrived at Draklor shortly after Reina did, but Reina kept her distance from her. It wasn’t so much that she was still mad as that it would feel weird talking to her after they fought. So Reina did her best to focus on her work and not think about Serah or Ffamran. What Serah had said was true; it was possible that Ffamran would be killed. Reina just didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about anything at that moment. However, one thought kept a persistent hold on her mind: what was Dr. Cid up to, and how could she find out? Reina wasn’t giving up on that. She would find out, somehow. But she couldn’t right then, so Reina focused on her testing and experimenting and everyday work at Draklor. That is, until a voice interrupted her.
“Reina! Might I have a word with you, dear?”
That was Dr. Cid’s voice. Reina nearly jumped, and she hurriedly put down her tools.
“Oh! Dr. Cid! Good morning!” She really hoped she didn’t sound nervous or frightened. Dr. Cid looked his usual self, so that was good. Hopefully.
“I heard some unusual noises last night,” Dr. Cid continued. “I think we may have mice. What do you think, Reina?” His voice was way too suspicious when he said that. Last night? That was when Reina broke in. Reina got the distinct feeling this was bad.
“Mice?” Reina said, trying not to seem uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose some of the test rats could have escaped.”
Dr. Cid nodded. “Ah, yes, that’s very possible. However, I’d hate it if they started making a mess of things, understand?” Dr. Cid made sharp eye contact with Reina, and she tried her hardest not to squirm. “Assuming they leave things alone, I’m willing to let these mice run around for now. I trust you see my point, Reina?”
Reina’d delt with a lot that morning and the night before. This was really all she could take.
“Well, mice can’t help being mice as long as there’re rats around,” Reina shot back.
Dr. Cid’s gaze hardened. “I see. I’ll be setting traps, then.”
And with that, he walked off. Reina got the sickly feeling those words had been a mistake. A really, big, mistake.

Reina sat with Serah at lunch. Things didn’t feel nearly so tense, but maybe that was because Reina now had bigger things to worry about that an argument with her sister. She had no idea what Dr. Cid meant by “setting traps,” other than she should be careful. Really careful. Reina considered telling Serah her situation several times, and each time she chickened out. What would Serah say? Would she get mad again? Reina could tell this was a bad time to get on Serah’s nerves.
“What’s the matter?” Serah asked, halfway through the lunch break. “You haven’t touched your food.”
“Oh, I’m just not hungry,” Reina said quickly. It was true. She felt anything but hungry. Her stomach was filled with twisting worry.
Serah shook her head. “Well, just don’t complain about being hungry later.”
Reina didn’t reply. She scanned the lunch hall for Dr. Cid but didn’t see him anywhere. Was he in another meeting with Vayne and Venat? Or somewhere else? Reina wanted to find out, but she knew she was in treacherous waters now so far as that went. Dr. Cid knew she was the one who spied on him the night before. What he would do, she could only guess.
The intercom system wired through the walls, used to call certain scientists to different labs, buzzed to life. Reina was surprised; it was never used during lunch break.
“Reina Florss to Dr. Cid’s office,” the voice buzzed. Reina felt her heart skip a beat. That was so not good.
Serah cocked her head, staring at Reina. “What’d you do, sis?” she asked in a teasing voice, not sounding concerned at all. Of course, she had no idea how serious this was.
“I-I don’t know,” Reina managed to say. Her heart was racing, her thoughts too flurried to think of a solution. Serah looked worried, but Reina ignored her, stood up and headed out of the lunch hall. Once she stood in the hallway, Reina tried to come up with a plan. Should she go to Dr. Cid’s office? See what he had to say? He’d probably give an ultimatum or something similar. Would it give her a chance to find out something more? She could try and run away, but where too? If she hid, it would remove all doubt Dr. Cid had about her working against him.
So Reina decided to go to his office. She just couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Reina pushed through the doors into Dr. Cid’s office, her legs shaking. She was terrified. She knew she’d gotten in way over her head, and now she had no idea what to do. No idea at all.
Inside the office, no one was there. The lights were on, but Reina was surprised to find the room empty save for a desk covered with papers and a few bookshelves. Dr. Cid’s office was an interior room with no windows. 
Reina entered to room, her fear growing with every step. Why wasn’t Dr. Cid there? Surely he wanted to question her? Why else would he want her here? In this specific room, where no one else was watching…
A horrifying realization dawned on Reina. Dr. Cid wouldn’t go that far to get her out of the way, would he? He wouldn’t have four years ago, that was for sure. Too scared to do anything else, Reina shut the door, locking it tight. Now she was alone, and no one could get in. Dr. Cid probably had a key, but Reina didn’t think he’d come and kill her personally, himself. Still, that wouldn’t hold out guards for long…
Reina’s terror subsided, and she just felt drained. This was her fault, for being so stupid. She should have left well enough alone, she should have told Serah, she should have at least been more careful. If she’d have just held her tongue that morning, none of this would be happening. It was all her fault…
Ffamran. Reina had failed him. She couldn’t form any thoughts after that. After a few moments of floundering, Reina pulled a pen and a blank piece of paper off the desk and started to write, quickly because she knew there couldn’t be much time left.
Ffamran
I know you’ll never read this. It’s pointless, but I feel a little better, knowing there’s a chance. We never got to say goodbye, so I’m saying now. I just want you to know, this was all my fault. I was stupid and got myself killed. There was nothing you could do, and that’s okay. Goodbye. I love you, and you know that, but please move on. Live life, and leave me behind. Please.
Before Reina could write anymore, a loud pounding on the door stopped her.
“Open up!” a rough voice called. Probably a guard. It really was over.
“Just break the door down!” Reina shouted back. She wasn’t turning in that easily. Reina quickly folded up the hurriedly written note and dropped it under the desk, hoping that, somehow, Ffamran would read it someday. She knew that was too much to hope.
A clicking sound came as the lock sprang, and the door swung open. Reina turned, facing Dr. Cid as he walked in. Two guards stood behind him.
“Hello, Reina,” he said, looking grave. “You know I can’t let you go.”
The two guards advanced through the door, each grabbing one of Reina’s arms. She didn’t fight; she knew she couldn’t win.
“Why are you doing this?” Reina shouted at Dr. Cid. If she had to die, she at least wanted to know why.
“Why? Because you, my dear, are standing in my way,” Dr. Cid replied. “I will forge a new world, one where no one dies needlessly, where no one is passed over. And I will pay any price to reach it. If I must dispose of you, then so be it. I will not let any oppose me.”
Reina shook her head, fighting back tears. “This isn’t you! You were a kind old man! You let me and Serah work here, even when we weren’t old enough! You were never like this! What happened?”
“I have a goal,” Dr. Cid said, his remorseless gaze meeting hers. “And I will accomplish it. If you try and stop me, you will be dealt with. It is as simple as that.”
“What about Ffamran?” Reina asked, finally losing the battle with her tears. Dr. Cid’s gaze hardened.
“I will pay any price.”
Reina couldn’t speak anymore. It really was over.
“Take her away,” Dr. Cid said to the guards, waving his hand dismissively. “You know what to do.”
The two guards obeyed, dragging Reina out the doorway. She hung her head, tears dripping off her face.
I’m sorry, Ffamran. This is my fault. I hope… you can deal with this. It’s up to you, now.

…

Dr. Cid sat in his chair in his office, staring at the small note he held. It was dark in the room save for the small lamp on the desk. He wasn’t really sure what to think after what he’d read in that short, hurriedly written note.
“What is that?” This was Venat’s voice, speaking as he materialized. The sight and sound of his presence was a very familiar thing to Cid; it had been for four years since they met.
“A goodbye, of sorts,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the note. “From little Reina.”
“I see,” Venat said, his voice rattling. “A meaningless sentiment.”
“Yes,” Dr. Cid said after a moment. Of course it was. Meaningless.
“One more step has been taken,” Venat said. “After your actions today, I have no doubts that you will follow through on our plans. Indeed, Cid, you have proved your loyalty to our cause.”
Cid nodded slowly. Venat was right. He always was.
“Yes, Venat. I will pay any price for our new world.”
He sucked in a breath, then tossed the little note into the refuse bin. Nothing would stand in his way. Nothing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

The Imperial Capital, Archades
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Cid could barely believe his eyes. In his arms he held a squirming, crying newborn, a beautiful baby boy. His mind went blank for a moment as he realized all his dreams were coming true. Yes, all their dreams were being fulfilled in this one small infant. They’d talked about this so many times the past nine months, he and Talna. It was really real. He was here, their little Ffamran. Finally, it was real.
“Oh, Talna!” Cid laughed, looking up at his exhausted wife. “It’s a boy! You did it!”
A weak, tired laugh came from Talna, lying in the bed. Cid’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her face: pale and weak, red hair clinging to her sweaty cheeks, eyes closed as she gasped for breath. Cid shifted the newborn Ffamran to one arm, taking his wife’s hand.
“Talna?” he said gently. “Hang on. We have a son! Oh, look and see!”
Talna sucked in a shaky breath, her blue eyes fluttering open weakly. A smile tried to cross her weary face as she saw the infant.
“Ffamran…” she wheezed out, closing her eyes again. “That’s what we decided on, isn’t it?”
Cid felt his panic grow. This had been too long, too hard. He tightened his grasp on Talna’s hand.
“Hold on, Talna!” he said. “We have so much time left! Ffamran needs you. I need you!”
Talna didn’t seem to hear him. She’d weakly opened her eyes again, resting her glassy gaze on their newborn son.
“We thought we’d never have children…” she said, a weary yet lovely smile on her pale lips. “Oh, he’s so beautiful…”
Talna tried to raise a hand to touch the child, but she didn’t have the strength. She let her hand fall, closing her eyes again.
“Cid…” Talna’s voice was little more than a whisper now. “Take care of our Ffamran. Please?”
Cid tried to say something but failed. Tears fought their way into his eyes.
“Talna, no…” he breathed out at last, his breath as shaky as his dying wife’s.
Talna opened her eyes one more time, gazing at Ffamran.
“He’s special… Oh, I felt it… He… needs you… Cid …” she whispered, then her eyes fell closed. She wore a peaceful smile on her now still face. She wasn’t breathing either…
“Talna?” Cid could barely get the words out. She wasn’t… not now, not when everything was going right. No, she couldn’t be…
“Talna…”

Dr. Cid stirred awake, the sunlight of a new day washing through the lone window in his bedroom, the pale dawn light banishing the dark and cold of night. But no matter how bright the morning, it couldn’t wash away the stain of that awful memory.
Cid sat up slowly in his bed, breathing slowly. Every time he remembered her smiling face, every time he recalled her voice, and those last dying words… It always hurt just as much as that moment when she lay dying. Talna… gone forever…
Cid shook his head, trying to banish those despairing thoughts. He had a purpose now, a new purpose. To make a world where there was no needless death, a better Ivalice. That was what Venat had promised, and Dr. Cid believed him. That was their goal: to forge a new and better world. And Cid wouldn’t let anyone get in his way.
Cid reached out to his bedside table, where a small, glassy-white stone lay, and rested his hand on it. The nethicite, the Midlight Shard, the instrument with which they would shape their new world, he, Venat, and Vayne. Dr. Cid knew what price Venat had demanded, the one thing Cid himself would give up for their new world. It was a price he was willing to pay, however harsh it seemed.
Talna’s finally words echoed in his mind one more agonizing time, and something beyond her sweet, now absent voice made its way through to him. Take care of our Ffamran… He needs you… Cid…
Cid shook his head, banishing the memory. He had a mission, a purpose, a new world with no needless death, somehow a righting of that foul wrong when Talna was taken away.
And whatever price was necessary, he would pay it.

…

Days pasted slowly. The day after the battle of Lemahl, Ffamran spend the morning in the village per General Gabranth’s request, helping repair homes and the like. Gabranth seemed like a decent man, if cold and stony, and he did apparently care how he left the townsfolk of Lemahl. The general seemed incredibly worried about the upcoming clash at Nalbina Fortress, almost to the point of paranoia. He made sure the mechanic Moogles got the air force ready and had all the soldiers training, keeping their skills sharp as they waited for the reinforcements. So there they were again, waiting. Ffamran’s patience had been run dry during the last week of waiting. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it through this one.
Five days after the battle in Lemahl, the promised shipment of troops arrived. Gabranth was still rather nervous, but Ffamran just ignored him. He talked to a few of the new soldiers; they were mostly draftees, without much combat training at all. Gabranth had a conversation with some important-looking man, and it took all of Ffamran’s self-control not to eavesdrop on them. Who knew how much trouble that would get him in?
Back in his tent, Ffamran found Ross sitting by his bed. He looked worried.
“What’s wrong?” Ffamran asked him, coming over.
“Oh, Ffamran. I was looking for you,” Ross said, standing up abruptly. “There was a letter for you. They brought it in with the reinforcements. I told them I’d bring it to you.” Ross held out the letter, and Ffamran took it. Something from Reina? He hoped so.
“The guy I took it from said… well…” Ross continued nervously. “From what he said, it doesn’t seem like good news.
Ffamran narrowed his eyes, a sinking feeling taking hold. “What do you mean?”
Ross shook his head with a sigh. “I think you should just read it, Ffamran.”
Suddenly, reading the letter seemed much less exciting. Ffamran stared down at it, reading over the information on the front. Nothing there gave away what was inside. It was from his father, not Reina. That, too, seemed bad.
What could his father want to tell him? Last time Ffamran checked, their relationship was hardly booming. Why go through all the trouble of sending a letter out to the front? And exactly how bad was this news? Ffamran had enough worries on his plate. He didn’t need any more.
“Are you going to read it?” Ross asked. Ffamran was silent for a few moments before answering.
“Later. I’ll read it a little later.”
So Ffamran tucked the mysterious letter into his pocket, alongside the wrench with his name on it. Later

…

That night, Ffamran still hadn’t read the letter. The next day they’d be leaving for Nalbina, so he knew this was his last chance to learn whatever bad news the message held. He seriously considered not reading it at all. Perhaps things would be better that way. Even so, Ffamran couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, no matter how much he wanted to. So he just sat there on the edge of his bed, staring at the unopened letter in his hand, willing himself to open it up and read what was inside.
“Ffamran? You still haven’t read that?” This was Ross’s voice. Ffamran looked up to see his friend standing over him.
“No,” Ffamran replied dully.
Ross shook his head, then snatched the letter out Ffamran’s hand.
“Look,” Ross said, “either you read this, or I’m going to read it to you. Which would you prefer?”
Ffamran let out a sigh. It was probably for the best, anyhow.
“Hand it over.”
Ross handed the letter back, and Ffamran opened it slowly, willing his hands not to shake. Surely this news couldn’t be that bad, could it? But somehow, he knew…
Ffamran’s eyes darted quickly over the paper’s surface, barely comprehending the words. Only the message, written clearly in painfully concise words, made its way through to him. His hands started to shake then, his grip tightening until the paper crinkled. Ffamran clenched his jaw, his breath coming in short, shaky gasps.
“Ffamran?” Ross’s concerned voice sound very far away to Ffamran’s ears. He ignored him, crumpling up the paper in a sudden spark of anger. Ffamran wordlessly turned away, striding out through the tent flap and into the cold night air.
A thousand stars painted the black night sky, them and the moon the only source of light. The cliffs were painted with a magical silver hue, sparkling out of the darkness. Reina would have loved that view.
That thought brough pain afresh pulsing back through Ffamran’s heart and body. Ffamran clenched his fists, wishing some angry outburst would be good enough to undo the terrible news he’d heard.
Reina…
He hadn’t even been there. He was out here on the front, while she… she…
The note hadn’t said much. Something about a lab accident. Ffamran didn’t really care. All he knew was that Reina, all he had left in the turmoil that engulfed Ivalice, his fiancée, his love, his everything… She was gone. Gone, and yet again, there wasn’t a thing Ffamran could do about it. He hadn’t even been there to try.
“Ffamran?” The familiar sound of GB47’s voice entered Ffamran’s mind, thick with concern. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong,” she continued. “I won’t even pretend I understand. But I’m here.”
Ffamran didn’t reply. For perhaps the first time he could remember, tears dripped down Ffamran’s face, as hot and burning as the pain that raged inside him. There was nothing he could do to stop it, not any of it. He hadn’t been there when Reina needed him.
And now she was dead. Gone. And it was all his fault.
Ffamran stood there outside the tent, under the beautiful night sky, and wept.

…

The next day, the army left their camp outside Lemahl and headed for Nalbina Fortress. The Kingdom of Dalmasca was mostly desert, and the marching would be long and tiring. There wasn’t time for any sort of proper mourning for Ffamran. He was almost glad of that. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. He wanted anything but to forget Reina, and yet at the same time, every thought of her delt those terrible wounds anew. Every image of bright green eyes and chocolate-brown hair, ever sound of bright laughter and kind words, every memory of the time they had together, crippled him. Ffamran wouldn’t forget, but he couldn’t remember. Every option was fraught with pain.
The Archadian army marched all day, and it was dark by the time they reached their target. Nalbina really was a fortress, surrounded by high walls and a thick paling. The paling, a barrier of magic created by experienced mages, covered the fortress like a dome, blocking out any aerial bombardments. Even from that distance, Ffamran could see the movement of Dalmascan soldiers atop the walls in the light of their torches; as Gabranth had said, this would be a difficult battle.
Ffamran ran through the battle plan in his mind for the thousandth time. The army would make a full-on assault on the gate, then once they made it through, a division would infiltrate the fortress, find the mages who held the paling up, and dispatch them. Once the paling was down, the full Archadian armada would descend on Nalbina Fortress, and the Dalmascans’ defeat would be assured. Ffamran himself, as a Judge, was in charge of a small division of the army. It was a small group, and Ffamran got the feeling Gabranth didn’t trust him that much. It was insulting, but Ffamran had little desire to command troops; perhaps he was lucky Gabranth didn’t trust him.
As at Lemahl, Gabranth sat astride his chocobo at the front of the army, making some speech about Archadia’s greatness and how the taking of Nalbina Fortress would be forever remembered. Ffamran wasn’t really listening. Instead, he reached out to GB47.
“Are you alright?” Ffamran asked.
“I guess,” GB47 replied with a mental nod. “And you?”
“Well, as much as I can be,” Ffamran sighed. “You ready?”
“If I say no, does that mean I don’t have to fight?”
Ffamran let out a bitter chuckle. “Good luck up there. Don’t crash.”
“Not like I have much choice,” GB47 replied. “And you don’t go getting killed, either, okay?”
Ffamran let out a breath. Without Reina… “Maybe it’d be better if I did. There’s not much left for me.”
“Ffamran!” GB47’s voice was shocked. “Don’t talk like that! You’ve got plenty left to live for, and a lot of life left to find more! Don’t go getting yourself killed, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” Ffamran sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
GB47 let out a worried sigh. “Okay. Good luck.”
Ffamran’s response was cut off by the cry of, “For Archadia!” that rippled through the army’s ranks. He didn’t shout along this time. However much he loved his country before, all that patriotism was gone now. Ffamran couldn’t care less about the great Archadian Empire.
Without further ado, under the black, starless night sky, the Archadian army descended on Nalbina Fortress. Unlike at Lemahl, their opponents were fully trained soldiers. However, the Archadian army had the advantage of numbers. The gate fell easily, and once the army was inside, the real battle began. Chocobo-mounted calvary forces met, and after them the infantry collided. It then became apparent that Dalmasca was sorely outnumbered.
The infantry battling was sheer chaos. Seeqs plowed down rows of mere humans, archers from both sides showered arrows into the fray, and calvary cut down swordsmen with ease. The archers often hit the calvary men, and their terrified chocobos would run aimlessly through the fighting, else the wounded birds would toppled over, often crushing others in their decent. As the fighting carried on, it became less of a battle and more of a desperate struggle for survival, kill or be killed. The fighting was fierce and unforgiving, but Ffamran’s excellent sword skills managed to keep him alive. He struggled to keep his calm, to remember the battle plan. They were only to hold the Dalmascan forces at bay while the selected division took out the mages holding up the paling. Then, aerial bombardment would finish off the remaining enemies.
Above the fortress, aerial combat had already begun. The Dalmascan and Archadian fleets collided mercilessly, engaging in a battle as chaotic as the infantry wars below. The paling rippled blue over their heads as wrecked airships and other debris crashed into it, bouncing off to litter the desert around them. Ffamran had no time to worry about GB47 and how she fared in that collision of forces; keeping himself alive was hard enough.
After who knew how long, the rippling paling overhead disintegrated in a dazzling display of myst and light. The Archadians had successfully dispatched with the mages and taken down the paling. Now Nalbina was all but taken.
But Ffamran realized the battle was not over yet. The Dalmascans still fought, and there were still lives to be lost. Archers continued to rain down death upon the infantry and calvary below. One arrow hit Ffamran in the shoulder, but he ignored it and fought through the pain. It was his sword arm, but he couldn’t let even that slow him for a moment. To do so would mean certain death.
With the paling gone, wreckage from the aerial battle rained down over the soldiers below, along with the bombs that struck into the deepest parts of the fortress. Every now and then, and entire airship would crash and explode in a spectacular display of flames, often right into a knot of infantry. The sheer number of torn corpses that littered the ground was astonishing, so many dead…
But Ffamran couldn’t dwell on that. A moment’s focus diverted to anything but survival would be fatal.
The fighting carried on until Dalmasca’s forces had dwindled to almost nothing. The Archadian army had taken heavy losses as well, but they had more troops to begin with. It felt like they had been fighting all through the night when at last the Dalmascans sounded the horn for retreat.
Slowly, the battlefield emptied as the Dalmascans fled, leaving Nalbina Fortress to the Archadians. The army didn’t pursue. Somehow, after a long, grueling fight, Ffamran found himself standing on a now-still battlefield among many of his weary fellow soldiers, still alive.
Ffamran took a few steps forward, no real destination in mind. His brain was fogged with weariness, and he just wanted to be off that corpse-strew battlefield where he’d spent the last who knew how long. It was still night, no sigh of dawn on the horizon. Smoke filled the sky so much that the moon and stars were invisible. Ffamran had no way of knowing the time.
After a couple of steps, Ffamran’s weary legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, his helmet sliding off and rolling to a stop. His sword, now stained completely scarlet, slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. Ffamran had no idea why he was suddenly so tired and light-headed. Nothing hurt, but he was certain any pain was covered with adrenaline. So Ffamran just knelt there on the battlefield, staring at the blood-stained ground, struggling to suck in shaky breaths. His head was spinning, and his eyes fought to close. His right arm felt sort of numb, too.
“Ffamran?” This voice was Ross’s. It sounded oddly distant. Ffamran managed to lift his head and look up as Ross crouched down next to him. Ross seemed frazzled but mostly unharmed. His eyes widened as he knelt closer.
“Hold on,” Ross said, his voice deeply worried. He reached out and took Ffamran’s arm as if to help him stand.
“I’m fine,” Ffamran hissed out through clenched teeth. “I just need… to catch my breath.”
“Fine?” Ross said. “You look like a pincushion!”
“What?” Ffamran barely managed to get the word out. He remembered that one arrow in his shoulder, but…
Ffamran craned his neck to look over at his right arm, his breath coming short at what he saw. In addition to the one in his shoulder, which was lodged deeper than he initially thought, three more long arrow shafts stuck out of his arm from joints in the armor. One had broken off halfway up. The black metal of his armor was stained with shiny crimson liquid, dripping off to add to the swirling canvas of red on the earth below. No wonder he felt so light-headed.
“Oh…”
Ffamran breath was coming shorter now. His still didn’t feel any pain, but that wasn’t a good sign.
“Just hold on. I’ll get you to the medics.” Ross grabbed Ffamran’s uninjured arm and slung it over his shoulder, lifting his friend off the bloodied battlefield. Ffamran clenched his teeth as he tried to get his feet under him. A sudden spell of dizziness rocked him, and he slipped.
“Ffamran?” Ross’s worried voice sounded miles away. Ffamran fought to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing battle. A soft cloud of darkness covered him, seeming much more inviting than the death and pain all around. Ffamran lost his hold on consciousness, and everything went black.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Dalmasca stronghold, Nalbina Fortress
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The night sky was dark. The stars… no, there were no stars. It was stormy, a magnificent storm, flashing over the heavens, lightning and rain streaking down over Archades. Was it that storm, on that night eight years ago? No, wait… It wasn’t stormy at all. The sky was clear outside, the sun shining through the windows into the oh-so-familiar hallways of Draklor Laboratories. Ffamran had spent his whole life in these wonderful, familiar hallways. This was where he’d laughed and cried, lived and worked, the place where he’d grown up. Draklor was a wonderfully familiar place, one where Ffamran had spent all stages of life. How old was he now? A toddler, sticking closely by his father’s side as he watched from a distance the work of scientists all around? A boy, happily spending afternoons after school wandering the laboratory, watching experiments with fascination? Or was he a teenager, actively participating in the delicate work of Draklor, calling those scientists he’d known all his life colleagues and coworkers? Maybe it was now, the present day, and Ffamran was a Judge, just swinging by to visit Reina, not his father because he never had a reason to visit him. Yes, that made sense. It was now, and Ffamran was here to see his fiancée in the excitement-filled weeks before their wedding. He’d known Reina since he started going to school. Ffamran couldn’t even remember meeting her. They’d been friends in their childhood, though Serah had been a pain even then. It was really only after their parents died and the two sisters started working at Draklor that Ffamran had begun to think of Reina as something else. Even then, he hadn’t said anything because he was worried Reina didn’t see things the same way. But years went by, things changed, and everything fell so perfectly into place. Now they were going to get married! Really, everything was perfect. There was the nagging issue of Ffamran’s father, and the nethicite, and whatever was going on there, but Ffamran didn’t want to think about that. He only wanted to focus on him and Reina, on their future. Their future… When he got there, Ffamran would finally be free from Draklor and his father, it’d be a new life. He wanted to believe that. He wanted nothing more than to block out every real problem, to ignore them completely. And, until Nabudis, Ffamran had managed to do just that.
Nabudis? No, that thought was forbidden here. Ffamran was going to see Reina. All was right with the world on this sunlit morning, everything was okay. There was no war, no death, Reina was alive and well. The mere thought that she wasn’t was preposterous!
Ffamran continued his journey through the familiar halls of Draklor Laboratories, looking for Reina. He was headed for the lunch hall, because it was probably break time then. If it wasn’t, why was he here? He knew better than to interrupt anyone during work hours.
The lunch hall was empty and silent when Ffamran arrived. He wondered momentarily where everyone was. Perhaps he was too early, or too late? No, Ffamran knew when the lunch break started. He couldn’t have missed it. And the labs had all been empty, too. Where was everyone?
“Ffamran! Over here!”
That voice was delightfully familiar, sweeter than any song. Ffamran spun around to see Reina sitting alone at her usual table, that bright, wonderful smile of hers painted over her lips, crystal green eyes glittering. She stood up and walked toward him.
“Reina!” Ffamran came over to meet his fiancée, but when he wrapped his arms around her, she vanished. He stood there a moment, baffled.
“Reina?” Ffamran looked in all directions, but he could see her anywhere. What was going on?
“She’s not here.” This was Serah’s voice. Ffamran turned around and spotted her leaning against the wall.
“Serah!” He walked up to her. “Where’ s Reina?”
“I said she’s not here.” Serah rolled her eyes, as if that was an obvious fact. “It’s all your fault, you know.”
“What?” Ffamran frowned in confusion. “What is?”
“Everything!” Serah said, throwing her hands up. “The nethicite, your father, Reina, Nabudis- all of it! You didn’t do anything. You just sat back and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. Kinda tough to that now, ain’t it?” Serah pushed off from the wall and walked over to a nearby window, looking out over Archades. In a single second, the sunlit blue sky was replaced with dark clouds, and rain showered over the rooftops.
“What was I supposed to do?” Ffamran asked.
Serah shrugged. “If you’d opened your eyes sooner, seen what was going on with your father and the nethicite, maybe you could’ve done something before it got this bad. There’d have been no Nabudis, no war, and you’d have been there to save Reina. You might even have your father back, too.” Serah turned and threw a searing glare in Ffamran’s direction. “But no… You didn’t do a thing. You thought that if you ignored it long enough, it’d all just go away like your stupid powers. So what are you gonna do now, Ffamran? It’s too late to stop things. Your father’s already gone, Reina’s already dead. You have nothing left. Your life is over.”
“I… I…” Try as he might, Ffamran couldn’t come up with an excuse for Serah’s accusations. Only, the person in front of him didn’t really seem like Serah anymore. Its face was that of ever man he’d killed in the battle at Nalbina, the one man from Lemahl, that little girl after the battle…
“Ffamran?”
That voice was loud, so very real when compared to the fuzzy dreamscape. It echoed off the halls, making the raindrops outside shake with its force. The image of Serah or whoever it was now wavered and vanished, leaving Ffamran alone.
“Ffamran!”
It was the same voice again. The voice was familiar, small and female.
“GB47?”

Ffamran sucked in a breath, real air filling his lungs. The wretched dreamscape that had claimed him vanished in the light of wakefulness, dispersing like mist in the morning sun. Staring up at the roof, or rather canvas folds, above him, Ffamran deducted that he was in a tent of some kind, lying in a makeshift bed. That was where he’d awoken most mornings since the war started.
Ffamran sat up too quickly, a stabbing pain rushing through his right arm. He saw that it was in a sling, bandaged tightly. The memory of the battle and his horrid dream rushed through him all at once. From the sounds of groaning around him, Ffamran guessed he was in a medical tent. It seemed Ross had managed to get him there after all.
“Ffamran!” GB47’s voice called in his mind. “Oh, you’re alright! Are you alright?”
“I… I think so,” Ffamran replied, examining his bandaged arm.
“I wish I could see you,” GB47 said with a sigh. “But you sound alright. Thank goodness.”
Ffamran lay back down in his bed. He felt dizzy, and took a moment to collect his breath.
“How’d the battle go?” Ffamran asked, breathing hard.
“The battle? Archadia won,” GB47 replied. “It looks like Dalmasca’s going to surrender. So the war’s almost over.”
“Somehow, I thought I’d be happier to hear those words,” Ffamran said with a sigh.
“Don’t you want to go home?” GB47 asked.
“Why would I?” Ffamran said bitterly. “Reina’s dead. My father’s insane. All that’s back in Archades is nethicite, and I want no part in any of that.”
“I guess so,” GB47 said after a moment. “I’ll be going back to YPA; I don’t even know what they’ll do with me. Probably just use me to destroy more.” She sighed. “Oh, if only there was some way to start all over.”
“Maybe there is…” Ffamran said, staring up at the tent roof as he thought.
“Hm?”
“I never want to go back to Archades,” he explained. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter if they were looking for me…”
“You mean desert?” GB47 said. “Yeah, you could! Steal an airship and fly away! You know…”
“Hold on,” Ffamran said. “Are you implying what I think you are?” His thoughts had been running along those lines, but the idea of taking her in particular hadn’t crossed his mind.
“Ffamran, please!” GB47 pleaded. “I… I can’t go back to YPA. I don’t remember much from before, just… flashes. Nightmares. Lightning and drills and men in white coats… Oh, I can’t go back! And if it’s not to that, they’ll just use me to destroy more! I can’t stop them, no matter how much I want to, but… I can trust you, Ffamran. I know… you won’t use my power to kill. There’s no one else I can trust!”
“I… Well…” Ffamran stammered.
“Is there another airship you want to take?” GB47 asked. “They’ve got me parked in the aerodrome for repairs; I’ll be easy to reach.”
“Repairs? How can I take you if you’re damaged?”
GB47 sighed. “Oh, it’s not that bad; I can fly. You grew up in a laboratory; you can fix me up once we’re out of here. Oh, please, Ffamran! Don’t leave me here!”
Ffamran sighed. “Oh, this whole desertion thing may be a bad idea altogether. I need to think.”
“I don’t!” GB47 said.
“Well, I do,” Ffamran replied. “I’m…” He caught himself before saying ‘exhausted,’ but he was. His head swam and arm ached, and he wanted to rest, but didn’t want to admit that. “I just need to think, alright?”
“Alright.” GB47 sighed. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Her presence vanished, and Ffamran stared up at the ceiling and thought. Leave it all, abandon Ffamran Bunansa. That name, a timeworn stamp that marked him as one in the long line of Ffamran Bunansas. It named him as the bearer of his unwanted powers, as the inheritor of a noble Archadian family. Ffamran didn’t want that. Not anymore. Had he ever?
But was it worth it? He would be leaving behind everything, both his mistakes and successes, his past with both its sorrow and its joy. Could he do that? Lose all the good, just to rid himself of the bad? But how much of the good was left, really? His father was insane, Reina was dead, and their memories only made things worse. There really wasn’t much left in Archades for Ffamran to go back to. And then there was that thing, the myst-creature hidden in the nethicite. It had clearly wanted something with Ffamran, and he regrettably knew too little of his own powers to fight it. Being anywhere near that nethicite was dangerous. Everything was compelling him to go.
And little GB47… Could Ffamran really abandon the childlike airship to whatever YPA had planned for their unique specimen? To that cruel a fate?
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
The thought suddenly shocked him. He’d considered walking away and leaving defenseless GB47 in the hands of YPA? He couldn’t. Couldn’t leave her like that. And honestly, if he had an airship to call his own, Ffamran preferred her to the average crude fighter. And practically, there wasn’t a better vessel in the armada to steal.
Was that it? Nothing more to decide. Letting out a sigh, Ffamran rolled over in his bed, closing his eyes. Whether he’d admit it to GB47 or not, he was exhausted. He was back asleep in moments.

…

That night, Ffamran slipped out of the medical tent and made his way stealthily to the aerodrome. His arm was still securely in the sling, and it hurt with every movement, but Ffamran didn’t let that slow him down. If he wanted to escape the army, he had to be able to at least endure an injured arm.
Inside the aerodrome, the conversations of several damaged fighter crafts hummed through the air. Ffamran ignored their jubilance over the recent battle and headed straight for GB47. He didn’t need to ask her where she was; Ffamran could just follow the tug of their connection. There was no denying it then, that there was a real, tangible bond between the two of them, whatever that entailed. Ffamran didn’t want to worry about that at the moment. He just wanted to leave.
Once he reached the docking bay where GB47 was kept, he reached out to her.
“GB47? Is it all clear?”
“Ffamran! See? I knew you’d come.”
“Mm. Let’s just leave, alright? Are there any guards around?”
“There were some earlier, but they left. You can come it.”
Ffamran nodded, then pushed his way through the doors into the hanger. Inside was GB47. Her voice always sounded so small, it was almost surprising when Ffamran saw the real her, a great military airship. Such crafts were not small jets but were designed for all manner of missions. Military airships always had ample holds and could carry several people in their spacious cockpits. Combine that with glossair systems and a load of firearms, and each fighter was a large, intimidating aircraft. GB47 was no exception; even though Ffamran thought of her as a “little” airship, she was nothing of the sort.
“Ready to go?” GB47’s familiar, small voice sounded in Ffamran’s mind. He sighed.
“Mm.”
She gave him the code for her door, and he opened it. The door was low on the side and opened into small hallway with short stairways leading down to the hold and engine rooms and up to the cockpit. Ffamran took the stairs up into the cockpit. Inside were two rows of seats; two were positioned in front of the control panels for the pilot and copilot. Ffamran sat down in the pilot’s seat, resting his one good hand on the steering wheel, the leather smooth under his palm. He’d flown airships before, mostly test-driving new prototypes for Draklor, but it never felt like this.
“This is it,” Ffamran said aloud. No reason not to. “No going back.”
“It’s what you want, right?” GB47 asked. “If it isn’t…”
“It’s the only thing I can think to do,” Ffamran replied. “The end of Ffamran Bunansa.” He sighed. “Fat lot of good he ever did.”  
“Ffamran…” GB47 sighed with unvoiced concern, then pushed back into her brightness. “So, if Ffamran’s gone, who are you now?”
“Hm? Ah.” So this was it. Time for a new name. “I… hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Ffamran replied. “I don’t really care what.” Just something less weighty. Ffamran let out a sigh; now wasn’t the time to be gloomy. “Any ideas, GB47?”
“You’re asking me?” GB47 replied, stunned. “I… well… You could use your grandfather’s name?”
“That is the most terribly uncreative thing I’ve ever heard of,” Ffamran replied with a scoff. “But unfortunately, his name was Ffamran, too.”
“Really? Both of them?”
“Well, no,” Ffamran replied. “I never met my mother’s father. His name was… Balthier or something like that. Oh, I don’t remember.”
“Balthier?” GB47 thought for a moment. “Sounds good enough to me. How about it?”
“Balthier…” Ffamran stared out GB47’s windshield, studying the dark hanger bay as he rolled it over in his mind. Balthier… “Why not?” No more Ffamran. Not anymore… Balthier…
“And what about me?” GB47 asked.
“Hm?” Balthier said.
“I don’t want to be YPA’s private killing machine for the rest of my life,” GB47 said. “Besides, I’m yours now; a pirate should name his ship.”
“When did I become a pirate?” Balthier said, frowning.
“Adventurer, mercenary, man on the run, whatever,” GB47 said. “What’s my name?”
“What kind of name do you want?” Balthier asked.
“Just make something up,” GB47 replied. “As long as it sounds good.” She thought for a moment. “Something shorter than YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter.”
Balthier sighed. It couldn’t be that hard to throw a few sounds together. “How about… Strahl?”
“Strahl… Yeah.” She let out a long, relieved sigh. Her voice grew very quiet. “Thank you.”
“Well… This is it, then,” Balthier said, flipping switches across Strahl’s control panels. “Time to go.”
“Time to go,” Strahl echoed in his mind. Balthier felt her engines rumble to life beneath his feet. The energy rippled through the walls, setting massive glossair rings outside turning with a vibrant hum. The hanger roof rolled back, revealing a night sky full of stars. The open sky called. Balthier hesitated.
Reina. I’m so sorry.
Is this right? Should I? But what else…?
“Balthier?” Strahl’s voice interrupted his thoughts, concerned. “If you’re not sure about this…”
“No,” Balthier said, aloud; the words seemed more definitive that way. “I am. We’re leaving.”
Balthier pulled on Strahl’s controls, lifted them up and away into the starry night sky.
They sailed off towards the horizon.

…

The war, indeed, was over. After Dalmasca’s crushing defeat at Nalbina, Archadia extended terms of peace, or rather, of Dalmasca’s surrender. King Raminas of Dalmasca made his way to Nalbina Fortress to sign the treaty, ending the war and Dalmasca’s freedom. To fully understand the grief of Dalmasca’s people, one must know of the hope that had filled the kingdom in the days before the war. King Raminas’ daughter, the Princess Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, known affectionately by her people as Princess Ashe, had a few days before been wed to the second prince of Nabradia, Lord Rasler. This wedding signified a treaty between the two nations, promising prosperity for both. But it was more than a mere wedding of convenience; the people of Dalmasca rejoiced in seeing their beloved princess wed to her true love. Rasler was still residing in Rabanastre, Dalmasca’s capital, when Nabudis fell and Nabradia was lost. Burning with grief over the loss of his nation and family, Rasler led Dalmasca’s forces against the hated Archadian Empire in the Battle of Nalbina Fortress. Unfortunately, he was hit with an arrow to the heart and killed in the combat. With their greatest stronghold and most passionate leader lost, the Dalmascans had begun to despair. Still, they remembered the hope that had surrounded Princess Ashe’s wedding and clung to that memory. Many were angry when the king agreed to surrender to the empire that had taken everything away from them.
Despite this, King Raminas went forth to Nalbina, determined to end the war before any more lives were lost. However, Archadia had massed more soldiers at Nalbina, and many feared the king was walking into a trap, that the Archadians would kill him as soon as he signed the treaty. This is mind, the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca set forth, following the king to the fortress, intending to rescue him from this fate. However, this plan went horribly awry, and King Raminas was assassinated by of the Order’s own knights before he could sign the treaty. This knight, Captain Basch, claimed he only wished to save Dalmasca from Archadian control. Nevertheless, he was taken captive and executed for treason. Following the king’s death was Dalmasca’s complete surrender without terms. The final blow to the Dalmascan people was the death of Princess Ashe, who, full of grief and despair after the death of her father and husband and the loss of her country, took her own life.
The feared war between Archadia and Rozarria never came, and Ivalice remanded in a state of restless peace.
But what did the future hold, just over the horizon? History is written with the ink of tears and laughter, and both joy and sorrow await those who would play their roles in it.
And what of those who fled the crisis of nations? Do they still have a role to play in this history’s tale? Will it be their tears, and their laughter, that stain the pages of Ivalice’s history…?

End Part One: The Prelude

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

Nalbina Fortress. How did I end up back here?
Year 704 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Balthier clenched his teeth in annoyance, running through in his mind every way he might possibly extricate himself from this perilous situation. Heavy handcuffs held his hands together, and an armed guard walked on either side of him. It was flattering the Archadian government thought such measures necessary to stop him from escaping, but also frustrating. Balthier could easily pick the lock on the cuffs, but fighting off two Archadian knights with swords when he himself had no weapon would be a different matter.
The guards led him down another flight of stairs, deeper into the fortress. Balthier had heard the Archadians sealed off the lower half of the fortress turning it into a dungeon; the place was already known for its horrid conditions. However, it didn’t seem that was where they were taking him. This place had cells along the walls, far more structured than the infamous Nalbina Dungeons.
It had been two months since the war ended and Balthier had taken Strahl and left the army. The Archadian government had immediately placed a hefty bounty on his head; apparently, his desertion combined with the theft of a unique, incredibly valuable airship hadn’t sat well with them. Balthier had been on the run since then, doing odd mercenary-type jobs, hunting monsters and the like. He’d been surprised how much he enjoyed it. And he’d gotten to see the rest of Ivalice outside of Archades, just like he’d always wanted. This freedom was bought at the great price of everything Ffamran had ever been, but Balthier tried not to dwell on that fact.
In those two months, pursuit by the Archadian knights and headhunters alike had kept Balthier on his toes. Luckily, Strahl was fast enough to outrun any aerial pursuers, so Balthier only really had to watch himself on the ground. Balthier knew he was a wanted man and had done his best to stay out of large cities, but today he’d ducked into Rabanastre, Dalmasca’s capital, to restock. He thought it had been long enough since the Battle of Nalbina that he could show his face in public again.
And he’d been wrong. A group of Archadian knights stationed in the conquered nation’s capital had spotted him and jumped on the chance to capture such a highly valued prisoner. He’d put up a fight but didn’t stand much chance alone against four knights. They’d dragged him onto a transport craft, and while in the aerodrome, Balthier had managed to contact Strahl. She said that some soldiers had come in and were preparing to fly her to Nalbina Fortress, where their plan was to keep her until someone from YPA could be contacted. One thing Balthier was glad of in this whole situation was that he was also at Nalbina. At least Strahl would be ready and waiting when he escaped.
Balthier diverted his attention to the cells he and his escort were passing. The doors were thick and solid, each with only one small, barred window near the top. Most of them were empty, but a few held prisoners. None of these captives looked thin and worn, as one might imagine prisoners held in such rough cells for extended periods of time. Balthier deducted that this was merely a holding center, and he’d soon be shipped off to Archades for a nice public execution.
But war was months ago, and surely the spectacle of publicly executing a deserter would have far less sentiment now. Why hadn’t the knights just killed him already? It puzzled Balthier greatly, but he wasn’t complaining. As long as he was alive, he’d have a chance to escape.
“Which cell do we put him in?” one of the two guards asked.
The other one shrugged. “I don’t think it really matters. The captain just said something deep down, so it'd be harder for him to get out.”
“They think he’s going to escape?” Guard One said with a scoff.
“Oh, you never know,” Balthier interjected into the conversation. “I might be more slippery than I look.”
“Quiet!” Guard Two said, smacking him over the head. Balthier kept his mouth shut this time, holding back the variety of sharp-tongued comments racing through his head. When he wasn’t handcuffed and had a chance of fighting these guards off, that was when he could scold them for such insults.
“Put him over there,” Guard Two said to the first, nodding towards a nearby cell. “With that thing bound for Draklor.”
That caught Balthier’s attention. What bound for Draklor Laboratories would need to be kept in these holding cells?
Guard One shrugged, then produced a ring of keys from his pockets. He fiddled with the door for a moment, and it swung open. There was a figure crouching in the shadows, but Balthier didn’t have a clear enough view to make it out. Guard Two pushed Balthier through the doorway into the dark, dank cell, then exited through the same door.
“We’ll be keeping watch outside,” Guard Two called back, “so don’t even think of trying anything!”
Then the door swung shut with a large clang, and the cell was plunged into darkness, save the sliced square of light falling through the barred window. The other person crouched in the corner hadn’t moved at all. She didn’t even raise her head when Balthier entered.
Squinting through the dark, Balthier could see her better now. She was a Viera, he could tell. Though he’d never seen a real one, Balthier recognized her as one of the secretive wood dwellers. Tall, furry, round-topped ears, white with black tips, rose out of her flowing silver hair. The heavy, blockish cuff characteristic of Archadian jail cells bound her wrists and ankles. She knelt near the wall, staring listlessly at the ground.
Now Balthier understood what the guard had meant about something bound for Draklor. The Viera were known for having a deep and peculiar connection to the myst, the lifeblood of Ivalice from which all magic and energy sprung. A creature with such abilities would be quite useful in the study of myst and magicite. The Viera, however, were as intelligent as any human, and the thought that Draklor was falling so low as to use members of the high races in their research made Balthier sick.
Ignore the Viera’s languid silence, Balthier worked on reaching the lock picks he’d stashed up his sleeves. Yes, he kept lock picks with him, just in case. Balthier was a wanted man now, and he wanted to be prepared for any situation. After a few minutes, he finally managed to get them to slide down to his hands. Quite pleased with himself, Balthier started the work of picking the locks on his cuffs. It took a lot of dexterity to reach the lock between his wrists, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Balthier turned his mind to what he would do after he got his handcuffs off. The guards were still outside, and then there was the matter of getting the door open. After that, a long and perilous journey out of the imperial controlled Nalbina Fortress awaited. And then, of course, there was the matter of Balthier’s silent Viera companion. He had his own welfare to worry about, but he didn’t like the thought of leaving her to whatever experiments his father had planned.
A plan slowly began to form itself in Balthier’s mind, but he’d need a little help. This in mind, he decided to strike up a conversation with his silent cell mate.
“You feel like getting out of here?”
For a few seconds, the Viera made no response, then she raised her head, slowly, cautiously. Cool brown eyes stared back at Balthier from an unreadable face. She studied him for a few long moments, and it was all Balthier could do not to cringe under her sharp, searching stare. She looked only about twenty, but those eyes held the experience of many more years. They said Viera lived a great deal longer than humans, and from what Balthier could see, they were right. Finally, the Viera spoke, her voice quiet and heavy with a foreign accent.
“You have a plan?”
“If you’re willing to help,” Balthier said. The Viera looked back at the ground for a few moments before answering.
“What must I do?”
“First, hold still while I get your cuffs off.” Balthier shed his own now unlocked handcuffs and held up his lock picks. The Viera’s face showed not a trace of surprise, or any other emotion, for that matter. Balthier ignored this disappointingly taciturn response and walked over to her side of the cell, crouching down next to her. The Viera held out her bound hands, and he set to work on the cuffs. It was much easier to pick the locks on someone else’s hands than his own, and Balthier made short work of her bindings. Once she was uncuffed, the Viera climbed warily to her feet. She was as tall as Balthier was, not counting the ears. She still watched him suspiciously, but Balthier ignored this unfriendly behavior. Instead, he held out his hand for a handshake.
“I’m Balthier.”
After a few awkward moments, the Viera shook his hand.
“I am Fran,” she said. She pulled her hand away quickly, as if his touch burned. Balthier overlooked the discourtesy.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Balthier said. “Now, tell me, Fran; are you any good at acting?”

…

Fran’s acting skills were quite adequate for Balthier’s plan. In one corner, she lay, crying out like she was dying. Hopefully, the guards would come in to see what the commotion was about, and that would be their chance to escape. Only so far, they hadn’t taken the bait.
“Guards!” Balthier called out, hoping to add to Fran’s charade. “Can I have a hand here? Something’s wrong with her!”
Balthier adjusted his handcuffs, trying to keep the unlocked bindings from sliding off. If the guards saw that he’d gotten his cuffs off, then they would surely realize this was a trap. After a few moments, the door flew open. The two guards came trudging in, looking none too happy.
“You go see what’s up with it,” Guard Two said to his companion, pointing over to where Fran lay thrashing in the corner. She really was putting up a good show; if he hadn’t known she was pretending, she could have even fooled Balthier. Guard One knelt next to Fran, and Guard Two planted himself in the doorway, glaring at Balthier.
“Don’t you even think about making a break for it,” he said.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Balthier replied.
Guard One let out a shout as a kick sent him stumbling backward with surprising force. Guard Two rushed forward, but Balthier caught his leg with his foot and sent him crashing into the stunned Guard One. Guard Two hit his head on the wall on the way down, and the two of them tumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap.
“Nice work, Fran,” Balthier said, letting his handcuffs drop. Fran rose slowly to her feet, stepping over the slumped forms of their guards. Her face was still as stony and emotionless as ever. She didn’t say anything.
“What do you say we find some fresh air?” Balthier said, nodding towards the door.
Fran nodded slowly. “Yes,” was all she said. Balthier let out a sigh, figuring he wasn’t going to get any more out of her.
“Then let’s get moving.”

Outside the cell, there weren’t any guards, at least not so far as Balthier could see. The hallway led past small empty cells, up a flight of stairs and out of view. Balthier was about to lay out his escape plan when Fran started off down the corridor.
“Fran!” he called after her, and she stopped and looked back.
“Yes?” she said.
Balthier let out a sigh. “I was thinking we’d try and stick together. Many hands make light work and all that. We stand a better chance of seeing daylight again if we work together.”
Fran was silent for a moment, then nodded hesitantly.
“What is your plan?” she asked at last.
“We head up and out,” Balthier replied. “They’ve got my airship in the aerodrome, and if we can make it there, she’ll be able to get us out of here.”
“There will be guards at the aerodrome,” Fran said.
“It’ll be easier than getting out the front door,” Balthier said. “This is a fortress, remember. Exits are few and far between.”
Fran nodded. “True. Now, those guards will wake soon. We should leave now.” With that, she continued her walked down the corridor and up the stairs. Balthier let out a sigh, then set off after her. He caught up with Fran at the top of the stairs, where she was fiddling with lock on a heavy door blocking their path.
“Why not let me take care of that?” Balthier said. Fran glanced back at him, and he held up the ring of keys he’d taken from their guard with a smirk. After a few moments, Fran reluctantly stepped back. It only took a few tries for Balthier to finds the right key, then they carried on.
As they continued down the pathways in the belly of Nalbina Fortress, Balthier got the feeling Fran wasn’t used to working with others. He wasn’t either, really. This made their collaboration rather challenging, but Balthier still believed it would be easier to escape together than on their own. After two more flights of stairs, the hallway opened into a wider hallway, two more doors along the opposite side. Two Archadian soldiers patrolled the hall’s length. Upon seeing them, Balthier, who had emerged first, quickly stepped back into the doorway, nearly crashing into Fran.
“What is it?” Fran asked, her voice holding the barest hint of frustration. Balthier was almost relieved to hear some semblance of emotion from her, albeit negative.
“Guards,” he hissed back. “We’ve entered the fortress’s central complex. There’ll be a lot more knights from here on out, so we’d best tread lightly, hmm?”
Fran nodded slowly, then peered past Balthier at their situation.
“How shall we get past these?” she asked. “I see no way around.”
“We just need to be patient,” Balthier replied. “Let’s wait and see if they move on.”
After a few moments, Fran nodded reluctantly. So they waited.
“Heard they brought in some important prisoner this morning,” one of the guards said to the other, stopping his pacing. The other also halted.
“Yeah, I heard that, too,” the second guard replied. “I bet whoever brought him in got a nice pat on the back.”
“No kidding,” the first guard scoffed. “Meanwhile we never get thanked for guarding the fortress. You’d think keeping those prisoners in jail would be just as important as getting them there.”
The two guards were now completely locked in conversation, oblivious to the two prisoners now attempting an escape. Seeing this as their best opportunity, Balthier scanned the hallway. To his right and past the guards, it turned to the right, and to his left, it ran up to a T-intersection with another passage. The out-juttings of various pillars along the walls provided plenty of hiding places in case the guards turned around and actually started doing their jobs. Balthier was just about to make the dash out when he remembered his Viera companion.
“Fran,” he whispered to her. “We move now. Hide behind those pillars if they turn around. And do remember to be stealthy, alright?”
Fran nodded, then tensed to run. The guards had drifted a little farther down the passageway, and now was as good a time as any. Balthier dashed out from the doorway, followed by Fran, ducking behind a pillar on the other side of the passageway, a little closer to the T-intersection. There was another door on this wall, slightly ajar.
“Wait, what was that?” one of the guards said. Balthier couldn’t see them from his position, but he could hear their voices, and the clink of their armor as they turned around.
“Come on, let’s take a look,” the other guard replied. Their heavy footsteps came in Balthier and Fran’s direction. Balthier made a quick motion to Fran, then edged towards the other door. There may be more guards behind it, but it was the only way out. Time was of the essence, as the guards would soon be close enough to see around the pillar. Balthier quickly slipped through the exit, and Fran followed. As soon as they were both inside, Balthier silent pulled the door closed.
“Close one,” he breathed out, still trying to be quiet. He turned away from the door, taking in their surroundings. This room was small, one dim lantern hanging from the ceiling. An assortment of weapons and other small belongings lay on crates and up against the walls. Fran was already crouched near one wall, examining a bow and some arrows. This was the fortress’s stash of prisoner’s confiscated belongings.
“Ah! What luck,” Balthier said, scanning the assortment of items for his own weapon. After a few moments, he spotted it: a long rifle, propped up against the wall atop a crate.
Balthier’s injured arm from the Battle of Nalbina had never healed quite properly. Yes, it was fine enough for everyday tasks, but when it came to swinging a sword, that wound made it impossible. Back in his days at Draklor, Balthier had had much experience with guns of all sorts and had become quite skilled in their use. This rifle was one he’d custom-designed in the months since the battle, useful not only as a firearm, but long and strong enough to use as pole in close combat, as well as light enough for him to wield easily. It was a very efficient weapon, and had served him well, but it never quite reached the majestic feeling of a sword’s weight and power.
Banishing nostalgic wishes for a mightier weapon, Balthier picked up his rifle, examining it and making sure it was still loaded. Once he was satisfied with his weapon’s condition, he turned back to Fran. She was in the process of slipping a quiver of arrows over her head. Her tall ears caught momentarily in the strap, but she managed to settle the load of ammunition across her back. In one hand she held a long bow of dark wood, archaic letters etched along its length.
“That yours?” Balthier asked, nodding towards her bow. Fran simply nodded in response. Then she glanced back over at the door. One white ear twitched.
“They guards have moved on,” she said. “We should leave now.”
Balthier nodded. “Alright then. Let’s move.”

Outside, the passage was indeed clear as Fran had predicted. They made their way to the T-intersection, and Balthier examined both passages intently. The one to the right continued on a ways, then turned right, while the one to the right disappeared down a staircase. They didn’t want to go back down, so Balthier decided the righthand hallway was their best bet.
“I’m thinking we should head-”
“This way.” Fran sharply cut him off. She started down the lefthand passage, the opposite of where Balthier was about to say.
“Fran! Wait!” Balthier let out a sigh as she continued towards the downward stairway. After a few moments, she stopped and looked back. “We want to head up and out, right?” Balthier continued, trying to remain calm. “This way leads deeper into the fortress.”
“The myst flows this way, seeking open skies,” Fran said, turned back towards the stairway. “There must be some way for it to escape. If it can, so can we.”
With that, she disappeared down the stairway. Balthier let out a long sigh. He could just leave her and go on down the logical pathway, but what if Fran was right? Balthier had no personal experience with the Viera’s powers of the myst, and no idea if they were reliable or not. However, common knowledge said that the Viera’s myst-powers were not to be taken lightly. It really all came down to whether he trusted his instincts or Fran’s abilities more.
After a few moments, Balthier followed Fran down the stairway with a sigh. At best, she’d be right, and they’d make it out of the fortress easily. At worst, Balthier would learn not to trust Viera’s judgement in the future.
At the bottom of the staircase, Fran was nowhere to be seen, however, sounds of a conflict were coming from just around a nearby corner. A flash of light and the sound of arrows whooshing added further evidence that there was a battle going on. Apparently, Fran had forgotten to be careful. Balthier pulled his rifle from its strap across his back and rushed out to join her.
Around the corner, a battle awaited, just as Balthier had predicted. Fran stood against one wall, knocking an arrow and firing it. The nearest of the five attacking guards dropped. The immediate attacker dealt with, Fran closed her eyes, focusing on something. A swathe of light shimmered around her for a moment, then she flashed out one hand. A rush of fire flew from it, knocking back two oncoming guards. Her path cleared, Fran leaped from the wall into the open. Balthier had seen battlemages at work before, but few rivaled that skill and speed.
Two soldiers now remained. One was rushing Fran head on, and the other rounded to catch her from behind. Fran quickly dealt with the one in front, but she hadn’t noticed the last one behind, whose sword was primed for a final strike. Balthier raised his rifle and easily dispatched him. At the sound of a gunshot, Fran whipped around, an arrow ready to fire.
“It’s just me, saving your life,” Balthier said, throwing up his hands. Fran studied him intensely, eyes narrowed, as if she wasn’t sure it really was him. After a few long moments, she lowered her bow, nodding.
“This way.” She pointed down the corridor, beyond the fallen knights. Then she started off, without anything else, not even a thank you for Balthier’s last moment intervention. Balthier swallowed his annoyance at this ingratitude and followed her.
“Where are we going, exactly?” he asked as he caught up with Fran.
“We follow the myst’s flow,” Fran replied simply. Balthier held back a frustrated sigh.
“And that means…?”
Fran stopped her quick stride, fixing Balthier with her intense, taciturn, timeworn gaze. After a few moments, she spoke.
“The myst flows through sealed places such as these,” Fran explained. “It seeks freedom, an open ground to flow upon. We follow its current to the opening which it flows to.” Fran nodded down the corridor ahead of them. “It runs this way.”
“Thank you,” Balthier said, satisfied to finally have an explanation. “Now, shall we get going?”
Fran nodded and started off again. Balthier followed.
They continued into the fortress. Balthier made sure to keep his eyes and ears open, preferring to make it out without any more encounters with imperial knights. There were more soldiers out now, though that wasn’t surprising; the guards Balthier and Fran had knocked out in their cell had most certainly come to, and someone was bound to notice the battle that had gone on a while back. The fortress guards knew that there were prisoners on the loose and catching them was top priority. As for Balthier and his new companion, they were doing their best to keep a low profile and avoid the prevalent guards. Fran led them farther down, and Balthier found himself relying solely on her guidance. This sort of trust wasn’t something he’d had to use very often in the past two months, but he managed. One thing Balthier could tell was that Fran had no ill will toward him, and that they both shared one common goal: escaping as quickly as possible.
The pathway through the fortress stopped forking so frequently down this way, and they were faced with less important decisions. However, eventually the path split into three, all the paths together making a cross-shaped intersection.
“Which way, Fran?” Balthier asked. Fran closed her eyes a moment, focusing. She was about to speak when a shout cut her off.
“Hey! You there! The prisoners are over here!”
Balthier spun around, quickly whipping out his rifle. Fran produced her bow in like fashion. Two guards raced down the corridor towards them. Footsteps came from down one of the other passages as well, though Balthier couldn’t tell which one. Using his rifle, Balthier managed to take out one of the approaching guards before they reached them. Fran had directed her attention down the pathway to their left, in the midst of casting a spell. After a few moments, she whipped out one hand, throwing a sheen of ice over the floor. Shouts indicated several guards sliding to a stop.
The one remaining guard charging them from behind arrived with a shout, swinging his sword with surprising speed. Balthier jumped back to avoid decapitation and flipped his rifle around grasping its length with both hands. He’d trained in the use of a pole during his short time with the Judges and was quite good at it. It wasn’t nearly as refined an art as sword fighting, but now wasn’t the time to morn over all that.
Balthier blocked the guard’s second strike with his rifle, then a third. His fourth strike swung around, and this time he caught Balthier’s left arm. The slice wasn’t deep and certainly wouldn’t have any long-lasting effects, and Balthier ignored it. He took advantage of the opening and hit the knight in the head with his rifle, a well-place strike that sent his helmet flying off. The second blow knocked him to the ground unconscious.
Meanwhile, Fran was holding off two more knights using a combination of magic and arrows. Balthier flipped his rifle back around for its intended use and aided her. In a few moments, all foes were eliminated.
“You’re hurt,” Fran said, narrowing her eyes at the slash on Balthier’s arm.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Balthier replied. That was true; it was a minor injury. It hurt a ton and bled like crazy, probably staining his shirt horribly, but he’d live.
“Hold still.” Fran slung her bow over her back with the quiver and walked over to him. She reached out and put her hands over the wound. Balthier instinctively jerked away, but then a pulse of warmth and energy rippled from Fran’s hands. In a moment, the pain faded away and the bleeding slowed to a halt.
“Impressive,” Balthier said, pulling his arm away and examining where the wound had been. It was completely healed.
“The myst has many uses,” Fran said simply. She walked toward the pathway on the right, opposite the one where she’d fought the guards, which was still carpeted with ice. “This way,” she said, pointing down the corridor. “We’re almost to the exit.”
Balthier nodded and gestured down the hall.
“Lead the way.”

Balthier and Fran continued on into Nalbina Fortress with no further encounters with the guards. They had to hide often, but after what felt like hours, they arrive.
“Though this door,” Fran said, stopping abruptly and turning to an inconspicuous door on the side of the passage. She laid a hand on the handle, then paused. Her tall, furry ears twitched, and she glanced back down the hallway they’d just come from.
“What is it?” Balthier asked.
“More guards coming,” Fran replied. At the start of this journey, Balthier would have been skeptical, but Fran had proved her accurate hearing many times since.
“Then let’s hurry,” Balthier said. Fran nodded and pulled the door open. She hurried inside, and Balthier followed, pulling the door quickly and quietly shut behind them. Inside, this room was small, bare save another door on the opposite wall.
“Though there?” Balthier nodded towards the other door. Fran didn’t reply. She was staring at the door they’d come in by. Footsteps sounded outside, and Balthier strained to make out the knights’ words.
“Nothing here, sir,” one said.
“Have we got guards on the tunnel to the aerodrome, soldier?” another asked.
“I don’t think so, sir,” the first replied. “Should we set some up?”
Balthier stopped listening and pointed towards the mystery door inside their room.
“You think that’s the ‘aerodrome tunnel’ they’re talking about?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” Fran replied.
“Well, it’d rather convenient if it was. What’d you say we take our chances and find out?”
Fran nodded. Balthier moved to open the door, only to find it locked. He pulled out the ring of keys he’d take from their guard so long ago and tried those. None of them worked, so Balthier pulled out his lock picks and set to work. This lock took longer than those on the handcuffs, but he managed to finish it before any guards came inside. Finally, the door swung open, revealing a straight tunnel, dark but not very dank. Balthier figured they used this to bring important prisoners straight from the holding cells to the aerodrome without making it a spectacle to Nalbina’s population. From what Balthier had heard, the township outside the main complex had become quite the bustling little town. All those citizens probably had very little idea of exactly what went on within the fortress itself.
“This looks about right,” Balthier said, standing from where he’d knelt to unlock the door.
Fran nodded. “We should hurry.”
“I agree,” Balthier replied. He gestured toward the long dark tunnel. “After you.”

The tunnel led straight from the fortress to the aerodrome and was completely empty aside from Balthier and Fran. The door at the other end was locked also, but nothing Balthier couldn’t deal with. The aerodrome was busy and buzzing with people from all over, just arriving or preparing to depart. There were knights here and there, but they weren’t on high alert. Early morning sunlight drifted in through the windows; it had been late afternoon when Balthier was dragged from Rabanastre. He couldn’t believe he and Fran had spent the whole night in the fortress. At that thought, weariness tried to rise up inside him, but Balthier fought it back down. They weren’t out of Nalbina yet.
It wouldn’t be that difficult to get to Strahl’s hanger. Balthier had no idea where Strahl was kept, but he did have a little bird who could tell him. While he and Fran kept near a corner trying to look inconspicuous, Balthier reached out to Strahl. The voices of many airships hummed through the air, but he could find hers easily.
“Strahl? Where are you?”
“Balthier!” Strahl’s voice replied. “What took you so long?”
“Oh, just escaping from Nalbina Fortress intact,” Balthier replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Now, I need to know where you are and exactly how many guards we’re dealing with.”
“I’m in hanger five, and there are… six guards in the with me,” Strahl said. “They’ve already sent a message to YPA.”
“Don’t worry,” Balthier said. “You’re not going back there. Not on my watch.”
“Right,” Strahl said. “See you in hanger five?”
“Right.”
All that settled, Balthier turned back to Fran. He now realized she’d been watching him intently the whole time he talked with Strahl. He wasn’t used to worrying about other people when he talked to her. Fran didn’t look worried or suspicious, but then again, her face always looked as emotionless as it did that moment. If she’d noticed anything out of the ordinary, it didn’t show. However, another problem presented itself; how would Balthier tell her they needed to go to hanger five without raising the question of how he knew this? They could just go their separate ways there, but Fran, as a Viera, would stand out like a sore thumb amongst the humans, Bangaa, Moogles and Seeqs in the aerodrome. She’d be found in no time, dragged back to her cell, and eventually be shipped off to Draklor. Fran had aided Balthier greatly in his escape, and he intended to see her safely out of Nalbina. He owed her that much.
As for how he would get them to hanger five without raising suspicion, Balthier formulated a quick plan and went with it.
“They’ve got my airship here somewhere,” he said to Fran. “We should get down to the docking bays and start looking.”
Fran nodded slowly, saying nothing. Her cool brown eyes reflected no emotion, as usual.

The two of them started off towards the hangers, steering clear of any knights. Once they reached the docking bays, Balthier did his best to discreetly direct them to hanger five. They cracked open doors and glanced in several hangers until finally they reached hanger five. Sure enough, inside sat a massive airship, white paint strewn with patterns of gold and navy blue. The docking roof was open, and sunlight glanced off her hull in all directions. Balthier smiled at the sight.
“Here we are,” he said, nodding towards the door that cracked open just enough for them to peer inside. “This is my airship: the Strahl.” Balthier had to remind himself to put ‘the’ before her name.
Fran nodded. “How will we get past the guards?”
Balthier could see three guards standing between the door and Strahl; they were chatting amongst themselves, clearly not expecting any challenge. Balthier briefly wondered who let these knights get so slack on their duties, but then reminded himself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. These knights’ carelessness would work greatly in their favor. Wanting to know precisely what they were dealing with, Balthier reached out to Strahl.
“Strahl? You said there were six guards earlier. Where are the others?”
“There’s two on my other side,” Strahl replied. “One of them left a little bit ago. I think someone from YPA’s arrived already.”
Balthier nodded slowly, then turned back to Fran.
“All we need to do now is get past those guards,” he pondered aloud. “We could go in all guns blazing, but we’re outnumbered, and I’d hate to take too great a risk. What we need is some sort of distraction to get at least some, if not all, of them away.”
“What about a fire alarm?” Fran asked. She pointed to a conspicuous red lever on a nearby wall, plastered with your average ‘do not pull except in emergency’ text.
“That should do,” Balthier said, nodding. He walked over to the lever. “Fran, get away from that door. We don’t want them thinking anything suspicious is going on, now do we?”
Fran nodded and pulled away from the door, picking out a sheltered corner behind a bushy green plant as her hiding place. Balthier yanked down the fire lever, and sure enough, the alarm bells went crazy. As quickly as he could, Balthier joined Fran in her hiding place. After a few confused moments, four guards came rushing out of hanger five’s door, streaking away down towards the main body of the aerodrome. There had been five before, so this left only one guard for Balthier and Fran to deal with. That would be easy.
As soon as the guards were safely past, Balthier and Fran broke from their cover.
“We should hurry inside,” Balthier said. “It’s only a matter of time before they realize there is no fire and rush back here.”
Fran simply nodded.

They took out the singular remaining guard with ease. That dealt with, Balthier unlooked Strahl’s door and stepped inside.
“Fran!” Balthier called back. The Viera stood outside the doorway, staring up at Strahl. “We need to get going. Are you coming?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Fran nodded. She followed Balthier on board, and they both hurried up to the cockpit.
Balthier settled down into the captain’s seat, a now familiar location. Light filtered brightly down from the open roof and through Strahl’s windshield, scattering all around the cockpit. The open sky beckoned.
Fran sat down in the copilot’s seat, a little warily. She scanned the controls in front of her for a moment, then sat back.
Balthier turned to Fran.
“You ready?” he asked.
Fran just nodded.
Without further ado, Balthier reached over Strahl’s controls, maneuvering through a familiar rhythm of button-pushing and switch-flipping. Lights flickered on across the panel, and the rumbling of engines engaging vibrated the floor. The familiar hint of fuel burning touched the air as myst and oil and skystone combined to bring this incredible machine to life. The glossair rings outside, three on each side, ground into motion, spinning until their force lifted the airship off the ground.
As the Strahl lifted out of the hanger, great wings on either side pulled open, locking into place with a great metallic thud that shook the whole ship. Propulsion engaged, engines blasting to send them sailing through the open skies over vast deserts, away from Nalbina and all its trouble. Balthier felt a smile forming.
Atta girl, Strahl.
YPA can lay to rest any hopes of ever getting you back.
Strahl heaved out a sigh in Balthier’s mind. “That was way too close.”
“Yes, we’ll try to avoid such narrow escapes in the future,” Balthier replied.
Balthier sat back in his captain’s chair, a smile creeping its way over his face. Fran, however, looked as taciturn as ever. There was no excitement on her features, no happiness, just that same frustrating blankness. She was still staring at the controls.
“This is an impressive airship,” Fran said after a few silent moments. “Where did you get her?”
“Oh, you know…” Balthier trailed off, thinking of a proper reply. ‘I stole her out that same aerodrome we just left,’ didn’t seem to cut it.
Fran said no more, letting the matter drop. Her eyes continued to rove over the controls, taking in every detail. Balthier just focused on steering Strahl. They were in open skies above the Dalmascan Estersand, and virtually no steering was required, but it gave him something to distract him from the awkward silence.
“Chatty, isn’t she?” Strahl said.
Balthier let out a scoff. “Very.”
After a few more silent seconds, Fran finally said something.
“What is it that you do, exactly?” she asked, finally tearing her gaze from Strahl’s controls and settling it on Balthier.
“What do I do?” Again, Balthier had to ponder an appropriated response. He stared out the windshield, trying to think of what to say. Something Strahl had said two months ago, the night they left Nalbina, surfaced in his mind. A pirate should name his airship.
Sky pirates. A brand of wandering mercenaries who paid no allegiance to any crown or council, the heroes of folktales and the bane of bounty hunters.
He turned back to Fran. “I’m a sky pirate.” It sounded right. Yes, a sky pirate…
Fran nodded slowly and said nothing else. Balthier decided to change the subject.
“Is there anywhere I can drop you off, Fran?” he asked.
Fran stared at the ground for a moment before replying. “Anywhere will do.”
“Anywhere?” Balthier raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there somewhere you can go? What about your home?”
Fran shook her head. “No. My home… I cannot return there. Anywhere will be fine.”
Balthier frowned. “Surely there’s somewhere you can go.”
Fran shook her head again. “The Viera reject those who choose the outside world, and the world of humans is not fond of outsiders. Anywhere will be fine.”  
That didn’t feel right, just dropping Fran off in some random place, where who-knew-what could happen to her. And yet, what Fran said was true; while Balthier knew little of Viera culture, he knew that wandering Viera were view with great curiosity and little else. If she couldn’t go back to the Viera, either, then she really didn’t have anywhere to go.
Balthier all but owed Fran his life after that harrowing escape from Nalbina Fortress. Really, it had only been by Fran’s abilities with the myst that they had found an exit, and her magic had won them every battle. She could be a useful ally. And if she really didn’t have anywhere to go, then Balthier couldn’t just leave her high and dry.
“I could use a copilot,” Balthier said after a few moments, choosing his words carefully. “This airship isn’t as easy to handle alone as it looks.”
Fran stared at him, her face as unreadable as ever.
“You want me… to come with you?” Fran asked. She sounded hesitant, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“They say every good sky pirate needs a partner,” Balthier replied. Of course, he hadn’t even thought of himself as a sky pirate until a few moments ago, but he let that slide.
Fran stared out the windshield a few more moments, watching the clouds ripple by below. After a few long, solemnly silent moments, she nodded.
“Yes.”
That was it? Just, ‘yes?’ But it was a yes. For better or for worse, Fran was Balthier’s partner. He couldn’t wait to see which it would turn out to be.

…

Time carried on its ceaseless flow. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. Ivalice was a wide and varied world, covered in ancient ruins and vicious monsters, and there was no end of work for a pair of sky pirates. Time passed, and the past grew further away. Fran turned out to be a wonderful mechanic, and overall, a very reliable person. Her and Balthier grew to be very good friends. Neither pried into the other’s past, and things worked out fine. Fran showed that though her face never displayed it, she did indeed possess emotions. After a good deal of time, Balthier learned to identify them, and the two worked well together in the work of sky pirates.
Two years passed. More time than Balthier realized. A long time…

…

There had been political unrest in Archadia for a long time, and Dr. Holdre had suspected a war was coming. Archadia’s demand of their new weapon had been proof that this war was starting soon. However, the war wasn’t really what Dr. Holdre was worried about. He was losing his specimen.
A year ago, Dr. Holdre had almost given up on Project Buversia. Forty-six attempts to create a proper graft, and every one a failure. Back then, their intention had only been to create a skystone that would be unrivaled in power output. With such a capacity, broader horizons lay open to them than even the realm of airships. Who knew what could be achieved with such a versatile and extraordinary myst-catalyst? But after so many failures, Dr. Holdre had been ready to give up. But then suddenly, it succeeded. YPA’s forty-seventh attempt at a coherent splice had been a success. And the result? Specimen GB47.
After that unexpected accomplishment, testing had begun in earnest. Some worked on a shell suitable for such a skystone, and Dr. Holdre had gathered his most accomplished magicite researchers to work with him on the specimen itself. The more experiments they did, the more apparent it became that Project Buversia had more potential than just a controversial power source. The level of myst-focus achieved by the new specimen went far beyond energy conversion. And after the new information they obtained from the organization they’d gotten the shard from, the true nature of they held at their fingertips became apparent.
But that was all over now. When YPA had run out of funds, they went to the Archadian government for a loan, promising the short-term use of the resulting airship in exchange for money. That had been before they knew what else Specimen GB47 could do. Only now, days away from the final experiment, Archadia had called in its loan. Dr. Holdre scolded himself for being so short sighted.
Dr. Holdre crouched on the floor of the engine room of the shell that would become YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter. The engines were only half assembled, waiting for the installation of the most important component. Waiting for Dr. Holdre to give up his most precious possession, the specimen he had worked so long and hard on: Specimen GB47.
Dr. Holdre held the small stone in one hand. It was small enough to fit in his palm, with smooth faces like a gemstone. But this little rock was far more precious than any gemstone. The shining stone was pale crystal orange, clear like stained glass, a vein of crimson blood-red snaking across its surface. Dr. Holdre ran one figure along the vein of red, relishing this last moment. A familiar rippled of energy pulsed from its surface, jerking along his fingertips.
“This is only a delay,” Dr. Holdre said aloud. “You’ll be back home soon.” Talking to the skystone was ridiculous, but Dr. Holdre found himself doing it quite often. He spent so much time around the little thing, and often there was no one else to talk to. The specimen’s surface rippled with an inner light, then again in an uneven pattern. Was that light the ebb and ripple of words, a strangled attempt at a response? No, that really was crazy. Dr. Holdre knew that well enough.
Dr. Holdre tore his eyes from his precious specimen and reached out to place it in the center of the open engine casing. He bit back his frustration and worked to attach wires and tubes to the stone’s surface, securing it as a part of the airship’s systems. Once he was satisfied with all the connections, Dr. Holdre shouted up the staircase for the others with him to begin the test run. After a few moments, the engines began to rumble and shake. The skystone glowed with an intense light, the tubes gripping its surface shaking as they received the flow of myst energy. The glow was a familiar sight, one Dr. Holdre had seen many a time through countless experiments. The stone’s orange surface bled golden light, and the stripe of blood-red pulsed a dusky glow. They had been so close, almost there…
“But you’ll be back soon.” Dr. Holdre no longer cared about sound like a lunatic as he spoke to the skystone. Something about it prompted him to do so. “Then, Project Buversia will continue. You have a purpose waiting, my GB47.”
With that, Dr. Holdre shut up the engines and left his precious specimen behind layers of metal and wires. He’d have her- it- back soon, and then things would continue. That, he was sure of.

Dr. Holdre paced his office, constantly glancing at the clock, as though that would make time flow quicker. A message had arrived from Nalbina Fortress that they had finally managed to catch the deserter who’d stolen the GB47 fighter. After two months, they’d finally have it back. Those two months had been agonizing for Dr. Holdre. He could still remember how horrifying it had been when the message arrived saying their craft had been taken by a deserter. Why GB47, of every airship there?
But now they’d caught him, and finally YPA was getting their specimen back. Dr. Holdre had sent his assistant to retrieve the airship, but that had been hours and hours ago. He should have been back by now. What was taking him so long?
At last, the door swung open, and Dr. Carks entered the room.
“Is it here?” Dr. Holdre asked instantly. “Where is Specimen GB47?”
“It’s… ah… well…” Dr. Carks worked his hands nervously. “They had it at Nalbina, sir, but… the man who stole it, he, well… he escaped and… he took the airship with him.”
“WHAT?” Dr. Holdre sucked in a deep breath, struggling to stop his anger from exploding. “You’re telling me the Archadian Empire can’t keep one thieving cur in prison long enough to get me my specimen back? You mean they lost it again?!”
“Yes…?” Dr. Carks said, incredibly nervous. He had come to expect Dr. Holdre’s short temper over the years but was by no means used to it.
Dr. Holdre sucked in a deep breath, then marched away to sit down in his chair. A multitude of papers were strewn over the desk in front of him, all on Project Buversia. He had pulled out all the files in preparation for the continuation of the project.
“Dr. Carks, please leave me alone,” Dr. Holdre said, still struggling to stay calm. Dr. Carks hurried out of the room with no complaints.
Dr. Holdre started to flip though the papers on his desk, more to vent his anger than for any other purpose.
“I can’t believe this…” he hissed under his breath. The image materialized in his mind, the small glowing stone, his precious, one-of-a-kind specimen, now lost again. “So close, and they snatch you away again. I can’t believe Archadia can’t deal with a little thieving sky scum… But it doesn’t matter. You’ll be back. I will succeed. Project Buversia will continue, and no sky pirate is getting in my way!”

Chapter Text

Part Two: The Clash of Empires
Act One: Spark
Chapter Twelve

Balfonheim Port
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Gull calls and the lapping of ocean waves sounded through the walls of the inn room where Balthier had spent the night, calling him to sit up and get moving. Never a rest for a sky pirate.
Balthier opened his eyes, immediately alarmed by the amount of light reaching through the crack in the curtains. Sleepy mornings belonged after well-paying jobs had been completed. Not when one such job needed finding.
That thought in mind, Balthier hurried to rise and dress. Black leather pants, shirt with white linen sleeves and built-in vest patterned with brown and black; Balthier spent what extra time he had adjusting the collar. Keeping a respectable appearance, though difficult in some work as a sky pirate, was something he strived for and prided himself on.

Routine complete, Balthier pushed the door open and stepped out. The hum of conversation drifted from the dining area below, where a dozen or so travelers fueled themselves for the day ahead. Balfonheim Port was a known refuge for pirates of sea and sky, mercenaries and all sorts of those who might need a paid night’s rest at an inn. Honestly, the port wasn’t somewhere Balthier liked to haunt, but he and Fran had been nearby after the spectacular failure of their most recent job, and the Strahl had needed refueling. Besides, whatever irrational dislike Balthier had of the area, there was nowhere better than Balfonheim to look for work.

In the dining room downstairs, Balthier found what he was looking for; a silver-haired Viera at an otherwise empty table, cradling a steaming cup. The thick scent of bitter herbs offended Balthier’s senses as he approached.
“Fran. Good morning.” Balthier rested a hand on the back of the chair across from her.
“There was a man here looking for you,” Fran replying in her thick foreign accent, hardly looking up.
“Oh?” Balthier raised an eyebrow. “Client or bounty hunter?”
“A client, I believe,” Fran replied.
“Splendid; we could use one of those about now.” Thank goodness it’s not Ba’Gamnan, Balthier added mentally. With the bounty YPA had had so generously placed on his head, headhunters had been a problem the past two years. Especially the crude and persistent Bangaa named Ba’Gamnan.
Balthier scanned the busy dining room. “And where is this client of ours?”
“Over there. He said he’d wait for you.” Fran nodded toward a rather short man standing, hands in pockets, by a leafy plant. He glanced one way, then the other, then leaned back against the wall, trying to look nonchalant. Balthier frowned.
“If I’d known things would be so interesting, I wouldn’t’ve kept him waiting.” Balthier nodded to Fran. “I’ll be right back.”
Balthier left Fran and approached the man by the plant. The man’s eyes widened momentarily as they fell on Balthier, then he looked pointedly away.
“I’m Balthier,” Balthier said, stopping in front of the man. “It’s my understanding you wanted to see me?”
The man studied Balthier with narrowed eyes. “Yes. I spoke to your Viera partner.”
“So she said. You have something that needs doing?”
“Yes.” The man’s eyes darted both ways, nervous as a cornered cat. “Yes, I do.”
Balthier bit back a voiced outburst of impatience. “What?”
“That’s… I need you to promise you’ll keep this secret before I say any more. Understand?” the man said.
Balthier narrowed his eyes. “You trust a pirate’s word, do you?”
“You have a trustworthy reputation,” the man replied. “Just know this may be difficult, and it has to be secret. Understand?”
“Alright, I won’t say anything,” Balthier said. Normally, perhaps, he wouldn’t entertain something so fishy, but after what happened during his and Fran’s last job… “What is it you want me to do?”
“Not me; I’m just a go-between,” the man replied quickly.
Balthier sighed; he already didn’t trust this enough. “I have to know what I’m doing. And how much I’m being paid.”
The man took in a deep breath and scanned the area again. “Alright.” He leaned closer. “In Rabanastre, Dalmasca’s capital, the new Archadian consul is being appointed today. Tonight, they’ll have a fete at the palace. Security will be lax.”
“With you so far,” Balthier said when the man paused.
“Right. I- We- My boss needs you to sneak in. To the palace treasury. In there, there’s a-” The man paused, glancing around again. Balthier waited expectantly, noticing how Fran watched them from the corner of her eye as she sipped her tea.
“There’s a piece of magicite,” the man finished. “It’s a relic of the Dalmascan royal family, called the Dusk Shard. It’s the proof of their heritage. The olden kings of Dalmasca fought with it. I need you to bring that out, back to me, here.”
Fought with it? Just a piece of magicite? “And why do you need this Dusk Shard so badly?”
“Just get in there and get it,” the man said. “We’ll pay you.”
Balthier mulled this over. “In advance?”
The man fished in his pocket and produced a sizeable bag; the contents clinked as he held it up.
“Fine then. We have a deal.” Balthier held out a hand. The man hesitated, then shook it.
“Good. That’s good,” the man said. “Bring it back here- right here- once the fete’s well and over. Thank you.”
The man unclasped Balthier’s hand, shoved the money bag into his grip, then slipped off into the crowd. Balthier drew open the bag’s top, taking a quick check of how much was there. Enough to warrant sneaking into an imperial controlled facility? After a peripheral glance, he decided, yes. Though why someone would want proof of Dalmascan royal birthright, seeing as the Dalmascan royal family was extinct, Balthier couldn’t figure out.
Balthier let out a sigh. Not worth ruminating over; the best way to get answers would be to follow it through. Besides, it paid.
Balthier left the plant and rejoined Fran at the table.
“Well?” she said, setting her tea down.
Balthier held up the bag. “We have a job.”
…

The dome-shaped roof of Rabanastre’s aerodrome groaned closed above Balthier’s head, the grumbling protests of the old structure audible through the Strahl’s hull. Balthier reached over the console; a few switches flipped and buttons pressed, and the hum of the airship’s engines died away. Fran sat in the copilot’s seat next to Balthier, assisting in the process. Strahl was designed to be flown by two people, and, as she had predicted, Fran’s support had been invaluable over the years. Balthier found the Viera’s talent with machines ironic, considering she was from a race of magic-using forest-dwellers. When he asked her about that, she just said that she’d, “lived in the lands of the humans many years.” That was probably the largest glimpse of her past that Fran had given him; but Balthier hadn’t breathed a word about Archades and his past to her, either. They both lived their lives in the present. At least, that’s what Balthier tried to do.
With the Strahl all docked, Balthier and Fran disembarked. A bouncing group of mechanic Moogles waited outside. The tallest of the little furry creatures came up to Balthier’s knee.
“Want us to do some touch-up and maintenance on your ship while you’re out, kupo?” one of the Moogles chirped brightly. “She’ll be running like new by the time you get back!”
“No, thank you, that’s alright,” Balthier said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The Moogle blinked.
“It… doesn’t cost any extra!” he said. “It comes packaged with the stay!”
“That’s alright, thank you,” Balthier repeated.
“You know they’re not gonna do any harm, right?” Strahl’s voice entered his mind.
“And you know I prefer to do that sort of thing myself,” Balthier replied. “Who knows what they’ll find out, or who they’ll tell? Do you want to go back to YPA?” Strahl’s only reply was a sigh. Balthier knew his suspicious, over-protectiveness ruffled her feathers, but he didn’t like to take any chances.
Balthier and Fran continued on towards the door, leaving the group of flabbergasted Moogles.
“The fete isn’t until tonight. What do we do in the meantime?” Fran asked, her voice thick with her foreign accent.
“We could listen to the new consul’s inauguration speech,” Balthier replied. “Might be interesting. More practically, we should stock up on supplies, and you should do a final once-over on that hoverbike of yours.” A few weeks ago, Fran had found a hoverbike in an ancient ruin. The machine dated back to the mysterious, unknown civilizations that existed long before empires like Archadia and Rozarria had even been founded. Such ruins were often full of surprisingly advanced technology, a fact that baffled many archologists.
Whatever its origins, Fran had made restoring the small flying vehicle to its former glory her pet project, working tirelessly for days. Balthier had thought the endeavor a lost cause, but Fran’s stubborn determination had somehow managed to succeed. That hoverbike was an integral part of their plan for infiltrating the palace that night, and Balthier wanted to make sure it was absolutely ready.
“It will work,” Fran replied, her voice and face as taciturn as ever.
“Even so, you should check,” Balthier said. “We don’t want that ancient machine breaking in the middle of things, now do we?”
Fran nodded with a sigh.

…

Rabanastre was a bustling city, full to the brim with people. Most of them were native Dalmascans who’d lived there since before the war. The atmosphere was bright and full of energy, bathed in the bright desert sun. This cheerful spirit in the air was dampened by the constant presence of Archadian knights on every street corner, their dark armored figures a constant reminder that Rabanastre was a conquered providence of Archadia now, rather than the grand capital of an ancient kingdom.
Balthier had managed to convince Fran to give her hoverbike one last checkup, and he’d helped her lug it out of Strahl’s hold before heading off to gather supplies. Yes, so there was Balthier, weaving through the crowded streets of Rabanastre, running errands. But such things were necessary. Balthier would make sure he and Fran both had enough ammunition for their respective weapons, as well as get a feel for how well-guarded the fete would be. Store patrons could be quite chatty, and Balthier knew how to subtly pry desired information out of such talkative people. He was engaged in such a conversation with a certain shop owner when the loud noise of a bell rang from outside.
“The parade must be starting,” the shopkeeper said, nodding towards the door. “That new consul from the Empire’s gonna give a speech.” From his tone of voice, Balthier could tell this shopkeeper wasn’t particularly thrilled with the arrival of a new consul. He imagined most of the Dalmascans felt likewise.
“Sounds intriguing,” Balthier said. “I think I’ll go check it out.” Word about was Rabanastre’s new consul was a person of some importance, and Balthier’s curiosity prompted him to go take a look. He quickly paid the shopkeeper and headed outside.
The sidewalk was thronging with people, all straining to see as a massive float ventured down the road. Balthier pushed a little farther into the crowd to get a better view. Atop the float stood a man with long black hair, sailing past high above the throng below. Rabanastre’s new consul.
The float continued on a ways, coming to a stop in front of the palace, a magnificent structure standing in the center of Rabanastre. A Judge dressed in full armor walked up to the stand at the float’s top above the man with black hair.
“We will have order!” he called, and the hubbub of the gathered crowds trickled to a stop. “I give you your new council,” the Judge continued. “His Imperial Highness Lord Vayne Solidor, son of Emperor Gramis Solider, Commandant of the Archadian Empire’s Western Ar-”
The Judge was cut off as Vayne walked up to the stand, marching past him to face the crowd. The Judge let out a startled cry of, “Your Excellency!” but Vayne gave no mind.
“People of Rabanastre!” Vayne’s voice echoed over the now quiet crowds gathered below. “Is it with hatred you look upon your consul? With hatred, you look upon the Empire?”
The crowd’s unpleasant response reflected Vayne’s sentiment. Shouts of animosity were hurl from the young and the old, filling the air again with noise.
“There was little point in asking.” The crowd quieted again as Vayne continued. “But know this: I harbor no idle hopes of frustrating that hatred, nor shall I ask your fealty. That is the due of your fallen king, and rightly so. King Raminas loved his people, strove to bring you peace. His was a rule worthy of devotion. Even now, he remains among you, protecting you. His ardor for the peace and weal of Dalmasca falters not. I would ask only that you do your king honor. Together, let us embrace the peace His Majesty would surely desire. Two years now divide us from war’s bitter end, yet still its shadow looms over all, stifling the infant peace. A pall only you may cast off! Achieve but this one thing… and your hatred of me, and of the Empire, will grieve me not!”
By this time, the audience sat in rapt attention, drinking in Vayne’s every word. Vayne himself grew more animated as he spoke.
“I will stand fast. I will endure your hatred, suffer your slings and arrows. I will defend Dalmasca! Here will I pay my debt! I swear it now! Though Kind Raminas and Lady Ashe be gone, they stand ever at the side of their people. In honoring peace… you do honor their memory, and Dalmasca. What I ask, I ask plain. My hopes now rest with you.”
Vayne gave a courtly bow, and the crowd that had once hurled barbs of hatred erupted into vibrant cheers. Vayne’s rhetoric was quite impressive, to say the least; only the most silver-tongued of speakers could change such a crowd from foe to friend with a single oration.
“An impressive speech.”
It took all Balthier’s self-control not to jump in surprise as Fran’s voice came from behind. He spun around to find her standing behind him. Her face was blank as ever, but the twitch of her ears said his response amused her.
“Yes, it was,” Balthier said, brushing off Fran’s startling arrival. “The consul has quite a way with words. Now, on to more important things; Fran, how’s the bike looking?”
“It will work,” Fran replied. “Everything is prepared for tonight.”
“Good,” Balthier said. “Now all we have to do is wait.”

…

Fireworks burst in a spectacular explosion of colors and noise, lighting up the dark night sky of Rabanastre. Within the palace, the consul and his invited guests were happily dining, welcoming Vayne Solidor to his new position. Outside, backed by fireworks, a pair of pirates flew through the air unnoticed on an ancient hoverbike.
Balthier hated that thing. The hoverbike worked just fine, yes, but it was so… wrong. The flying device operated not on a skystone but on an electrical system. Such things worked for tiny transports like the hoverbike and small skimmers, but it just felt so wrong. It flew, and yet it wasn’t alive, couldn’t talk, not like a proper airship. It just felt so horridly unnatural.
Balthier shoved away that crawling discomfort and focused on the matter at hand. Fran sat at the front, taking the controls of her little pet project. There were guards on patrol in the palace courtyard below, but the fireworks provided more than enough cover for the hoverbike. They sailed through the sky right over the guards’ heads. A large walkway stretched over the courtyard, leading straight into an open hallway: the perfect entrance.
“Fran, down there,” Balthier pointed towards the walkway, and Fran nodded. She guided the hoverbike down towards the walkway, and they came to a halt just above it. Balthier jumped and landed quietly on the stone walkway below, and Fran on the hoverbike touched down a little ways away.
“The treasury shouldn’t be too far from here,” Balthier said, making sure to keep his voice down. “Let’s move, Fran.”
Fran simply nodded, climbing off her hoverbike and moving over to join him.

The guards in the palace were incredibly sparse, just as Balthier had predicted. He and Fran slinked through the hallways with little difficulty, never once raising an alarm. After much time and much puzzlement, they managed to unlock a secret doorway which Balthier assumed led to the treasury. If not, then at least it would lead to somewhere interesting. So he and Fran started down the passage. At the end, it opened up into a wide room scattered with all sorts of treasure: undoubtably the palace treasury.
Only they weren’t alone. The sounds of footstep and breathing indicated another presence. Balthier ducked behind a tall crate and motioned for Fran to join him. After a few moments, their fellow occupant came into few.
Instead of an armored guard, it was a scrawny kid. He couldn’t have been more than a teenager, with the blond hair and suntanned skin of your average Dalmascan. The kid tramped around the room, staring at the conglomeration of treasures with wide eyes: some amateur thief. The thief turned to peer into a vase, hitting some lever in the process. It set off a mechanical clinking sound, and the face of a nearby statue split open. That attracted Balthier’s attention far more than little Thief; inside the statue’s face was a hunk of crystal of an orange-red hue. It was obviously magicite of some kind or another; hopefully, the Dusk Shard.
An excited look took over Thief’s face as he saw the crystal.
“Jackpot!” he said, so loud is made Balthier wince. He was surprised guards didn’t come running. It was a good thing security was lax that night, else little Thief would likely be skewered on the end of a knight’s sword.
Thief proceeded to grab the magicite from the statue, staring at it with a grin.
“Yes,” he said. “Wait ’til you see this, Penelo.”
Sitting there watching Thief go about his business wasn’t getting them anywhere. Even if he’d never met the man himself, Balthier had promised his services to this anonymous employer, and he wasn’t returning empty handed.
“Fran,” Balthier hissed to his partner, keeping his voice as low as possible. “I’ll distract him, and you sneak around and catch him from behind, alright?”
Fran nodded, slipping away around the row of crates, out of view. Balthier stepped out from the behind the crate, walking up behind Thief.
“Well, well done,” Balthier said, causing the kid to gasp. “Though I’m afraid your little performance is over now.” 
Thief spun around as Balthier strode into view.
“Wh-Who are you?” Thief said, eyes wide.
“I don’t really think you’re in the position to demand names,” Balthier replied as Fran slipped out from behind the crates and came up behind Thief. “Fran, the magicite.”
Thief spun around with a gasp as he saw Fran. Balthier felt sorry for the poor kid.
“Now then, I’ll take that,” Fran said, her stony gaze locked on Thief.
“No you won’t.” Thief said, clutching his newly acquired treasure against his chest. “I found it. It’s mine!”
Balthier rolled his eyes. “And then when I take it from you, it’ll be mine.”
Thief’s eyes darted back and forth between Fran and Balthier, and he took a step backward towards the wall. Balthier was impressed that the kid hadn’t lost his cool yet. Perhaps he was tougher than he looked.
The distinct sound of knights’ armor clinking came down the passage Balthier and Fran had taken, signaling the arrival of soldiers. Balthier glanced momentarily in the direction the noise came from, only for the sound of a door closing to draw him back to his surroundings. Thief had taken advantage of the momentary distraction and dashed out a side exit. The door still swung on its hinges from when the kid slammed it. Thief had gotten away. With the Dusk Shard. Balthier let out a long sigh.
“What now?” Fran asked.
“You get back to the hoverbike,” Balthier said. “I’ll chase our juvenile miscreant. Be ready to help, will you?”
“Right.” Fran nodded, turning back towards the tunnel. “Good luck.”
Against a kid like that? Balthier hoped he wouldn’t need luck.

Balthier chased Thief out of the treasury, down hallways and up stairs. Soldiers were suddenly everywhere, but luckily Thief avoided them as well. The overabundance of soldiers greatly confused Balthier; something was going on, besides the break-in of a few sky pirates.
Thief was quick for his age, and never seemed to slow down. Eventually he dashed out onto the outdoor walkway where Fran had parked the hoverbike. Hopefully, she’d be waiting nearby to help. Balthier skidded to a halt at what he saw outside. Below in the palace gardens, a massive swordfight raged. Imperial soldiers fought against a rag-tag group in Dalmascan armor. Balthier had heard rumors about a group of Dalmascan rebels who worked in the shadows to free their nation from Archadia’s control, but no one really believed it. Apparently, the insurgents really did exist, and they, too, had decided to take advantage of the fete for a strike against the new consul. A chaotic clash between two nations… Not something Balthier had planned to be caught in the middle of.
A bombardment from above disrupted the fighting in the garden; the heat and force of the explosions were strong enough to shake the walkway. Balthier glanced upward to see a very familiar dreadnaught hovering above the palace, spitting fire into the conflict below. Was that the Ifrit? The timing of her entrance was impeccable. It was almost like the imperials had been waiting all along…
Another flurry of explosives sent a cloud of dust billowing over the walkway, and Balthier raised an arm to block it. Thief, who had also stopped to watch the spectacle below, took off with the same speed and energy he’d used the whole way through the palace, not tired in the least.
“Stop running!” Balthier shouted after him in exasperation. Thief did, but only because Fran on her hoverbike came swooping in to block his path. Finally, the chase was over.
“End of the line!” Balthier called, holding out a hand. “Now hand over that magicite!”
Thief glanced back and forth between them in a panic, searching desperately for some way to escape.
Before any of them had time to act, a spotlight from Ifrit bathed over the whole walkway. A division of soldiers burst out of the palace behind them. Oh, not good.
“Fran!” Balthier called. “Let’s move!”
Fran drove her hoverbike over the edge of the bridge, hovering below it and waiting for Balthier to join her. But Balthier wasn’t going anywhere without that magicite he’d worked so hard to get, and Thief wasn’t going to drop it anytime soon. Well, needs must and all that…
Balthier rushed at Thief, scooping the kid over his shoulder and charging towards the edge. The kid was heavier than he’d thought, but with knights closing and a dreadnaught hovering overhead, Balthier barely noticed. Balthier climbed up over the railing, tossed Thief over it, then jumped after him.
Balthier landed nicely in his seat on the hoverbike behind Fran. He caught Thief’s wrist as he fell passed, and the hoverbike started off, the kid dangling all the while. Thief’s weight strained Balthier’s bad arm, and struggled to hold on as the hoverbike sailed through the air.
A jolt of energy rushed painfully up Balthier’s arm, startling him. Thief’s hand he grasped was the one that held the magicite, and the crystal ebbed a faint, red glow. The stone was close enough to grab, if Balthier wanted to drop Thief to his death. But that sharp wave, that painful ripple of static-like energy from the stone sent Balthier’s head throbbed and sapped his breath. It felt just like…
But that was impossible. That feeling reminded Balthier too much of the nethicite, the way it always made his head spin when it was near. But that couldn’t be right. The nethicite Draklor had was a one-of-a-kind specimen. Wasn’t it?
Another blast of heat in his face and earsplitting explosion caught Balthier’s attention. The bombardments from Ifrit were still coming strong, tearing up the garden below. Fran narrowly avoided the falling shells. Balthier found it hard to keep his hold on Thief’s wrist as she weaved between fire-blasts. And to make things worse, Thief was still struggling.
“Let go of me!” he shouted.
“Keep this up and I will!” Balthier snapped back at him.
Fran made another sharp turn, narrowly avoiding yet another explosion. The hoverbike’s engine made a worrying whining sound, and the lights along its length faltered.
“Fran, what’s going on?” Balthier asked, a panic growing inside him.
“I don’t know,” Fran replied, yanking futilely on the bike’s controls. “It’s not heeding me!”
Oh, no. The hoverbike had to break now?
“I’m slipping!” Thief cried, struggling to grab onto the hoverbike with his other hand. Balthier tried to readjust his grip on Thief’s wrist, but to no avail. The magicite brushed up against him, and another jolt of inexplicably familiar power rushed up his arm, only causing his grip to loosen further.
“Not good!” Balthier said, leaning half-over the side to keep his grip. A sudden blast came down right in front of them, and a cloud of smoke and fire enveloped the hoverbike. The last thing Balthier remembered was smoke choaking his lungs, the feeling of falling, the screech of metal breaking, and Thief’s screams as they descended.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

The Garamsythe Waterway, under Rabanastre
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The first thing Balthier noticed was the smell, an awful, pungent odor filling the air. Nothing like the warm, familiar scent of oil and magicite on board the Strahl. Then he heard the sound of water rushing and felt cold stone underneath him.
Balthier let a stifled groan, straining to sit up. His movements were restricted, and he found with dismay that his legs were tangled up in the hoverbike’s wreckage. Balthier moved his focus from that situation and took in his surroundings. It seemed like an elaborate sewer system, filthy water rushing along pathways and over waterfalls. Everything was made of damp, smelly stone, stretching onward in a network of massive tunnels. The place looked more like a maze or an underground citadel than a sewer; walkways and stairs built for maintenance lined and crisscrossed the waterways, providing an easy path, and dim lanterns hung here and there. Balthier had heard of the Garamsythe Waterway, a sewer passage that ran underneath Rabanastre. The place was infamous as an easy way to sneak undetected from one point to another, if you were willing to put up with sewage. Balthier deducted that the hoverbike must have hit a storm drain and fallen through to the waterway. The Garamsythe Waterway was below even Lowtown, Rabanastre’s underground slums, so that meant they had fallen quite a ways. It was a miracle Balthier wasn’t hurt.
Balthier’s legs were still hopelessly trapped in the hoverbike’s tangled wreckage, so he decided to check on his companions. Thief was sprawled unconscious next to the hoverbike, still clutching the Dusk Shard in one hand. He looked surprisingly fine. Fran knelt near the hoverbike’s front fiddling with a few components.
“You’re awake,” she said, not looking up from the pieces of her hoverbike.
“Are you alright, Fran?” Balthier asked.
Fran nodded. “I’ve healed both your wounds. If only this hoverbike were so easily fixed.”
Balthier let out a sigh. He knew Fran had worked long and hard on that thing, and it wasn’t in her nature to abandon such a project, but this was a lost cause.
“Fran,” Balthier said, trying to keep his tone gentle. “While I’m certain whatever flaw caused us to crash could have been easily fixed, I believe the damage to its frame is irreversible.”
Fran looked up from the pieces she worked with and stared at the twisted wreckage that had once been her hoverbike. She let out a sigh.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Now that that’s all settled,” Balthier said, “could you perhaps help me get out of this thing?”
Fran nodded, reluctantly abandoning her pieces and moving to help him. With her assistance, Balthier managed to extract himself from the wreckage. Thief was still out cold, so Balthier sat down on the hoverbike, and Fran went back to rifling longingly through the rubble.
“What will we do know?” Fran asked, setting down another piece of hoverbike.
“We need to get out of these sewers,” Balthier replied. “I suppose we’ll have to walk.”
“And what about him?” Fran nodded over towards Thief. Balthier let out a sigh; there was that to consider.
“Well, we can’t very well leave him here,” Balthier said after a moment’s consideration. “I suppose we’ll have to take him with us.”
Fran nodded and was about to speak when a groan captured their attention. Thief sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. His gaze darted between Balthier and Fran, eventually settling on Fran. He stared at her tall white ears with wide eyes.
“Not many Viera where you come from, Thief?” Balthier asked, smirking at his shock.
“It’s Vaan,” Thief said. He turned back to Fran. “Sorry.”
“Well, Fran is special,” Balthier continued, “in that she’d deign to partner with a human.”
“Oh?” Fran set her gaze on Balthier. “Like a sky pirate who chooses to steal through the sewers?”
“Pirates?” Vaan suddenly jumped to his feet, eyes wide. “You’re sky pirates? So you have an airship?”
“It’s Balthier,” Balthier cut him off before he could continue, trying not to let the puppy-dog adoration in this kid’s eyes annoy him too much. The last thing he needed now was some Rabanastran kid hero-worshiping him, especially this aggravating one who’d nearly gotten them caught. They still had to get out of the waterway, after all, and Balthier was determined this kid wouldn’t be any more trouble. “Listen, Thief- Vaan,” Balthier corrected himself. “If you ever want to get out of these sewers, you’re going to do exactly as I say. You, Fran, and I- we’re all working together now, understood?”
A quiet glow attracted Balthier’s attention, and he found his eyes wandering to the crystal Vaan still gripped. That thing-. Surely it couldn’t be… nethicite?
“Don’t even think you’re getting this,” Vaan said, hiding the stone behind his back.
Balthier scoffed. “The thought never crossed my mind.” He stood. “Now, time’s a wasting. Let’s be off, shall we?”
Vaan still didn’t look comfortable around them, but that didn’t matter. Balthier wasn’t thrilled about working with the kid he’d spent the last five minutes chasing, but getting out of the waterway in one piece was top priority. And, as he’d told Fran, he couldn’t in good conscience leave a kid like that to be caught by the imperials.
As they left the wreckage of Fran’s hoverbike and started off down the damp, smelly pathway, Balthier noticed for the first time that Vaan had a sword. It was a short one in a crude sheath, but it was a weapon. The kid hadn’t gone blundering into the palace completely unprepared after all. And he’d be able to hold his own should they run into any guards. That, at least, was a relief.
“Hey, wait! Look down there! What is that?” Vaan dashed away from Balthier and Fran and leaned over the pathway’s edge, staring down into the filthy waters below. Balthier bit back a sharp remark about running off, but walked over to where Vaan pointed, nonetheless. Three corpses clad in Dalmascan armor like those who had fought in the palace garden lay lifeless under the water’s surface.
“Insurgents,” Balthier said, frowning. “Most likely they thought to take advantage of the lax watch while the fete’s on… to feed the good consul a length of steel for his supper. I should think Vayne used to such hospitality.” Balthier raised one hand to stroke his chin as he thought aloud. “Clever… He used himself as the bait to draw them near, and then sent in the air brigade. A fine, bloody banquet…”
“Insurgents?” Vaan said. “Then they’re really real? The Dalmascan resistance? I knew we couldn’t sit by and let the empire stand over us forever!”
The way Vaan spat those words, ‘the empire,’ brought a flash of memories. Balthier saw the village of Lemahl, torn to pieces by the empire. And he’d been a part of that.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Balthier said to Vaan, dragging himself back to the present. “The insurgents couldn’t have had large forces to begin with, and they took heavy casualties in that battle up above. Your Dalmascan resistance will have taken quite the blow, if not been torn apart entirely. Just like Vayne planned, I’m sure.”
“Argh…” Vaan kicked a nearby stone. “I hate the empire! They’ve taken everything away from us!”
The pain and anger simmering in Vaan gaze struck deep. The kid couldn’t be more than seventeen, and yet he’d probably lost everything. The image of Lemahl resurfaced in Balthier’s memory again, even as he fought it, that little girl, blond hair sticking to her sooty, tear-stained face… Archadia, the empire he’d clung to so dearly… Balthier couldn’t deny that Vaan’s hatred was well founded.
Balthier turned away from the dead insurgents in the water, shoving his own pain back to the dark corner he’d resigned it to two years ago. “We’d best keep moving,” he said. “You want to get back to the surface, right Vaan?”
“Yeah,” Vaan replied. “Let’s go.”

The Garamsythe Waterway was surprisingly empty save for Balthier, Fran, and Vaan. There were no insurgents or soldiers, and least, not yet. The three of them tramped on through the putrid sewers, headed towards the exit. At least, they took every upward path, and Balthier hoped that would bring them to an exit. They had just crested another damp stairway with a scratching sound caught Balthier’s attention.
“Wait,” he said, raising a hand to stop the others. “Did you hear that?”
“Over there!” Vaan said, pointing behind them. “Rats!”
At first, Balthier thought Vaan’s cry of ‘rats’ was just an exclamation of frustration. Then he saw that there really were rats, massive rats the size of cats with mangy brown fur and sharp yellow eyes. The massive creatures scrambled up the stairways behind them, hissing and chattering.
“Really?” Balthier let out a sigh. He expected trouble from soldiers and rebels and everything in between, but rats? And these rodents were really going to run up there and attack them? He knew their brains were small, but they really thought they stood a chance?
Apparently, they did. One rat jumped up and sank its teeth into Balthier’s pantleg, and he quickly kicked the disgusting creature away. Unfortunately, there were more behind it.
“Leave this to me!” Vaan said with a cocky grin, whipping out his short sword with a flourish that failed to be anything close to impressive. He decapitated two rats with a precise movement, and the others turned tail and ran back down the stairs. Vaan slid his sword back into its sheath with a grin.
“Impressive,” Balthier said. “I take it this isn’t your first time taking on overgrown sewer rats?”
“I train down here all the time!” Vaan said. “I gotta be ready to take on the world when I get my own airship!”
“Ah-ha,” Balthier said, half amused by the kid’s ridiculous dreams. “I take it that’s what your little break-in was, too? Practice for your future sky pirating career?”
“Yeah!” Vaan said, clearly unaware Balthier was mocking him.
“And how do you think your parents feel about that?” Balthier asked.
Pain washed over Vaan’s face, and he stared at the ground. That same simmering anger rested in his eyes.
“They’re dead,” Vaan said at last.
“I see,” Balthier replied, growing serious. “The war?”
Vaan shook his head. “No, they died a few years before that. Me and my brother, Reks, we lived with my friend Penelo and her family. But her parents were killed during the war. Then, when the king went to sign the treaty, the Order of the Knights went after him, you know? Reks volunteered to go with them.” The anger in Vaan’s eyes grew hotter as he spoke. “When Captain Basch killed the king… Reks was there. After everything was over, the empire tortured him, ’cause they thought he was working with the captain! He… never said a word after that. He died… just about a year ago.” Vaan sighed, still simmering. “There’s a lot of us in Rabanastre,” he continued. “Orphans, you know? But someday I’m gonna be a sky pirate! Then I’ll be free to go where I will! Those blasted Archadians can forget all about me!”
“We should move,” Fran’s voice interrupted. “I hear voices up ahead, getting closer. Soldiers, perhaps.”
Balthier nodded slowly. “Come on then, let’s move.” He started off, motioning for Fran and Vaan to follow.
“Wait!” Vaan jogged up to walk beside Balthier. “What’s it like? Being a sky pirate?”
“It’s no walk in the park, if that’s what you think,” Balthier replied. “It’s easier when armature thieves don’t come along and interrupt your jobs. Steal your loot, and all that. Unless, of course, you want to give that back, now?”
Vaan scowled, moving one hand to cover the pocket where he’d stashed his treasure. “No way! It’s mine.”
At least that got Vaan to stop pestering him. Balthier couldn’t stand that hero-worshiping, puppy-dog look Vaan gave him when he talked about sky pirates. Sure, the kid had dreams, and that was fine, but Balthier just wished he’d leave him alone.

In the next room, a ledge loomed over the damp walkway Balthier, Fran, and Vaan tramped through. From that ledge above them, shouts and the sound of steel-on-steel echoed down. Balthier looked up sharply as those locked in combat came into view.
Four imperial knights chased a woman in a white dress, pinning her against the ledge. Seeing she was trapped, the woman spun around to face them. Her golden-blond hair framed her face, swishing as she turned to face her enemies. One knight lunged at her, but the woman slashed out her sword, catching a joint in his armor and thrusting it straight through. The soldier tumbled backward and landed dead on the walkway far below.
“Wh-who’ll be next?” the woman asked. Her voice shook, blue-grey eyes glittered with fear, but she stood firm. The soldiers closed in, baring their blades and preparing for the final blow, and Balthier could almost hear the woman’s shaking, terrified breaths. It was obvious she didn’t stand a chance.
Vaan dashed away from Balthier and Fran, who were still watching the spectacle above. Balthier could barely believe his ears when he heard Vaan shouting up to the lone woman on the ledge above.
“Jump down!” Vaan called, holding out his arms. “Hurry!”
The woman spun around, letting out a gasp as she saw the three on the walkway below. She glanced between her attackers and the band of strangers below, weighing her options. She only took a moment, then jumped. Vaan managed to catch her, less than gracefully, Balthier couldn’t help but notice.
“There’s more of them!” one of the soldiers shouted, pointing down below. The three began to climb down the ledge to the walkway below. Vaan had already put the mysterious woman down and drawn his sword, while Fran was pulling out her bow.
“Our ranks grow by the hour,” Fran said as she nocked an arrow.
“And our troubles with them,” Balthier replied with a sigh. As he’d flown over the palace gardens that evening, Balthier’s only plan had been to fulfil a job, not all this. Nevertheless, there were three imperial soldiers to deal with now. Balthier whipped out his rifle for the battle ahead.
Fran’s arrows took down one of the three knights before he could even get to the bottom of the ledge. One knight flew right at Vaan, who blocked him with his short sword. It was obvious that Vaan had never used his sword against another man before. The motions of blocking the knight’s sword came awkwardly, and Vaan barely managed to keep himself alive. Such an inept attempt at swordplay was painful to watch; how could someone with the privilege to wield a sword stand to do so that clumsily?
Balthier raised his rifle, delivering a few shots to lend Vaan a hand. The knight was finished in moments.
Fran sent a rush of fire magic at the knight her and the mysterious woman were fighting, but he managed to dodge it. The woman in the white dress leapt at him, locking him in an intense swordfight. She was better than Vaan with a sword, but not better than the knight. He shoved her back with a sweep of his blade, and she fell to the ground, face contorted in pain. The woman dropped her sword as she fell, grasping one arm, eyes wide in terror as her foe advanced. Crimson blood ran down the woman’s arm, dripping onto the damp stone beneath her. The knight moved in to finish her, but Balthier hit him with a precise shot, and he fell, motionless.
The enemy taken care of, Fran dropped her bow and knelt on the cold stone beside the mysterious woman. She reached out to take her wounded arm.
“I-I’m okay…” the woman said, breaking off with a cry off pain. The look on her face told quite a different story.
“Hold still a moment,” Fran said in her usual cool manner. A familiar white light pulsed from her hands, illuminating the wound. The woman stared with wide eyes as Fran worked to heal the wound, the deep gash slowly closing.
“Oh… Thank you,” the woman said, shakily, swinging her gaze over the three of them. “A-All of you.”
“No problem!” Vaan said, a little too enthusiastically. Balthier understood; it was every teenaged boy’s dream to save a beautiful damsel in destress. However, Balthier was a little more suspicious of this newcomer.
“Let me guess- you’re with the insurgence,” Balthier said, narrowing his eyes. The woman cast him an equally unfriendly glare.
“Resistance,” she corrected. “And yes, I am.” The woman glanced back up at the ledge. “There were… others with me, but…” Pain glinted in her eyes, and she let her gaze fall back to the ground, breathing shakily.
“I’m sorry,” Fran said, with genuine sympathy. Apparently, she didn’t see this woman as a threat, either.
“I’m Vaan,” Vaan said, still with that eager look in his eyes. “And this is Fran and Balthier. What’s your name?”
Balthier bit back a frustrated remark. The kid had to go out and spew their names to this random stranger? Did he want to get caught?
“I’m… Amalia,” the woman said, standing up. Fran had finished healing her wound. As she stood, a sudden pulse of bright light gushed through the air, along with a weird, horribly familiar feeling Balthier knew only he could sense. Vaan pulled the source of the sudden light out of his pocket: the Dusk Shard. Amalia sucked in a gasp. Balthier could feel something in the sudden pulse of power, a feeling of… recognition? Some strange, eager longing, coming from that stone. And in Amalia’s eyes, there, too, was recognition. She knew what that thing was.
“Now isn’t that impressive?” Balthier said under his breath. He trusted Amalia even less now.
“Don’t get any ideas!” Vaan said, pulling the stone back against him. “I said it’s mine!”
“You stole that?” Amalia said, eyes wide in horror.
“Yeah!” Vaan replied with a big grin, like this was a complement. Balthier rolled his eyes.
The glow from the stone died away. Vaan tucked it safely into his pocket, then turned back to Amalia.
“Hey, you should come with us!” he said. “It’ll be safer than going on your own.” Vaan turned to Balthier. "You know, if you’re okay with it.”
The last thing Balthier wanted was to bring some insurgent with them. Keeping Vaan out of trouble was bad enough; he didn’t need to keep an eye on suspicious little Amalia, too. However, judging from both Vaan and Fran’s looks, Balthier was outvoted. And could he really just leave her there to be killed by the knights? Besides, she obviously had some connection to that stone, and that got Balthier’s curiosity piqued.
“Fine,” he said at last, less than happy about it. Maybe Amalia would just say no, and that would be the end of that.
Amalia pulled herself together, holding her head high in an attempt to look regal rather than shaken, scared, and everything else she was.
“Well, I… uh… My situation demands… that I accept what help I can find. Albeit from thieves,” she stammered. “I will accompany you to the surface, and no farther.”
Balthier couldn’t help but smirk. The poor girl’s attempt at confidence was laughable.
“We should hurry, then,” Fran said. “When the guards don’t report in, they’ll come looking for us.”
“She’s right,” Balthier said. “Let’s move.”
Amalia picked up her sword from where she’d dropped it and slid it back into its sheath, then nodded.
“Very well,” she said, striding away down the path ahead. Balthier bit back a sigh and started off after her. He had a feeling working with this Amalia wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience.

…

Amalia. Her name was Amalia, at least for the time being. That was one thing she had to remember, especially around these people. Amalia didn’t trust the ragtag trio of sky pirates one bit; really, she wasn’t even certain if they all trusted each other. At least, the other two treated Vaan like an outsider. And they had the stone… Could they…?
But she didn’t care. She just wanted to get back to the surface as quickly as possible and see what casualties the resistance had taken. The events proceeding Amalia’s unexpected rescue played in her mind over and over again: all her comrades died trying to protect her, falling one by one to the mass of imperial knights. The image of each of their faces, their last screams flooded her mind, sapping her breath. Maybe Vossler had been right. Maybe she should have stayed behind during the raid…
But let her friends and helpers for all these years risk their lives while she sat in safety? Amalia couldn’t do that. But in the end, it was her presence that had got them all killed. Before that, they’d gotten separated from Vossler and his division. Perhaps they were still alive. They had to be. Without Vossler, Amalia didn’t know what she’d do. But until then, she had to be strong. She could hold her own. She always had.
“Are you alright?”
Amalia turned at the sound of Fran’s thickly accented voice.
“Uh, yes,” she replied curtly. Amalia had managed to get through most of this journey without speaking to the three thieves, and she liked it that way. The less she spoke to them, the less likely they were to realize who she really was. That was unlikely anyway, but Vossler had told her to always be careful around outsiders.
Fran fell into step beside Amalia, behind the pair of Balthier and Vaan. Those two were locked in some conversation about sky pirating that Vaan seemed far more interested in than Balthier.
“You seem troubled,” Fran continued. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I’m fine,” Amalia replied. Fran really did seem genuinely nice, but she couldn’t trust these people. She couldn’t tell them anything, much less spill out her worries to them. A listening ear would have been greatly appreciated, but Amalia couldn’t risk revealing some secret about the resistance or herself. She wasn’t supposed to talk to people outside the resistance, not even ordinary citizens, much less these shady characters. She could talk to Vossler when she finally got back to base. Then, everything would be fine. Amalia clung to that.

…

“Over there!” Vaan shouted, abruptly cutting off his interrogation. At least, it felt like an interrogation. The kid had been asking Balthier ever question possible about being a sky pirate and what it was like and how he could possibly become one. The relentless questioning had gone on for who knew how long, and Balthier was glad it was finally over.
Vaan pointed at a set of black metal gates. “That way leads to Lowtown,” he said. “I get in here through there all the time.”
“We’re back at the surface?” Amalia asked, speaking for what seemed like the first time. Though she didn’t use words, Amalia had communicated quiet clearly that she didn’t trust them. That was fine; Balthier didn’t trust her either. However, he was quite curious as to who she was and what she knew about the Dusk Shard. If she knew something about it, perhaps she could shed some light on why Balthier’s mysterious employer wanted it, too. He hoped she wouldn’t slip away before he had a chance to ask her.
“Let’s go, before the guards catch up with us,” Fran said, nodding towards the gate.
“Yes, let’s hurry,” Amalia said, starting off towards the exit. Clearly, she didn’t want to spend any more time with Balthier and the others. Balthier, however, still hadn’t had his chance to learn what she knew. Perhaps she even knew if the Dusk Shard was nethicite or not.
If Balthier wanted his answers, he’d have to act soon. But what was he going to do? Go up there and interrogate the poor girl? With how tight-lipped she’d been, he doubted Amalia would talk any other way.
“Are you coming?” Fran’s taciturn voice broke through Balthier’s ponderings. Vaan had already started off after Amalia, and Fran hung a little behind them. Balthier made no reply and started off. He’d get his answers as soon as there was an opportunity. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too late.

On the other side of the gate, a startling sight awaited. Balthier came to a halt beside Amalia, staring at the row of rifles aimed at them from a ledge high above. At least a dozen imperial knights were up there, pinning them down.
“Stay where you are!” a familiar voice called down. It took Balthier a few moments to place it, but then he realized: Vayne Solidor, Rabanastre’s new consul. Vayne emerged from behind the row of knights, descending the staircase with four more guards. His presence surprised Balthier; the consul was heading up the search in the sewers? But, then again, Vayne had obviously known the resistance would make their move that night. Perhaps he was just wanted to witness their capture with.
Upon seeing Vayne’s face, Amalia let out a gasp, a searing look of hatred rushing over her face. Balthier grabbed her arm before she could rush out at him and get mowed down by the row of guards.
“Now is not the time,” he hissed to her. Amalia swung her venom filled gaze from Vayne to Balthier; her anger bled away a little, revealing fear and confusion as she frowned at Balthier’s face. She stared at him a few moments, then turned her stormy blue eyes back to Vayne.
Vayne approached, his gaze sweeping over the group, finally settling on Amalia. A faint, sickly smile flickered over his lips.  
“Bring them,” Vayne said, turning away and motioning to his guards. They quickly surrounded the group, pushing them along to follow Vayne out of the sewers. The whole time, Amalia’s gaze never left Vayne.

…

Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Amalia had all been handcuffed by the time they were led out into Lowtown by the division of knights. Citizens crowded around the procession, gawking as the four prisoners were led in chains to the stairway leading up into Rabanastre proper. They stopped there, and Vayne talked with one of the knights about arranging transport for the prisoners. As they lingered, the crowd of murmuring Rabanastrans grew.
As much as Balthier disliked being made a public spectacle, he had more important things to worry about at the moment. He could easily pick the locks on his cuffs, but then what? With so many knights around, he wasn’t likely to get away unharmed, and there would be no way to free Fran or the others, and certainly no way he could get the Dusk Shard from Vaan. Besides, with all those bystanders flocking around, any fight would surely result in innocent casualties. It seemed there was nothing to do but wait.
“I have to do something…” Amalia mumbled under her breath from her place beside Balthier. She squeezed her eyes shut, panic filling each shaky breath.
“Start moving,” one of the guards said, shoving Amalia forward. Apparently, they’d finally decided where to take them.
“These people have done nothing!” Amalia said suddenly. “Release them!”
No one took any heed of her, of course.
“What are you doing?” Vaan asked.
“I’m… thinking,” Amalia replied, shutting her eyes again, as if that could block the fear and panic in her gaze from the world’s view. Balthier almost felt sorry for her: so scared and struggling so hard to hide it, her cover of bravery corroding so quickly in this hopeless situation.
“Wait!” A voice shouted from the throng of gathered citizens. A girl with blond pigtails broke from the crowd, rushing straight towards Vaan until the guards caught her. She looked on the brink of tears.
“He didn’t know what he was doing!” the girl pleaded. “You have to let him go! You have to!”
“Penelo!” Vaan called, worry on his face. Evidently, he knew this girl. “Sorry. I guess that dinner will have to wait.”
“I told you!” Penelo shouted back. Tears leaked out of her eyes and streaked down her cheeks.
“That’s enough!” One of the guards holding Vaan struck him in the back of the head, and he dropped to his knees with a gasp.
“Leave him alone!” Penelo all but screamed, breaking free from the guards and racing towards Vaan. Balthier could already see it in his mind: the guards instinctively whipping out their weapons, Penelo falling to the floor in a bloody mess. He wasn’t sitting back and watching while that happened. Balthier pulled away from the guards, thrusting himself into Penelo’s path. He grabbed the first thing in his pocket he could reach with his hands cuffed and held it out to her: a handkerchief? That worked.
“Hold on to this for me, won’t you?” Balthier said. “Just until I bring Vaan back.” He hoped she saw the hidden message behind those words and that token; don’t get yourself killed, because I’m bringing him back. Of course, that meant Balthier had just signed on to babysit little Thief for a while longer. Oh, well; it wasn’t like he could just leave the kid rotting in prison, anyways.
Penelo tentatively took the handkerchief. Her teary gaze met Balthier’s, and she nodded slowly.
“On your feet!” One of the guards roughly pulled Vaan back up, then turned to Balthier. “You, over here!”
“Alright, alright,” Balthier said with a sigh. “Edgy, aren’t we?”

The four prisoners were led out of Lowtown and to Rabanastre’s aerodrome. There, the guards talked to the staff about departure. Balthier didn’t have to reach out to Strahl; she made contact as soon as they entered the aerodrome with a sigh.
“Again?” she said. “You got caught again? I thought you were going to be careful this time.”
“Don’t worry,” Balthier replied. “I’ll be back soon. I always am.”
“You’d better be,” Strahl said.
“Over here!” one of the guards motioned for the four bound prisoners to follow him towards a small transport. Balthier didn’t have any choice but to follow. They all started off, but a voice interrupted.
“Wait.” It was Vayne. They all stopped. What could Vayne want now?
“Not her.” Vayne walked up to Amalia, staring down at her with dark satisfaction. “I have other plans for this one.”
Balthier didn’t like the look in Vayne’s eyes. Yes, Amalia was a member of the resistance, but what did Vayne want with her? It could just be interrogation, but the way he said it made it seem like something more important. The guards compliantly guided Amalia away from the others, towards a different transport.
“These thieves are to be sent to the Nalbina Dungeons,” Vayne said to the remaining guards. “I entrust you with their safe transport.”
The guards replied with a unison cry of “Sir!” then led Balthier, Fran, and Vaan towards the other transport. On to the Nalbina Dungeons, was it? A nasty place, to say the least. But Balthier had a feeling it was a kinder fate than Vayne had in store for Amalia.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

The Nalbina Dungeons
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Balthier’s head throbbed as blinked open his eyes, taking in his surroundings. The place looked like it could once have been something impressive, but not anymore; just a small, circular room with stone walls, a sandy floor, and a few crates scattered against the walls. In the ceiling high above, a large grate let in bars of light, adding to the faint flicker of the lanterns adorning the room’s walls.
The guards had taken Balthier, Fran, and Vaan from Rabanastre, then down through the Nalbina Fortress. Balthier vaguely remembered being thrown down into the dungeons through that grate on the ceiling. He remembered thinking he’d probably be able to land on his feet. Evidently, he’d failed.
Balthier propped himself up on his elbows, then pulled himself up into a sitting position. Holding one hand against his throbbing head, he scanned the room for his companions. Vaan sprawled motionless on the floor but was still breathing. The decaying corpse of some unfortunate Bangaa lay a few paces away; he probably broke his neck in the fall. Balthier decided to consider himself lucky that his only injury was a knock on the head.
“Are you alright?” That was Fran’s voice. Balthier turned his head to see Fran standing near a doorway that led farther into the dungeon. They said the Nalbina Dungeons were simply the lower parts of the fortress sealed off from the rest, a crypt filled with criminals, surviving on what meager rations were provided, many not surviving at all. Who knew what dreadful sights that passage led to?
“I’m fine,” Balthier answered Fran’s question. Using a nearby crate for support, Balthier pulled himself up to his feet. The world spun a moment as he regained his balance. Suddenly, a horrific scream echoed from the belly of the fortress, a startling sound that made Balthier jerk to awareness. It was an eerie, unnatural sound that sent a chill down Balthier’s spine.
“We should hurry and find an exit,” Fran said after a few moments, maintaining her air of perfect calm.
“I agree,” Balthier replied, unable to pull his eyes from the dark passage. “We don’t want that to be us. Can you feel the myst, Fran?”
Fran closed her eyes, then nodded. “Yes. There is a way out. Shall I search?”
“You do that,” Balthier said. “I’ll wait until Vaan here wakes up, then see what I can get out of the local inmates.”
Fran nodded then wordlessly turned and walked out the door.
Now alone save the unconscious Vaan and Bangaa corpse, Balthier sat down on one of the crates. His head was still pounding, but not as bad now that he sat.
There was a smell, a feeling in the air down there, of death, both old and new. It reminded Balthier too much of a battlefield, once all the fighting was over. Yes, he’d only seen one such battleground, and only for a few foggy moments before he passed out, but it was an image forever engrained in his memory. The crows coming down in droves, shattered bodies all around…
Balthier banished the thought, fighting back the awful sight. He told himself that was all Ffamran’s life, that he’d left behind all those horrible memories. He could try and block them out, but he couldn’t quite forget…
A moan pulled Balthier back to present as Vaan began to stir. Balthier was almost thankful for it, some other presence to distract him from the past. Vaan’s eyes drifted open, and he pulled himself up to sit, moaning as he rubbed his head with one hand.
“You’re awake,” Balthier said. Vaan glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes before turning to Balthier.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Prison, where else?” Balthier replied, feigning nonchalance. “More a dungeon, but it’s really all the same.”
Vaan made no replied, pulling himself up to his feet. The sound of more tortured screeching echoed from deeper in, causing Vaan to jump back. He nearly tripped on the Bangaa carcass, spinning around with a gasp.
“It’s just a corpse,” Balthier said, swallow his own unease. “Jump at every little thing down here and you’ll wear yourself out.”
“Where’s Fran?” Vaan asked after a few moments. He didn’t look much calmer, but Balthier couldn’t blame him. He was just a kid, after all, and he had no business in a place like this. Balthier couldn’t help but think he wanted nothing to do with the Nalbina Dungeons either.
“She’s off trying to find us a way out,” Balthier replied. Yet another burst of sickening screams issued out of Nalbina’s depths, louder this time. Vaan craned his neck, trying to see farther down the passageway.
“Remember what curiosity killed,” Balthier said, standing up. His head felt better. “Just a friendly word of advice.” He didn’t need Vaan getting himself into trouble down there; he did have a promise to keep, after all.
Vaan nodded slowly, his gaze turning back to the doorway. After a few moments, he started off, disappearing into mass of torchlight and shadows. Balthier sighed and shook his head. The kid would probably be alright; Balthier would have to keep an eye on him while he had a chat with his fellow prisoners.

Balthier knew there was an exit somewhere. Fran had said so, and she had yet to be wrong about such things. And if there was an exit, someone surely had some tale about it, and that would be useful information if Fran couldn’t find it. In large dungeons like these, there was always word about some exit, if only a hopeful fantasy to stave off despair. But not in Nalbina. Every prisoner Balthier talked to told him escape was nothing more than a dream, that he should accept his fate and stop trying.
Just roll over and die? That was one thing Balthier would never do.
As he went from captive to captive gleaning what information he could, Balthier tried to watch Vaan out of the corner of his eye. The kid didn’t talk to anyone, just stared with wide, horrified eyes at everything: rough characters in handcuffs shoving each other around, people randomly chained to walls, begging for a scrap of rations, the odd corpse here and there, lying against the wall because nobody bothered to move it. Balthier couldn’t help but feel guilty; perhaps if he’d been more careful, he could have kept Vaan out of this place. Perhaps he could have kept them all out of this place.
“Hey!” The call came from an old man chained to the wall. “You there, in the fancy clothes! I hear you’re lookin’ for a way out, right?”
Balthier decided to take the ‘fancy clothes’ comment as a complement and cautiously approached the old man.
“You know something?” he asked. It seemed unlikely, since no one else had heard anything about an exit, but at this point, Balthier was prepared to take his chances.
“Hold on a moment, lad,” the old man said. “This information isn’t free.”
“What do want?” Balthier asked. He was none too pleased with being called a ‘lad’ but decided not to comment.
“You see that rock over there?” the old man nodded towards the opposite wall. “The pointy one! Bring it over here, would you? I’ve almost got these darn shackles sawed through, but the rock I’ve been using’s gone all dull.”
Balthier walked over to the opposite wall and picked up the rock. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vaan exiting the room. There was no way Balthier could follow him now, not when he finally had a chance of learning about a way out. Vaan would just have to stay out of trouble on his own.
“Good, good! Now give it here.” The old man eagerly held out his bound hands.
“Not so fast,” Balthier said. “You tell me about this fabled exit, and then I’ll give you this rock.”
The old man let out a sigh. “Fair enough. The Nalbina Dungeons aren’t a very pretty place, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Anyone who believes there’s an exit jumps right on the idea, rather than hanging around in this awful spot. That means there’s no one left to spread stories are the ones who can’t go anywhere. Now then, the people down here are one of two kinds. Either they’ve committed some heinous crime, or they’ve refused to bow to the Empire. What I’m sayin’ is, if you’re in Nalbina, either you’re a murderer or a pirate. I like to know who it is I’m helpin’ reach daylight again, so which are you?”
“A pirate,” Balthier replied without hesitation. “And not much of one without a sky. Now, to the point, old man. Do you want to stay shackled to that wall forever or not?” Balthier held the rock out just beyond the man’s reach.
“Yes, yes.” The man sighed again. “Just slow down a moment, lad. Before we go any further, I want you to take a good long listen, hmm?”
At first, Balthier couldn’t hear anything above hum of prisoners talking, then an eerie, hair-raising screaming echoed out of the depths of the fortress. It was that same awful sound that had greeted him and others upon their arrival.
“You hear that, lad?” the old man asked, then let out a chuckle. “Oh, I can tell you do. Don’t worry, you get used to it after a while. But my point is, most who try and reach this exit of ours end up serenading us like that poor soul.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Balthier said, with confidence more feigned then he’d admit. “I’ll be fine. Now, this way out?”
“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you, if that’s what you want,” the old man said. “They call it the Barheim Passageway. The Passage is a relic from ancient times, now just a dank, dark labyrinth full of all sorts wretched creatures. It empties out somewhere in the Estersand. They say there’s a way into the Passage from the dungeon, but I’ll warn you, even if you do make it into Barheim, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it to the end alive. By all means, try, but-”
The man was cut off by the sound of snorting and slamming, coming from the next room, the same room Vaan had disappeared into, Balthier couldn’t help but notice.
“Oh, they’re at it again, are they?” the old man said with a huff.
“Who’s at what?” Balthier asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Those darn Seeqs!” the old man replied. “Somehow they got ahold of some clubs, and now they’ve taken to beating up whoever stumbles into their path. I can’t fathom why they haven’t used those things on the guards yet, but you know how Seeq are. Their muscles are bigger than their brains. I suppose they like beating up people in here just as well as out in the daylight.”
Balthier wasn’t really listening to the old man prattle on. He was worried about Vaan.
“I think I’ll take my leave now,” he said. “My thanks for your knowledge.”
“Wait!” The old man held out his bound hands. “What about my payment, eh? You wouldn’t leave an old man to rot, would you?”
Balthier absently tossed the rock to the old man then started off towards the doorway. In the next room, sunlight poured in through the open roof, and the floor fell away to reveal a gladiatorial pit. Inside the pit, a trio of Seeqs dragged some unfortunate soul into the pit’s center. One of them closed the gates on both the pit’s entrances, making escape impossible. Balthier moved closer to the pit’s edge to get a better look at the Seeqs’ captive. That confirmed his fears. Vaan.
Balthier let out a sigh and shook his head. It was up to him to rescue Vaan from peril, was it? Oh, well…
The largest of the three Seeqs threw Vaan, and he landed against the pit’s wall. After a few moments, Vaan pulled himself to his feet, back pressed against the walls, staring with terror at his three assailants. Balthier figured this was a good time to make his entrance.
“Something stinks in here, alright,” Balthier called down, walked along the edge of the pit. “I’ve changed my mind; this is no dungeon, it’s a sty.”
Now all three of the Seeqs were staring up at Balthier. The largest of them shouted something unintelligible, and Balthier didn’t take the time to decipher it.
“I said you’re the one who stinks, Hamshanks!” Balthier continued. “Hear me now?”
That got the Seeq angry. He swung his club over his head, shouting in the same unintelligible language. Balthier jumped down into the pit, landing beside Vaan.
“You alright, Vaan?” he asked, not turning from the three Seeqs, who were quickly closing in.
“Y-Yeah,” Vaan answered. “But… how are we going to fight those guys?” Vaan pressed closer to the wall. “We don’t even have any weapons!”
“We use our greatest weapon,” Balthier replied. “Our brains.”
The Seeqs were on them now. They were huge brutes with clubs, and anyone would think they could easily squash two humans. The battle was hopeless, or so it seemed. Yes, this would be hard, dangerous, life-threatening, a desperate battle against impossible odds…
Balthier couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face at that thought. Bring it on.
The largest of the Seeqs advanced quickly on Balthier, and he dived to the side. He grabbed a handful of sand from the pit floor and threw it into the Seeq’s eyes. The pig-like creature let out a grunt and clawed at its face with both hands, letting its club fall to the ground. Balthier didn’t waste a moment, diving for the weapon. He grabbed it with both hands, his bad arm screaming in pain as he hoisted the heavy thing. He’d feel that for days, but he’d live with it if it meant surviving this fight. Balthier swung the club around, hitting the Seeq square in the head, knocking him out cold.
“Alright!” Vaan called.
“Quite cheering and look out!” Balthier shouted back to him. Vaan regained his focus just in time to dodge the advance of another Seeq. Balthier made a quick motion then threw the club over towards Vaan. That sent a fresh wave of pain through his arm, but he ignored it. Vaan caught the club and managed to dodge the Seeq’s attacks, dealing him a finishing blow. Balthier rushed over and grabbed the second Seeq’s club, and he and Vaan, now both armed, managed to beat their last remaining attacker. Somehow, they’d both made it out alive against three Seeqs.
A crowd of prisoners had gathered around the pit by now, all chatting eagerly about the new champions of the ring. Balthier could care less what those criminals thought. He just wanted to get out of this place.
The gathered prisoners suddenly quieted, and Balthier frowned dispersed around the room with haste. The sound of clinking armor came from above the pit, and Balthier could only guess there were guards approaching. Surely such squabbles among inmates wouldn’t be to their liking. Who knew what sort of punishment they would dish out?
“Vaan. Over here.” Balthier pressed against the wall closest to where he’d heard the guards, motioning for Vaan to join him. So tight against the wall, they were out of view from the guards when they peered in. However, Balthier could see them. It was a very familiar sight: dark armor, sculpted helmets; your average Archadian knights. And to think Balthier had once commanded such troops. No, Ffamran had. That was all in the past now.
Finding nothing, the guards pulled back from the pit, muttering amongst themselves. From the same doorway they entered by came a now-familiar face to Balthier: a large green-skinned Bangaa. The bounty hunter, Ba’Gamnan.
“Great.” Balthier heaved a sigh. “They just don’t give up, do they?”
A creaking sound came from one of the gates leading out of the pit, and it raised a foot off the ground. On the other side of the gate stood another familiar face: Fran.
“Ah!” Balthier said. “Just in time. Come on, Vaan.” Balthier set off towards the half-open gate, Vaan following behind.
“Did you find our exit?” Balthier asked Fran through the gate’s bars while Vaan slipped underneath.
“Yes…” Fran replied, a little too much hesitance in her voice. “There is a solitary confinement chamber farther in. In that place, the myst flows free. Only… it seethes. I do not believe this will be a safe route.”
Balthier nodded, taking in the information. It agreed with what the old man had told him. “We’ll make sure to pick up some weapons, then.”
Seeing Vaan had passed under the half-raised gate, Balthier crouched and slipped through as well. Sand and debris on the sweat stained floor… But Balthier knew by now sky pirating wasn’t a clean job.
“Also…” Fran began as Balthier stood.
“There’s more?” Balthier asked with a sigh. Oh, nothing I do is easy.
“The doors to the cell are bound with powerful magics,” Fran explained. “I… I don’t know how to untangle them.”
“Ah.” Balthier nodded. “So we can’t get in? And you’re sure there’s no other way out?”
Fran shook her head. “No, of that, I am sure. If we wish to escape, we must find a way through that door.”
“What did you call me? Say that again!” A shout interrupted their debate. The voice came down from up above, from one of the gathered prison guards. Balthier could just see him, standing above the pit. The knight’s voice echoed from within his armor as he shot back at Ba’Gamnan, the lizard-like Bangaa bounty hunter.
“What, you couldn’t hear?” Ba’Gamnan sneered back. “I merely said the lot of you are incompetent fools! If you’ve the sky pirate in your hands, where is he?”
Balthier let out a sigh. That headhunter was still dead set on dragging in Balthier’s head, was he? His presence wouldn’t make this harrowing escape any easier.
“And you’d have done better, Ba’Gamnan?” the knight shot back. “By your own words, it was the imperial army that caught this sky pirate of yours. We don’t require the assistance of filthy headhunters! The Empire will restore order here!”
“What’s that you say?” Ba’Gamnan said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe I’ll whet my blade on you… before I kill Balthier!” Ba’Gamnan reached for his sword, apparently ready to make good on his threat.
“That’s enough, Ba’Gamnan!” a new voice entered the conversation. From the doorway the guards had emerged from, a Judge entered in full formal armor, complete with a flowing black cape, a sign of high rank Ffamran had never had the pleasure of wearing. His voice sounded familiar, cold and callous, a sword well-sharpened but without a trace of luster. His armor, too, looked familiar. Was that… General Gabranth? Of course, wartime was over; he was merely Judge Gabranth, now.
“Who’s that guy?” Vaan asked, wide-eyed. Of course, he wasn’t an Archadian. He hadn’t grown up living in awe of the great Archadian Judges, the heroes of every child, the guardians of everything the people held dear. The image returned to Balthier’s mind of Lemahl, of Gabranth proclaiming the end of those people’s freedom. How ironic all those heroic tales seemed after that.
“A Judge,” Balthier replied to Vaan’s question, the word bitter in his mouth after all this time. “The self-proclaimed guardians of law and order in the Empire. They’re the elite guard of house Solidor and the commanders of the imperial army. If you ask me, they’re more executioners than judges.”
But what would any Judge, much less a member of the emperor’s person guard like Gabranth, be doing in a dungeon of all places? The timing of his arrival was quite coincidental, as well. He wasn’t here because Balthier had just arrived, surely. Yes, Balthier had once been part of the Judges, and he had quite the bounty on his head for the crimes of desertion and grand theft airship, but surely he didn’t warrant the attention of someone like Gabranth? No, that couldn’t be it.
 Gabranth and his entourage of knights stepped out into the open, and he turned to continue reprimanding Ba’Gamnan.
“The emperor is willing to overlook race for his more talented servants,” Gabranth said. “However, those who give no respect will receive none in kind. You travel freely through our lands because the emperor wills it, do you not?”
Ba’Gamnan floundered for a response, finally falling silent. He lizard-like face was filled with simmering anger, but he managed not to vent it. Gabranth turned to the knight who had been squabbling with the headhunter.
“Where is the captain?” Gabranth asked.
“We have him in solitary, Your Honor,” the knight replied, saluting. “We’re ready to begin our interrogation.”
Ba’Gamnan opened his mouth to say something, but Gabranth cut him off.
“This does not concern you, bounty hunter,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Gabranth made a motion to the knight, and the two of them started off towards another doorway, along with Gabranth’s knights.
An interrogation? Yes, that was a valid reason for a Judge to be present in a place like this. Someone kept in solitary…?
A plan was starting to take shape in Balthier’s mind. He didn’t know who this ‘captain’ was, but the knight had said he was kept in solitary confinement. Fran had said their escape route was through a solitary confinement cell. So…
“I believe we have our way out,” Balthier said.
“How?” Vaan asked.
“Fran can’t break the magic lock on that door,” Balthier explained. “But if they’re headed for this solitary cell, then they’ll have to open the door. If we’re quick enough and stealthy enough, I’ll bet we can follow them in.”
Fran nodded. “Yes, but we should hurry. We don’t want to lose them.”
“You heard her,” Balthier said. “Let’s move.”

Balthier, Fran, and Vaan moved quickly along, following Judge Gabranth and his knights from a safe distance. They slipped through many locked doors, managing to avoid the guards and go undetected. They were just dashing over an open stretch when Fran stopped abruptly.
“Look,” she said, pointing through an open doorway. Inside were many weapons and other odds and ends, pushed up in piles against the walls.
“Ah,” Balthier said. “The prison’s repository of wrested relics and ramets.” He was very pleased with his alliteration. Vaan, however, stared at him like he’d spoken another language.
“You mean… this is where all our stuff is?” Vaan asked at last.
Balthier sighed. “That’s what I said. Now let’s hurry and grab our weapons before we lose Gabranth.”
“Gabranth?” Vaan asked, looking confused. Balthier felt a jolt of panic. Did he really use his name?
“The Judge,” Balthier corrected, maintaining a perfectly calm exterior. He strode into the room before anyone could ask any more questions. The last thing he wanted was to delve into his connection to the Judges and the Empire. He had to remember he’d left all that. I’m not Ffamran anymore.

…

“Hurry up, Vaan,” Balthier said. “We need to get moving.”
Balthier and Fran had already found all their weapons, and Vaan had grabbed a sword better than his old one, but now he was searching for his loot from the palace: the Dusk Shard. Of course, Balthier needed that thing, but he didn’t want to be trapped there with it forever. No job is worth this kind of trouble…
“Found it!” Vaan said, yanking his fist out of the pile. In his hand he held the small orange-red crystal. The stone ebbed out a soft, dusky glow, and that awful feeling returned, thrumming through the air and setting Balthier’s head throbbing. So familiar…
But that thing wasn’t nethicite, Balthier reminded himself. It couldn’t be…
Could it?
“Oh, let’s get moving,” Balthier said, shoving his concerns about the Dusk Shard away for now. The task of most importance at the moment was catching up to Gabranth and finding a way out of the Nalbina Dungeons. Balthier, Fran, and Vaan gathered up their things and continued back down the tortuous trails of the dungeon, following Judge Gabranth to what was hopefully freedom.
Eventually, they came to a door covered in a shimmering golden sheen, a magic net sealing the door. One of the knights in Gabranth’s entourage, a mage, evidently, worked quickly to undo to seal. The door opened, and the Judge and his knights passed through it. Balthier, Fran, and Vaan also managed to slip through the opening just as it closed.
Inside, the solitary confinement cell was dark, with just enough light to see by. In the center of the room was a shadowy chasm with a cage dangling over it. Suspended within the small enclosure by thick, heavy chains was a man, gaunt and shirtless, his head hanging listlessly between his broad shoulders. A very unpleasant experience, Balthier thought.
Balthier quickly motioned towards the wall, pressing against it with his two companions to avoid being seen. Gabranth stepped up to the cage, removing his helmet to observe the man inside. Balthier couldn’t help but notice that the caged man was Gabranth’s spitting image, the similarities evident even though Gabranth was hale and whole, while the prisoner looked like he’d hung there for years.
“You have grown very thin, Basch,” Gabranth said, his voice maintaining its characteristic cold, indifferent edge. “Years past, condemned to death, and yet you live. Why?”
At the word Basch, Vaan sucked in a gasp. Balthier couldn’t blame him. Captain Basch, the Dalmascan knight who killed King Raminas?
“To silence Ondore,” Basch replied, breathing heavily. “How many times must I say it?”
“Is that all?” Gabranth continued, narrowing his eyes.
“Why not ask Vayne yourself?” Basch rasped. “Is he not one of your masters?”
Gabranth ignored this question. “We have caught a leader of the resistance,” he said. “The woman Amalia.” An almost smug look crossed Gabranth’s face. “Who could that be, I wonder?”
Basch raised his head at the mention of Amalia, only to slump again in his chains. Gabranth placed his helmet back over his head.
“A faithful hound to cling so to a fallen kingdom,” he said.
“Better than throwing it away!” Basch shot back, his words still pained.
“As you threw away our homeland?” Gabranth spat. Without further questioning, he turned away,  motioned to his knights and exited the room.
Balthier took a moment to take in everything he’d just heard. Basch, the supposedly executed traitor who assassinated Dalmasca’s king, alive in the Nalbina Dungeons? And his reply to Gabranth’s question… Kept alive to silence Ondore? Marquis Ondore was the ruler of Bhujerba, the home of a very productive magicite mine. The man held great influence and power, a good friend of the late King Raminas. Rumor said he was working secretly with the Dalmascan Resistance. The Marquis was also the one who announced the execution of Captain Basch, an act that had won him great favor with Archadia. And yet, Basch lived. The threat of revealing such a lie could very well keep the Marquis under the Empire’s control.
But Gabranth was an Archadian Judge, and quite a powerful one, at that. Surely he knew all this, and if he didn’t, could find out very easily. As the captain had said, why not just ask Vayne himself? But why mention Vayne? Gabranth was a member of the Judges’ high council and had connections to the emperor and several other officials of higher rank than Vayne. Why would Rabanastre’s new consul be the one who held this information? And why wouldn’t he tell it to a Judge like Gabranth?
And what about Amalia? Gabranth had called her a resistance ‘leader,’ though Balthier thought that girl seemed incapable of leading anything. And why had her name sparked such a reaction in the captive captain? And the way Gabranth had asked that last question… ‘who could that be?’ It was like he already knew, and was just saying that to taunt Basch. But why was Amalia so important? She certainly hadn’t acted like anything impressive, and yet the Empire was so thrilled over her capture…
A mysterious resistance leader? A traitorous captain still alive? Secrets within the Empire? There was more going on here than meets the eye. Perhaps Balthier had spent too much time around Strahl, but he knew exactly what she’d say if she were here. She’d say this was history in the making, and Balthier would be both an idiot and a coward if just flew off into the horizon and forgot about it.
But Balthier had no desire to get tangled up in such affairs. Whatever internal strife Archadia was dealing with, it didn’t concern him. But the Archadian Empire covered half the world. Anything major would surely have far-reaching effects. And the Empire still had the nethicite, or, more accurately, Balthier’s father still had the nethicite. It had been apparent that Dr. Cid was planning something, both with the event at Nabudis and with how badly he had wanted Ffamran to join the Judges. It was not lost on Balthier that having even distant connections to them would put his father in a position of influence.
Could the intrigue of today be connected to the turmoil of two years ago? That thought was almost terrifying. Balthier had considered all that closed and finished; he’d failed to set things right, and that was that. But the nethicite was still in his father’s possession, and there was a chance more of it existed, like the Dusk Shard. Whether or not these secrets about Basch and Amalia had anything to do with Draklor and Dr. Cid, a time of such turmoil would be perfect to hatch a master plan.
“Down there.” Fran voice yanked Balthier from his deep contemplation back to the present. “Through the chasm. Our exit is there.”
“But, that’s…” Vaan stared at the captain hanging in the cruel cage, his face painted with both shock and rage. This was the man who killed his king, who doomed Dalmasca to an unconditional surrender.
“I know,” Balthier replied, “but right now, we need to focus on getting out of this dungeon. You think you can stay calm and collected until then and not get us caught, Vaan?”
“But he’s…” Vaan let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be quiet.” The flames didn’t leave his eyes, though.
“You said down the chasm, Fran?” Balthier asked, turning to his partner. “How are we going to get down there?”
“And what about him?” Fran nodded towards Basch.
“Mm.” Balthier nodded slowly. “There is that. Why don’t we have a look around and see if the answers to both those questions don’t present themselves?” Really, Balthier wanted to have a word with the captain. Obviously, he knew something, else why would Gabranth be interrogating him? And what better way to get an inside scoop on this whole great conspiracy?
Balthier, Fran, and Vaan walked out into the open, leaving the cover of the shadows. The moment he saw them, Basch let out a gasp. He struggled to straighten in his chains and called out.
“You!” he said, his pain and discomfort evident in his voice. “You’re no imperials! You must get me out!”
“Get you out?” Vaan didn’t fly into a rage, but it was clear he was on the very edge. “You’re the one who killed our king! You’re supposed to be dead!”
Basch shook his head weakly. “It wasn’t… me.”
“Really?” Balthier raised an eyebrow. Of course, the condemned traitor would plead innocent; Balthier had expected as much. But there was a certain desperation about Basch’s strained voice that made Balthier think he might be telling the truth.
“Of course you’d say that!” Vaan shouted, his new-found self-control waning fast. “You expect me to believe you? My brother saw it with his own eyes! It’s all your fault! Everything! Everyone who’s died! All of them! It’s all-”
“Vaan!” Balthier sharply cut off Vaan’s rant. “Save it for later.”
Vaan glanced at Balthier, then let his gaze fall to the ground. He clenched his fists but said nothing.
“Wait,” Fran said suddenly. One of her tall white ears swiveled towards the doorway, then twitched. “Guards are coming. We need to hurry.”
“Right.” Balthier nodded. “Fran, do you think we can drop his cage? That would get us down there.”
Fran nodded, then pointed to a lever near the chasm’s edge.
“Good,” Balthier said. “Everyone, hop on. You have the lever, Fran?”
Fran nodded, then reached to pull the lever. Balthier and Vaan jumped on to Basch’s cage just as Fran released it. Fran caught the cage’s bars as it fell by, and all four of them descended into the shadows below. The Barheim Passageway, the old man had said. Not a very friendly place from the sound of it.
But it was their only way out. Somewhere better than Nalbina, hopefully.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

The Barheim Passageway
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

That was the third time Balthier had fallen from a great height in the last twenty-four hours, and this time he made it through with getting knocked out. The fall wasn’t that far, and with both the dirt floor and Basch’s cage to cushion their landing, all four of them made it through conscious.
Basch’s cage and chains had shattered in the crash, and he was now free. The captain stood rubbing his wrists while the others extracted themselves from the rubble.
“Is everyone alright?” Fran asked. Her question was met with an affirmative murmur. Balthier’s head was pounding again, but it was probably just the same injury from his fall into Nalbina. Balthier loved heights as much as the next guy, but he’d had quiet enough of falling from them. Vaan was keeping remarkably silent, though his fiery gaze never left Basch.
Balthier turned to the captain. “If you can walk, let’s move.”
“What?” Vaan turned a horrified look to Balthier. “You’re taking him with us?”
“This place doesn’t look too friendly,” Balthier said. “Safety in numbers and all that. We could use another sword arm.”
“And you have it,” Basch nodding resolutely.
“But we can’t!” Vaan shouted. “You think we can trust him? He’s a traitor! He killed the king!”
“Traitor or no, we’ll all be safer in a larger group,” Balthier replied, working hard not to lose his patience with Vaan.
“But… But…” Vaan floundered for another excuse, only to come up with nothing. He remained silent, finally picking up his sword with a sigh and starting sullenly down the tunnel.
“I suppose we’re off, then,” Balthier said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Balthier, Fran, and Basch quickly caught up with Vaan. Basch had picked up a steel bar from his old cage to use as a weapon. The Barheim Passageway was a dark, dank place, lit only with a few electronic lights hanging from the roof. The place looked, as the old man had said, like one of the many advanced ancient ruins that littered the face of Ivalice. The place had been long since abandoned, the broken remains of a path underfoot rotted away to reveal loose earth. The passage had been blocked in one direction by the wreckage of Basch’s cage, so the party started off down the only available route. It was so dark Balthier could barely see ten feet down the path. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on around him.
“Wait, I heard something!” Vaan said suddenly, stopping the group.
“Vaan, don’t get jumpy,” Balthier said.  
“But there was something!” Vaan said. “I heard it! Like… fluttering.”
Balthier sighed. “Fran, you hear anything?”
Fran listened for a moment, her tall white ears twitching. “No. Wait, I-”
Before Fran could finish, a large shape descended from the roof with startling speed, and a shrieking noise echoed around. Vaan let out a gasp, and Fran actually toppled over. Balthier jumped, managing to siffle his own gasp of surprise. The large shape swung with great speed towards the wall, where Basch’s steel bar smashed into it like a deadly flyswatter. The world suddenly became still again as a massive insectoid, bat-like creature drifted to the ground like a dead leaf in autumn. Basch said nothing at all, staring at his kill with stony indifference. After a few moments, he turned to the others.
“Is everyone alright?” he asked, voice gruff.
“Ah, yes, we’re all fine,” Balthier replied, annoyed at himself for being so startled. He turned to Fran, who still sat on the ground. “Fran, you alright?” he asked. She nodded.
“I am... fine,” she replied, not waiting a moment to heave herself off the floor. Shaken, nervous, dazed- that was how Balthier would have described her. But she was fine.
“That thing’s huge!” Vaan said, peering at the bat-creature’s corpse. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The myst drains into deep places like these,” Fran said, clearing shaking off her shock. “Without the high races to disturb it, it pools and grows thicker, like a jagd. Such dense, stagnant myst… affects the creature that live here.”
“So, there’ll be more things like that down here?” Vaan asked, his eyes growing wider.
Fran nodded. “And worse. But if we’re careful, they will not disturb us.”
While Vaan and Fran talked about what horrors lay in the Barheim Passageway, Balthier mused over Fran’s explanation. It was intriguing, and quite plausible. Balthier had grown up in a laboratory, and he remembered several experiments injecting test rats with high quantities of myst, which had produced somewhat similar effects. But the outcome of such exposure long-term, over several generations would be something else entirely. Balthier would’ve loved nothing more than to dissect the creature, but there wasn’t the time nor equipment available at the moment. Besides, Basch’s rather crude extermination method had left the specimen in a ghastly condition…
Balthier shook his head, banishing the instincts bred into him from his childhood in the labs. He hadn’t worked at Draklor for almost three years now. He wasn’t a scientist anymore, he was a sky pirate, and he’d soon be the rotting corpse of one if they didn’t all hurry up and get out of the Barheim Passageway.
“Enough talk,” Balthier said, cutting off Vaan from whatever he’d been saying. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d like to get out of here before we become food for some mutant creature.”
The others murmured their agreement, except for Basch, who was as stonily silent as ever.

The four of them carried on down the Barheim Passageway. As Fran had predicted, the Passage was full of massive, warped versions of rats, bats, spiders, lizards, and other average cave dwellers. The creatures generally ignored the travelers as long as they kept their distance. As much as Balthier wanted to say there were no more startling appearances, that would have been a lie. For such large animals, the creatures of the Barheim Passageway seemed to be able to hide in the smallest of shadows, and leapt out at the most inopportune moments. The lights became more numerous and the passage wider the farther in they got. Vaan still kept his look of suppressed hatred on Basch but didn’t say anything.
The newest member of their party kept to himself, saying nothing. But really, what would the branded traitor have to say to a pair of sky pirates and a Rabanastran orphan who hated his guts?
After what felt like a few hours of walking, they stopped and took a water break. The only water they had with them was a small flask Fran had had with her when they were thrown into the Nalbina Dungeons. It wasn’t much, and they rationed it. After that, they carried on for a few more hours, until they came to a wide section of the passage.
“Wait,” Basch said, raising a hand to stop them. “Over there.” Basch pointed to the wall where a corpse lay, a relatively fresh one by the looks of it. The man had a long sword with him and was wearing a now-patchy suit of leather armor.
“Good eye,” Balthier said, nodding. “I think you’d better help yourself. That sword looks a mite better than that bar of yours, and I don’t think he’ll be needing it anymore.”
“Mm.” Basch nodded gruffly, then knelt to begin stripping the corpse of anything useful. In the end, he only kept the sword and the armor. Basch buckled on the old leather breastplate and gave the sword a few test swings with perfect form and balance. His skills as a member of the Dalmascan Order of Knights hadn’t rusted a bit during his years in prison.
“Nice moves there, Captain,” Balthier commented. Maybe he could actually get Basch to say something and get a hair closer to his answers.
“You mean ‘traitor,’” Vaan cut in, his burning gaze fixed on Basch. Though Vaan had never met Basch himself, the king’s assassination had torn his life apart. He’d lost both his freedom and his brother, those he cared about and life as he knew it… Balthier could understand that kind of pain, and the resentment that went along with it. He almost considered Vaan lucky to have someone to vent it at. Balthier had no one to blame but himself. But something about Basch’s desperate words up above in Nalbina made Balthier believe perhaps the captain wasn’t the one responsible for King Raminas’s death.
“So they say,” Balthier said to Vaan, picking his words carefully. “But what makes you so sure? Just the official reports? Those political types are prone to lying through their teeth, you know.”
“My brother saw it!” Vaan fired back.
Basch let out a gasp, looking up from his new blade at Vaan.
“Your brother?” he said. Basch studied Vaan a few moments, and a look of both recognition and remorse crossed his face. “Reks,” Basch said. “He said he had a brother two years younger. That was you?”
“Yeah,” Vaan replied, all but snarling at Basch.
“I see.” Basch let his gaze drop to the ground for a few moments before meeting Vaan’s again. “Your brother, what became of him?”
“He’s… dead,” Vaan replied, quietly, like he had trouble forming the words. Basch let out a deep sigh.
“I see,” he said. “I am… sorry.”
“Sorry?!” Vaan’s eyes lit again with that angry fire. “It was all your fault! You killed the king!”
Basch shook his head. “I give you my word, that was not the way of it.”
“Then what did happen?” Vaan asked, sounding as if he didn’t expect an answer. “Who did kill the king?”
Basch let out a sigh. His eyes bore the look of someone far away, lost in bitter memories. Then he began his tale.
“Twenty years ago, the Archadian Empire annexed a small nation far to the north called the Republic of Landis,” Basch said. “This was my homeland. I fled from the clutches of our conquerors and found Dalmasca, a place still free from the fear of Archadia. However, my twin brother stayed in our homeland. For a short time, he worked with a resistance to free Landis, but it came to naught. In the end, he joined the Empire’s Judges in the name of representing the conquered people of Landis, and took for himself a new name: Gabranth. He was that same Judge you saw above. It was he who killed King Raminas.”
Well, that was a shock. Gabranth? It was none other than General Gabranth who killed Dalmasca’s king? But was Basch telling the truth? Gabranth had shown a startling resemblance to Captain Basch, that was true. It was very possible that they were brothers.
“Gabranth impersonate me, both removing King Raminas and providing a scapegoat for the Empire,” Basch continued. “It was Vayne who organized this scheme. Not even the emperor himself knows the truth, only Vayne and Gabranth.” Basch knelt, leaning on his newfound sword, as if these memories weighed heavily on him. “After the horrors at Nalbina, I escaped the Empire’s gasp and fled to Bhujerba’s Marquis Ondore. I knew him well from my time as King Raminas’s bodyguard. Ondore believed my story and offered to hide me. He proclaimed my execution as a means to keep me hidden, after…” Basch closed his eyes, sighing. “After news arrived of Lady Ashe’s death. However, Vayne discovered me, and he has kept me here sine. He uses the threat of revealing the truth to keep Bhujerba and their magicite mines in his sole possession.”
“Well, quite the story,” Balthier said, nodding slowly. “The pieces certainly fit, I’ll give you that much.”
Vaan stared at the ground, his face torn.
“I don’t believe you,” he said at last.
“Of course not,” Basch said. He studied the ground a few moments. “Not me then. Believe in your brother. He was fine solder, and fought to the last. He gave everything to protect his homeland from the Empire’s wave of destruction. No, surely he fought to protect his family. To protect his brother.”
The Empire’s wave of destruction… It started at Nabudis, when the nethicite fell from the sky. Everything had started with that one blasted stone, and it had spread out so far. The massacre at Lemahl, the dreadful Battle of Nalbina, and finally the king’s death and Dalmasca’s defeat. So much death, and it all started with the nethicite. All because of that, so many had died, in Dalmasca… and in Archadia. Because Ffamran couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the stone, couldn’t stop his father, so much death had followed. King Raminas, Vaan’s brother… Reina….
“You don’t know anything!” Vaan shouted at Basch, the pain clear in his eyes as he struggled to accept Basch’s story and let go of his hatred. Pain caused by the Empire, rooted in Ffamran’s failure… If only he’d done something… if only there was something he could do…
“Believe what you want to. Whatever it takes to make you happy,” Balthier suddenly snapped, cutting off Vaan’s next words. “You can’t change the past.” He turned and started off down the tunnel.
“What’s done is done.”

…

The party continued on through the Barheim Passage. Eventually, Vaan got tired and asked to stop, and Balthier decided they would rest there for the night. There was no way to tell the time so far underground, but he figured it must have been night by then. And besides, though none of them would admit it, Vaan wasn’t the only one worn out from that long day. They drank almost all the remaining water, then settled down against the walls to sleep. They set a guard in case any of the Passage’s creatures thought they looked like an easy meal, and Fran took first watch.
Aside from brief bouts of unconsciousness caused from falling, Balthier hadn’t slept since before he and Fran’s break-in to the palace. It had taken all night to get out of the waterway, and then they were caught and thrown into Nalbina, where they had escaped and journey all day since. Balthier didn’t realize how weary he was until he leaned against that wall. The instant he allowed himself a moment to rest, sleep claimed him.

That night, Balthier had the same dream as always. A grand storm, blowing over the streets on Archades, a sudden intruder, an uncontrollable surge of terrible power…
The morning dawned, as it always did. In those first bright rays after the terrible night, Ffamran made a promise. He was to protect that silly little wrench, the symbol of his family, his heritage, his name. He promised to never forget who he was, never forget what his name meant, never, never forget what Ffamran meant. Balthier had tried to break that promise, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t forget, not ever. But even if he hadn’t forgotten, he’d left all that he promised to carry on. Had he broken that promise…?
But what was it really that he’d promised to remember? What was the legacy of Ffamran Bunansa, those strange powers apparently passed down through the generations? That one question that rang always in his ears…
Why? Why was he so different? What was that terrible power locked up inside him, just itching to burst out? Where did it come from? What did it mean? And would he ever know…?

“Balthier, wake up.” Fran’s voice pulled Balthier out of that awful dream. The suffocating darkness of the Barheim Passageway seemed almost welcoming when compared to that black, stormy night long ago.
“What is it?” Balthier asked, sitting up straight. Vaan and Basch were still asleep, Vaan snoring faintly.
“It’s your guard shift,” Fran replied. She was standing nearby the three sleepers. Balthier nodded and pulled himself up to stand.
“Right,” he said. He couldn’t help but notice Fran was still staring off down the long, shadowy tunnel. Something didn’t look quite right about her. “Are you alright?” Balthier asked after a moment. “This thick myst isn’t... affecting you, is it?”
“No.” Fran shook her head. “The myst… I am fine. It just feels like… home.” Fran’s voice fell so low at that last word that Balthier almost couldn’t hear it. Home? Fran never talked about her home and where she came from. But wait…
“This place feels like your home?” Balthier didn’t mean to be rude, but he found it hard to believe Fran came from some dark, foreboding, underground dungeon.
“Not the place,” Fran said, shaking her head. “The myst. Thick, and still, and… quiet. It… No, it isn’t important.” Fran turned from the tunnel to face Balthier. “And you? Are you alright?”
“Me?” Balthier asked. “Of course. What makes you think otherwise?”
“You were crying out in your sleep,” Fran said simply.
Balthier wasn’t entirely sure how to answer at first. He hated that dream, but surely it wasn’t that bad.
“Don’t worry about me,” Balthier said at last. “I’m fine. Really.”
Fran’s gaze didn’t leave him. It was her intense, searching gaze that made Balthier feel like her eyes were boring into him, like she could suddenly see everything about him, know every one of his secrets. He really hated it when she did that.
“Balthier…” Fran said at last, voice thick with a deep concern. Her eyes, too, held a somber look, less solemn than it was sad, and almost afraid. “Balthier,” she repeated, then shook her head, looking away. “No, not yet,” Fran’s voice was so low of those last words Balthier almost couldn’t hear her.
“Not yet?” Balthier echoed. “Fran, what are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing,” Fran said, her usual taciturn nature taking over as she sat and leaned against the wall. “Good luck,” she said, before closing her eyes and putting their confusing conversation to an abrupt end.
Balthier stared at Fran for a few moments before taking her position as watch. What not yet? What was Fran talking about? It was obviously something important, but why wouldn’t she say it? Oh, well…
Just one more thing for Balthier to add to his list of unanswered questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

The Dalmascan Estersand
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Fresh air! Balthier couldn’t believe how wonderful it was. After so long underground, the sun was blinding and the heat fierce, but it was all worth it for that taste of dry, hot, yet wonderfully fresh desert air!
The party had journeyed for only a few hours that morning and finally reached the exit. The old man back in the Nalbina Dungeons had said the Barheim Passageway emptied into the Estersand, and it looked like he was correct. Rippling sand and rocky cliffs dotted with cacti spread out as far as the eye could see in every direction. The entrance to the Passageway was carved into one such towering cliff face.
“To think Dalmascan air could taste so sweet.” The first of the four to speak after their arrival was Basch, which was surprising.
“Agreed,” Balthier said whole-heartedly. “Now, let’s hurry back to Rabanastre before we shrivel up.”
The others responded with a half-hearted murmur. Balthier shared their sentiment; for more than a day now, they’d walked constantly with no food and little water. The water they had was already gone, and they’d have to find more on their way back to Rabanastre. Balthier felt the weariness dragging at his bones. Anything for a good meal and a long drink and quality bed…
“I know we’re all tired,” Balthier said, “but it’s a long walk back to civilization, and the desert is unforgiving. The sooner we get going, the sooner we can rest.”
“Which way to we go?” Basch asked. Balthier was about to speak when he realized he had no idea where they were or how to get back to Rabanastre.
“Ah,” he said. “That may be a problem…” Balthier thought a moment, then turned to Vaan. “Vaan, you’ve lived your whole life in these parts; any idea how to get back to the city?”
“I’ve never been out this far,” Vaan said, “but Rabanastre’s built on a high spot, and the desert slopes up towards it. So… that way?” Vaan pointed towards where the cliffs and sands rose gently uphill into the distance.
“Good, Vaan,” Balthier said. “Shall we be off, then?”

The group carried on over the Estersand. The sun was getting low in the sky and Balthier guessed it was afternoon rather than morning. He also guessed they wouldn’t make it back to Rabanastre by sundown, which meant they’d have to spend the night in the desert. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be any more dangerous than the Barheim Passageway. Shortly after exiting the Passage, the party filled their waterskins from a cactus and drank their fill. After a few more hours of slow journeying, Fran spoke up.
“Wait,” she said. “I hear something. Something’s coming.”
“What is it?” Balthier asked, motioning for the group to stop.
“Wolves, I think,” Fran replied. She pointed to a nearby lump of rocky outcropping. “Over that ridge. They’re headed this way.”
A lone shape, barely distinguishable from the sand around it, appeared briefly above the rock, then vanished. Two more popped up and back down again, clearly glancing at the band of four weary travelers.
“That doesn’t look good,” Balthier said, reaching back to pull out his rifle. “We’ll keep going, but keep your weapons out and your guards up.”
Vaan and Basch drew their swords, and Fran produced her bow, keeping an arrow nocked and ready to fire. As the party slowly passed the rocky outcropping, Balthier caught a better view of the wolves. There were eight of them, with thick sandy-colored fur and white bellies. They stood in various places over the rocks, their bushy tails swishing slowly and their intelligent eyes fixed on the travelers. Ivalice’s wildlife was far from friendly, no matter where you went. Predators of any sort liked human meat as much as anything else, and they weren’t afraid to push through danger to get it. These wolves certainly looked like that was what they had in mind, patiently waiting for their prey to come close enough. Balthier would have preferred the wretched, skittery creatures of the Barheim Passageway to these intelligent, malicious predators. He was just about to suggest the group move a little farther away when the largest of the wolves stood and bared its teeth, a low growl rippled over the sands. The rest of the wolves rose as well, and then they charged.
Balthier managed to shoot down the lead wolf before any of the predators could attack. One wolf stopped and nosed the body of the fallen one, but the rest kept coming. One jumped at Vaan, but his sword found its side and it jumped back with a yelp. Basch’s assailant received quite a few nasty sword wounds for its trouble, and it stumbled away, leaving a trail of bright blood across the hot sand. Fran’s magic seared three wolves in a single blast of fire, sending them flying back. One wolf leaped at Balthier, but he deflected it and dealt it a shot. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was enough to send the wolf scurrying away. After a brief skirmish, the wolves retreated to lick their wounds, leaving only the one large one lying dead on the desert sand.
“Everyone alright?” Balthier asked. Basch let out an affirmative grunt, Fran nodded, and Vaan scowled at a bite on his arm.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine,” Vaan said. Nonetheless, Fran moved over to him and set to healing the wound. Balthier glanced over at the wolf carcass lying just a few yards away.
“Why don’t we set up camp here for the night?” Balthier said. “We can make good use of that wolf and treat ourselves to some dinner. I doubt it’ll be a delicacy, but it is something.”
“I’d be fine with that!” Vaan said, sounding like he’d be very fine with it indeed.
“A good plan,” Fran said, not looking up from her work on Vaan’s wound. Basch nodded in his signature stony way.
So it was settled. They camped out in the same cluster of rocks the wolves had found so convenient and ate a luxurious dinner of roasted Estersand wolf. The meat was tough and gamey, but far better than the nothing they’d been subsisting on for the past forty-eight hours. Balthier had had the pleasure of cleaning the carcass, which really wasn’t that different from the dissecting work in the biology labs back at Draklor. Balthier had watched scientists do work like that since he was a toddler. It was sort of nostalgic, almost therapeutic.
After a fulfilling meal, the group settled down to sleep around a fire under the night sky. The desert air was crisp and clear, and a thousand stars could be seen, shimmering diamonds in the great black ocean overhead. Maybe they only looked so bright because Balthier hadn’t seen them in so long.
Like the previous night, they set a watch, and Balthier took first shift this time. Despite the long day of traveling, Balthier didn’t feel like sleeping. He had too much on his mind. What Basch had said about Vayne’s conspiracy… Vayne was the Archadian emperor’s son, yet not even his father knew about Vayne’s plots. And through these secret schemes, Vayne controlled the magicite mines of Bhujerba. Balthier had grown up in Archadia’s most prestigious weapons lab, and he knew full well the power of magicite. What could Vayne want with so much of it? What exactly was he planning?
And something told Balthier this was all connected to his father and the nethicite. No evidence pointed there, but something… A hunch, an instinct, a gut feeling, call it what you like, but something told Balthier that this all had to do with Dr. Cid’s schemes from two years ago. And if something so big was going on, something that could have detrimental consequences for all of Ivalice, surely Balthier couldn’t just ignore it.
But what could he do? All Balthier knew was part of what Vayne was doing, but he didn’t yet know how to stop it or even if he should. He knew he couldn’t just ignore it all, but what exactly could he do otherwise? What Balthier needed was a goal, an objective, and he’d only find that if he could learn more about Vayne and his schemes. And he needed to know what his father had been up to the past two years. Only when he knew those two things would Balthier knew what to do next.
“Balthier.” Balthier nearly jumped at the sound of Fran’s voice. She was sitting up, staring at him. What did she want now? To spout more confusing nonsense like last night? All the time Balthier had known her, Fran had been logical and straightforward, if always cold. Why was she suddenly acting so strange?
“What is it?” Balthier asked.
“What will we do when we reach Rabanastre?” Fran asked. Balthier let out a sigh. That was one more question he didn’t have an answer to. He wanted to root out Vayne’s conspiracy, finally figure out what his father was up to. But how was he to tell Fran that without spilling out his whole story to her?
“We’re going to finish our job, aren’t we?” Fran asked. She glanced at the sleeping Vaan. “Will you take the stone from him?”
Balthier heaved a sigh. The Dusk Shard was nethicite. It had to be. Balthier didn’t make a habit of trusting his powers, but he couldn’t deny the way the stone affected him. But Balthier didn’t even know who his mysterious employer was. Did that person know what the Dusk Shard was? Surely he couldn’t. But even so, nethicite was too dangerous to place in the hands of any anonymous employer.
“No, we can’t,” Balthier said with a sigh. Fran cocked her head, studying him with her cold eyes.
“So you’ll leave it with Vaan?” she asked.
“What other choice do we have?” Balthier said. “I’m not going to fight the kid for it. As for what we’ll do next… We’ll figure that out once we’re back in Rabanastre.”
 Fran narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to finish the job?”
Balthier sighed. A terribly uncharacteristic thing. Balthier always did his work well. It was that reputation that got him this job with this nameless employer. “Fran…” Balthier began, then sighed. “No. No, I’m not. There’s just… There’s more going on here then meets the eye. Believe me, Fran.”
Fran studied him several moment more with her icy, unreadable gaze. Finally, she nodded, then wordlessly laid back down. Balthier turned away, fighting back another sigh.
The image surfaced in Balthier’s memory of Fran’s face the night before, solemn, cautious, even scared. What was it she wanted to say? Balthier considered waking her and asking her about it, but he decided not to. This was Fran. She’d tell him when she was good and ready. Balthier just hoped that wouldn’t be far in the future.

…

Amalia sat in the corner of her cell, trying not to lose her cool. Really, she’d lost her cool long ago and was just trying to prepare a brave facade together for when her captors returned. She had to stay strong, for Dalmasca, for everything she held dear…
Amalia. Her name was Amalia. At least at the moment. She had to remember that. It was harder than ever to remember now, as she sat in the shadowy cell, all alone. Amalia wanted nothing more than to be her again, as she was back at the resistance base, around Vossler, Hasta, and the others.
But she couldn’t. She had to stay Amalia now. She’d been in the cell two days, and she was certain they’d interrogate her soon. Surely Vayne had some suspicions about her true identity, so she had to be prepared. They’d use her real name, try to get a reaction out of her, but she couldn’t fold. Amalia had to stay strong. She had to.
The door to the dark prison cell creaked open. Amalia looked up, trying in vain to swallow her fear. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway; Amalia couldn’t see his face through the cell’s dark shadows. The man walked closer, and two imperial knights stood in the doorway, blocking the exit. As he approached, Amalia saw him. Long black hair covered one side of his face, almost charming in a terrifying sort of way. It was Vayne, the Empire’s appointed ruler over Rabanastre. But he had no right to rule that city.
“You…” Amalia hissed under her breath. She managed to mask the whimper of fear in of her voice with loathing. The moment Vayne knew she was afraid, he would have the advantage over her, and she couldn’t let that happen.
“Amalia…” Vayne stared down at her where she sat on the cell floor, a sickly-sweet smile on his face. “That is the name you gave us. Is that your real name?”
Amalia didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just stared up at Vayne terrified. Why would Vayne himself be here to question her? Was the Empire that sure of who they had caught?
Vayne knelt on the cell floor to get eye level with Amalia.
“Let’s be reasonable, shall we?” Vayne said, his voice taking on almost a friendly tone. “Just tell us the truth, and we’ll be able to let you out. Who are you, really, Amalia?”
Amalia shut her eyes against the sight of Vayne’s feigned friendliness. She couldn’t let him get to her, and most of all, she could never tell them.
“Hm? I’m waiting,” Vayne said.
“I’ll never tell you!” Amalia fired back. Vayne let out a sigh.
“But I think you will, won’t you?” That smile crossed Vayne’s face again. “Princess Ashe?”
Amalia shut her eyes again, fearing something there would give the truth away. She was Amalia. She had to be, now. The Empire couldn’t know who she really was, that she was still alive. As long as she didn’t give them any proof, then they couldn’t use her. Right?
Vayne let out a disturbing chuckle. “My request is very simple. Once your survival is made known, I only ask that you… aid me in the ruling of Dalmasca. The people will listen if their beloved Princess Ashe tells them to keep the peace.”
Ashe’s eyes snapped open again. The Empire’s puppet? Those who killed her father, her husband, who laid waste to her kingdom… The very thought was revolting.
“I’ll never help the Empire!” Ashe shouted back at Vayne. There was no use denying her identity now. Clearly, Vayne already knew.
“If you should choose not to lend us your aid, and bring peace to your kingdom,” Vayne said, “then we have no further use for you. Those who refuse Archadia what is her due meet a very unpleasant end, I will warn.”
“I’ll never help the Empire…” Ashe’s voice crumbled to a whimper, trailing off on what were supposed to be strong and defiant words. Her brave front had finally collapsed, leaving her weak and vulnerable. She just wished that Vayne would leave her alone, all alone in the shadows once more.
Vayne stood, turning back to his two knights.
“Make preparations to send her with Judge Ghis,” Vayne said. “Perhaps he will make her see sense.”
Then they all exited the dark, lonely cell, leaving Ashe alone. They knew who she was. She had failed.

…

That morning Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Basch set off early with renewed strength. They had to fight off a few more wolves, but nothing deadly. They stopped briefly at noontime when the sun got too high, and they took that opportunity to raid the nearby cacti for more water. The trek over the desert was hard, but well worth it when Rabanastre came into view. Sometime in the afternoon, the four travelers finally arrived at Rabanastre’s east gate.
“We’re here!” Vaan said, relief plain on his face. “We really made it!”
“Of course we did,” Balthier said. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“I’m afraid we part ways here,” Basch said, taking a few paces towards the gate. “I’ve many things that need my attention. I hope to find the resistance based in this city and offer them my aid.”
“They may still think you’re a traitor, you know,” Balthier said. “The people of this city certainly do. I’d avoid crowds if I were you.”
Basch nodded, then turned to the whole group. “Thank you all for your assistance. I am in your debt.”
With that, Basch turned and walked away towards the gate, back into the grand city of Rabanastre. Balthier turned to Vaan.
“Remember, you’re a fugitive now, too, Vaan,” he said. “It’d be wise to lay low for a while.”
“Yeah.” Vaan nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Well then,” Balthier said, turning towards the gate. “Farewell, Thief.”
“Wait! You’re leaving?” Vaan asked, eyes widening in alarm.
“Yes,” Balthier replied.
“But… But…” Vaan floundered a moment. “What about the stone?” He pulled the Dusk Shard from his pocket and held it out. Its glow was faint in the afternoon light. “Don’t you still want it?”
“Are you offering it?” Balthier asked.
“No.” Vaan pulled the stone back against his chest.
Balthier rolled his eyes. “Then why even ask? Come on,” he said to Fran, then started off towards the gate. Fran nodded. She turned to Vaan.
“We stay in Rabanastre a while,” she said, then followed.
“Um, thanks!” Vaan shouted after them. “For everything!”
And then Balthier and Fran were through the gate, back into the city. Balthier felt a little guilty about leaving Vaan like that, but what else was he going to do?
The streets of Rabanastre were the same as ever, people bustling to and fro, the sun glaring down in its harsh, desert heat, a fountain ringed with red flowers sitting at the top of a flight of stairs.
“What will we do?” Fran asked.
“Head to the inn for now,” Balthier replied. “We’ll discuss plans in the morning.” That would give Balthier plenty of time to work out how to tell Fran his plans.
“Alright.” Fran nodded. They started off down the road towards the inn.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

The Royal City of Rabanastre
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The next morning, Balthier rose early with a plan in mind. He’d thought long and hard on it the night before and was now quite sure about his next course of action. He just had to tell Fran, and that would involve telling her a lot more than just his plan. He wasn’t looking forward to that.
Balthier left his room at the inn early that morning, hoping for a moment to get his thoughts together before he talked to Fran. He’d done a lot of the same last night, but one can never have too much preparation, right? Unfortunately, Balthier found Fran already awake, sitting at a small table on the upper floor balcony. She was sipping something steaming from a small cup, a similar cup sitting at the empty seat across from her. Knowing Fran’s taste in beverages, Balthier made a mental note to leave his drink untouched. Sucking in a deep breath, Balthier moved over towards Fran’s table. It was time to get this over with.
“This seat taken?” Balthier asked, coming up to Fran’s table.
“I was thinking you would take it,” Fran replied, barely looking up from her tea. Balthier sat down in the seat across from her, running through one more time what he was going to say.
“Do you know where we’re going next?” Fran asked. There went Balthier’s plan. He should have expected her to ask that. He also should have known that mapped-out speeches often have a way of falling apart.
“Yes,” Balthier replied hesitantly. “But first, there’s something I need to tell you.” No more waiting. Balthier stared down into the dark liquid in his cup, the pungent aroma of strong herbal tea filling his senses. It was time to get this over with…
“Back, before I met you, before the war…” Balthier began, forcing the words out, “I was… an Archadian Judge. My father was the director of Archadia’s most infamous laboratory. When I left, things were… happening. Conspiracies, secrets, trouble in the higher-ups… I didn’t understand most of it, but I knew something was wrong. I knew there was more going on than meets the eye. And what Basch said, about the Empire, about Vayne and Bhujerba… I think there’s a connection. I think, whatever was happening then, it’s still going on today. And I… I don’t want to sit back and do nothing about it.” Again.
“You want to finish what you started?” Fran asked. Balthier finally looked up to meet her gaze.
“Yes, I suppose I do,” Balthier replied.
Fran nodded. “Where are we headed?”
Yes! No shock, no probing, no further questioning, just sweet, simple acceptance of facts. That was what Balthier loved about Fran. It made the whole process a lot less painful.
“We’ll start in Bhujerba,” Balthier replied. “For now, that seems to be the center of Vayne’s plans. Once we know a little more, we’ll know what to do next.”
Fran nodded again. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as possible,” Balthier replied. “I hope-”
“You there!” A loud, accented voice cut Balthier off. He looked up to see a blue-skinned Bangaa marching across the balcony, headed straight for Balthier and Fran’s table.
“Are you talking to me?” Balthier asked, eyeing the Bangaa suspiciously. He didn’t look like one of Ba’Gamnan’s troop; this was an old shop keeper, traces of a beard adorning his scaly chin.
“Yes, you!” The Bangaa stopped at their table, fixing Balthier with a most unfriendly glare. “You’re that sky pirate, right? Balthier?”
“Yes, that would be me,” Balthier replied. “What do you want?”
The Bangaa’s lizard-like nostrils flared in anger. “What do I want? I suppose you don’t know?”
“Calm down,” Balthier said. This was beyond suspicious now. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“My name’s Migelo,” the Bangaa said. “I run the shop downtown. I employ several of the local orphans. One of them, a girl named Penelo, she’s gone missing!”
Balthier let out a sigh. “And what on Ivalice does this have to do with me?” That name did sound familiar, though. Penelo… Where had he heard that before?
“She was kidnapped, by some group of rough Bangaa!” Migelo said. “They left this note.” Migelo held out an envelope of brown paper. “And it says it’s for you!”
Balthier frowned. Now that didn’t make any sense. A group of rough Bangaa? That could be Ba’Gamnan and his crew, but what did they want with some street orphan? And what was the link to him?
“Can I see that?” Balthier nodded to the note. After a few moments, Migelo handed it over. There wasn’t much written there, just ‘if you want to see the girl again, come to the Lhusu Mines.’
The Lhusu Mines… that was the magicite mine in Bhujerba. Conveniently, right where Balthier and Fran were headed.
“I’m still not sure what this has to do with me,” Balthier said, handing the note back to Migelo. “I’ve never met this Penelo of yours.”
“Yes, you did,” Migelo flared. “In Lowtown, two days ago! The whole town was there, practically. Penelo made a dash for Vaan, your fellow prisoner. You talked to her then!”
“Ah. Vaan’s girl? I know who you’re talking about now,” Balthier said, nodding. “But I still don’t see why Ba’Gamnan would kidnap her, or what you want me to do about it.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Migelo said. “This headhunter of yours thought you two were connected, and that’s why he’s taken poor little Penelo! So you’re going to go straight to Bhujerba and bring her back! That’s what you sky pirates do, isn’t it?”
Balthier let out a sigh. “Look-”
Migelo cut him off. “I’m not taking no for an answer! It’s your fault they took Penelo, and you’re going to put things right!”
“Penelo?” A new familiar voice entered the conversation. Vaan stood beside the table, with Captain Basch. Two faces Balthier had not anticipated seeing again.  
“What are you two doing here?” Balthier asked, frowning.
“Wait, what happened to Penelo?” Vaan turned from Balthier to Migelo with fear in his eyes.
“Some group of bounty hunters took her!” Migelo replied. “They thought she was connected to this Balthier! But he’s going to go and rescue her.”
Balthier sighed. “I don’t believe I said that.”
“You’re going to and that’s that!” Migelo’s voice took on a worried tone. “If anything were to happen to that sweet child… Why, I’ve her parent’s memory to consider! I’d go myself if I could, but-”
“I’ll go!” Vaan suddenly announced. “Penelo… I got to get her back!” He turned to Balthier. “Just bring me to Bhujerba, and… and… this is yours!” Vaan pulled out the Dusk Shard and held it out. That horrific feeling filled the air again, setting Balthier’s head pounding. Really?
“Well?” Migelo said impatiently. “Are you going, or aren’t you?”
Balthier let out a long sigh. In that moment, he saw himself as quite the goody-two-shoes. He didn’t leave Vaan in the sewers just because he pitied the inexperienced little Thief, he helped Amalia even though he didn’t trust her an ounce because he couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning her to the Imperials, and he helped rescue Basch even though he was beyond suspicious. And now Balthier was about to say he'd go rescue this Penelo because, even if it hadn’t been all his fault, if this Bangaa merchant had come crawling over saying some little girl had been kidnapped by bounty hunters, Balthier wouldn’t have sat back and looked the other way. No matter how annoying or terribly inconvenient it was to himself, he just couldn’t say no. Balthier couldn’t decide if this was a bad thing or not, and he didn’t care to at the moment. Vaan, Migelo, and even Basch were all staring at him, waiting for his answer. No matter how much he hemmed and hawed about it, Balthier knew what he’d say in the end. Whether good or bad, he classified it at the moment as terribly annoying.
“Fine,” Balthier said, throwing up his hands. “Vaan, if you want to come, you’d better hurry up. We’re leaving now.”
“Wait,” Basch said. Balthier had wondered why he was here. “Take me with you, as well. I’ve business in Bhujerba. That was why Vaan brought me to you.”
“Well, doesn’t that seem to be where all roads lead?” Balthier said with a scoff. “You want an audience with the Marquis, I assume?” Basch let out a humph. Balthier smirked at his response. But Ondore was also the one Vayne was bribing to get magicite. It’d help Balthier’s plans to have a word with the Marquis, as well. Perhaps he'd get a chance to listen in on Basch’s conversation with the man. That would get him as much information as a direct chat, maybe more.
“Migelo!” Vaan turned to the Bangaa shopkeeper. “I’ll be back with Penelo soon. If you see Kytes at the shop, tell him to tell the others not worry, will you?”
“Of course, Vaan,” Migelo replied. “You watch yourself out there, alright? I don’t want you or Penelo hurt!”
Vaan nodded. “Sure thing.”
“Enough chatter,” Balthier said. “We’re headed to the aerodrome. Are you coming, Vaan?”
“Of course!” Vaan said, nearly jumping with enthusiasm. Balthier could see the kid was worried about his friend, but he could also see excitement in his eyes. Balthier didn’t blame him; Vaan had probably never been that far outside Rabanastre before. Balthier knew he’d have been just as excited at his age.
“Then let’s go.” Balthier started off towards the stairs, Fran, Vaan, and Basch following close behind.

As the foursome walked out of the inn into the streets of Rabanastre The sun was still low in the sky, but the air was warm already, holding the promise of another hot, arid day in the deserts of Dalmasca. There wasn’t a lot of talking as they made their way to the aerodrome. When they arrived, the place was already busy, people from all over waiting to board ferries. One such transport had just arrived, spilling a flood of tourists and foreigners into the Rabanastran aerodrome. Balthier wordlessly made a beeline for the personal docking bays, and the others followed. It was then that Vaan finally spoke up.
“So, uh…” Vaan jogged up to walked beside Balthier. “We’re taking your airship, right? I mean, you really have your own?”
“Yes, I do,” Balthier replied. “The finest one you’ll find on the face of Ivalice.”
“I’d think all sky pirates feel that way,” Basch said with a scoff. Balthier pointedly ignored him.
“I’ve never actually seen an airship before,” Vaan said, nervous excitement filling his voice. “Up close, I mean.”
“Well, you’re about to,” Balthier replied.
The party continued towards the hanger bay. As they approached the hanger door, Strahl’s voice sounded in Balthier’s mind.
“Balthier! You’re back! About time, too. You have the Dusk Shard? We’re headed to Balfonheim?”
“There’s been a little… change of plans,” Balthier replied. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Balthier pushed through the door, leading the party of four into the hanger bay. Strahl sat in just the same spot she had last night, a massive, spectacularly built, beautiful machine.
“Here she is,” he said to the others without turning to face them. “This is the Strahl.”
Vaan broke trotted past Balthier, stopping to gawk at the great airship docked in the hanger. The look of star-struck wonder on his face was priceless.
“Wow…” Vaan said at last. “Balthier, you really are a sky pirate!”
Balthier let out a chuckle. “The headhunters seem to think so.”
Vaan turned back to the Strahl. He took a few paces closer, always with his head craned back to gaze over her massive form.
“How fast is she?” Vaan broke into a rhapsody of questions. “Is she armed? Where’d you get her? How-”
“Slow down,” Balthier said, walking past Vaan towards Strahl. “Why don’t you come aboard and find out?”
Balthier quickly typed in the entry code, and Strahl’s door slide open. He marched up the stairs to the cockpit, the others following close behind. Balthier took his place in his captain’s chair, and Fran sat down in the copilot’s seat. Vaan and Basch took two of the four long-uninhabited passenger seats. Fran was already doing her part to get Strahl’s engines moving, and Balthier proceeded to push and flip his necessary buttons and levers. The dome covering the hanger peeled back, letting the brilliant desert sun flood in. Strahl’s systems rumbled to life, myst flowing, fuel burning, glossair rings turning with a familiar whooshing, setting the whole frame vibrating.
Vaan’s excitement had dimmed a little, replaced with an air of determination. He was just a teenager, sure, but it was his adoptive sister that had been kidnapped. It was clear the seriousness of the situation was not lost on Vaan, despite his excitement about leaving Rabanastre. Balthier gave him credit for that.
Balthier turned to his passengers. “Everyone ready?” he asked. He was met with an affirmative murmur.
“Then…” He turned back, gripping the familiar controls, feeling an involuntary thrill as the massive machine came to life around him.
“Let’s fly!”

…

Penelo’s only wish in life had been to be a dancer. She loved it, and practiced so often her mother had to tell her to keep it to once a day. Just before the war, she’d talked to a local theater owner, and things had fallen into place so perfectly. She was just about to make her big debut when disaster struck.
The war. Everything went wrong. Penelo’s father had been drafted into the army and called to the defensive force at Nalbina. In the days of waiting after Nalbina’s fortification, her mother grew ill, and died shortly after the news of their father’s death and Dalmasca’s defeat arrived.
Then it was just Penelo and her two adopted brothers, Vaan and Reks. They were both older than her, Vaan by one year and Reks by three. With their parents dead, Reks had joined with the Order of Knights to protect the king. Anyone could tell he wanted revenge against the Empire. Reks died during the mission. Then it was just Vaan and Penelo. With the pain of all that death, Penelo hadn’t even had time to mourn the loss of her dream.
It had been just Vaan and Penelo for two years. The two of them headed Rabanastre’s community of homeless orphans, working as hard as they could to raise enough money to keep all of them alive. They all had dreams- Penelo wanted to be a dancer, and Vaan a sky pirate of all things- but all they could do was just stay alive. And it worked.
Then Vaan broke into the palace. He set off int the Garamsythe Waterway the night of the fete, boasting how he’d return with great treasure. Now he was gone. Gone! Vaan was the only thing Penelo had clung to. Sure, there was Kytes and Sable and all the other orphans, friends she loved, but Vaan was her brother! Without him, Penelo didn’t know what to do.
And then things really went wrong. A terrifying bunch of Bangaa had kidnapped her. When the four of them first pounced on her in the alleyway, Penelo had no idea what was happening. They kept saying things about someone called Balthier, apparently the man who had stopped her from reaching Vaan. But the bounty hunters didn’t believe Penelo when she said she barely knew him. Now, she was locked in some dark room in a place called Bhujerba, all hope lost. Her parents were gone, Reks was gone, now Vaan was gone, too. Of course this sky pirate guy wasn’t going to come and rescue her like Ba’Gamnan thought.
Penelo knelt on the ground. Her hands were bound together, and the room the Bangaa had locked her in had only one small window, which barely let in any light. In her hands, she grasped one tiny, confusing fragment of hope. A handkerchief. What had happened made no sense. But that man, that Balthier, he said he was bringing Vaan back. Why? Penelo didn’t care. If Vaan was really safe, did it matter what happened to her?
A door at the opposite end of the room swung open, and the leader of the group of Bangaa headhunters stepped in. Behind Ba’Gamnan were his three Bangaa henchmen, each just as ruthless as he.
“Up, girl,” Ba’Gamnan sneered. “It’s time we were off. Balthier will be here soon.”
“I keep trying to tell you!” Penelo cried, hoping she could finally get the words out. “I barely even know who Balthier is!”
“Barely know him, do you?” A scowl crossed Ba’Gamnan’s reptilian lips. “But the Strahl’s set sail from Rabanastre. You say you barely know him, yet in a trice he comes bounding off after you! How is that?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Penelo shouted back. “I told you, I only met him that once! I-”
“Does that tongue never stop?” Ba’Gamnan hissed. “What is we plucked it from your head?”
Penelo fell silent after that. She had no idea if these cruel creatures would make good on that threat, and she had no desire to find out. Her terror grew with every moment she spent in that place, and she struggled not to let it spill over. Freaking out wouldn’t help.
 “Get up,” Ba’Gamnan said, making a sharp gesture with his hand. “With Balthier on the way, it’s time we got down into the mines.”
Wordlessly, Penelo struggle to stand with her hands bound. She was shaking all over, and that only made finding her feet harder. As soon as she was on her feet, Ba’Gamnan signaled for one of his henchmen. The large Bangaa attached a chain to Penelo’s cuffs and dragged her after them.
“We’ll have our prize soon,” Ba’Gamnan said to his entourage, grim excitement in his voice. “But be careful! You know, Balthier’s corpse fetches only half the bounty!”
The three other Bangaa set off laughing at that. It was that rough, scratchy laugh that all Bangaa had. Penelo closed her eyes and ignored the cruel edge to the laugh, imagining it was Migelo’s, the kind shopkeeper who employed her and the other orphans. If only it were…

…

Clouds broke over Strahl’s windshield, blowing back to reveal clear blue sky. The blue sky fell away into blue ocean, broken by the large shape hovering just above the horizon, growing larger with every moment as the Strahl sped over the open water.
The Skycity of Bhujerba was located on one of the many floating islands scattered over the face of Ivalice. This one hovered over the open ocean, just to the east of Ivalice’s one great continent. Bhujerba was currently an independent city-state, and not one without influence. Despite their small size, Bhujerba had a decent miliary. However, they could never hope to win a full-on war with Archadia. That was why their ruler, Marquis Halim Ondore, had signed treaties with the Empire. Bhujerba paid Archadia homage and lived freely… for the time being.
By airship, the trip to Bhujerba took about two hours. During the flight, Vaan and Basch struck up a conversation… sort of. It was more Vaan talking and Basch saying an occasional ‘yes,’ or just nodding. Vaan even tried to pull Fran into it, but he failed. She said something about focusing on driving, and Balthier had to hide a smirk at that. Out it the open like this, there was little driving to be done other keeping straight, and that was his job. It was obvious Fran just didn’t want to chat.
Balthier excused himself from the conversation also. He spent that time explaining to Strahl what had happened in Rabanastre, and each of their reasons for going to Bhujerba. Strahl informed him of a rumor from around the aerodrome that some important persons from Archadia’s political world were gathered at Bhujerba for a long conference with the Marquis. That meant there would be more imperials present in the city than usual. Just one more problem for them to face.

…

The aerodrome at Bhujerba was buzzing with people. Humans, Bangaa, and Moogles were scattered all over, and there were even a few Seeq here and there. Balthier and his new patchwork crew left Strahl in the hanger, and after Balthier gave the attendants strict instructions that his vessel was to be left alone, they emerged into the streets of Bhujerba.
It was a magnificent feeling, standing on a sky continent. The city itself looked like nothing special, with streets and houses, and plants sprouting up here and there. The difference came from around the city. The clouds were so close, the rich blue sky wreathed all around, and cool breezes cut through the already crisp air, thrumming with a strange sort of life. On the road from the aerodrome, guard rails stood between the street’s edge and open skies. Balthier had been to Bhujerba once before, with Fran, but the sight was no less grand than the first time.
“Remember,” Balthier said. “We don’t want to be conspicuous. Basch here is a long-dead king slayer, and we certainly don’t want news of his presence getting out. So no names, understood?” Balthier made sure to look right at Vaan when he said that. The warning was for everyone, but he suspected Vaan would be the one to slip up and land them in hot water if it were to happen.
“So, where is the… what was it called? The Lhusu Mine?” Vaan asked.
“It’s on the other side of town, if my memory serves me correctly,” Balthier replied.
“You’re headed to the mine?” A new voice thrust itself into the conversation. The one who spoke was a boy, leaning against the railing and gazing off over the endless sky and sea. The kid was younger than Vaan, not possibly older then thirteen. He had jet-black hair and dressed in cloths that reminded Balthier too much of an Archadian noble. The boy’s accent, too, hinted at an Archadian origin.
“What’s it to you?” Balthier replied.
“I’ve an errand to attend there, as well,” the boy said. Though he had to look up to do it, the boy met Balthier’s gaze unwaveringly, as if he were an equal. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to accompany you. I promise to repay you for your service.”  
“Exactly what errand it this?” Balthier asked, frowning.
“I could say the same to you,” the boy replied with a confident air.
Balthier let out a scoff. His first instinct was to say no, but, then again, what did this kid want in the Lhusu Mines? From his speech and clothing, he was obviously an Archadian of some standing, and the way he spoke, he had some definite mission in mind. That he wouldn’t tell Balthier made it all the more suspicious. Besides, the kid seemed brave enough, and he might even know his way around the city. He could be an asset on their rescue mission.
“Alright, fine,” Balthier said at last. “You can come along. But behave yourself, won’t you?”
“You have my deepest gratitude,” the boy said, giving a courtly bow. He was definitely a noble.
“I’m Vaan,” Vaan said. “And this is Balthier, Basch, and Fran.”
It took all Balthier’s self-control not to shout at Vaan right there and then. What had he said about names? Had Vaan really forgotten already? Luckily, the boy showed no recognition of the name Basch.
“What’s your name?” Vaan continued.
“Oh, I-I’m Lamont,” the boy said, not sounding very confident about it. So, a false name, too. This Lamont certainly has some secrets.
“If we’re all settled, let’s be off,” Balthier said. “The mines are waiting.”

Lamont was relatively friendly, but never revealed anything about his past through his words except that he had a refined upbringing. Either he was a lot older than he looked, or he was a lot more mature than his age. Lamont addressed Balthier, Basch, and Fran not without respect, but as a responsible adult, even though he barely looked like a teenager. This annoyed Balthier to no end, but he held his tongue and focused on probing some information out of Lamont. Unfortunately, every indirect route Balthier took with his questions, Lamont shrugged off and weaved his way out of with ease, another thing that annoyed Balthier. The kid was a born politician.
“The mines are just up ahead,” Lamont said as the party rounded a street corner. Buildings made of sand-colored stone flanked the road on either side.
“There will likely be imperial guards there,” Basch said, his face grave. “We will need a plan to sneak past them.”
“Actually,” Lamont said, “there are no guards at the mine. With only a few exceptions, the Imperial army is not permitted in Bhujerba.”
“Really?” Balthier asked. “That’s intriguing. And how do you know that? Spend a lot of time here, Lamont?”
“Wait, don’t you live here?” Vaan asked.
Balthier let out a short chuckle. “It’s obvious he’s a born and bred Archadian, isn’t it?”
“What?” Vaan’s eyes widened, and he turned back to Lamont. “You’re from the Empire?”
“Is that a crime?” Lamont asked. He looked a little offended, just the slightest bit confused. Vaan didn’t reply, so Balthier continued his line of questioning.
“So, Lamont, how is it that you know about the Empire’s policies in Bhujerba?”
“Does it matter?” Lamont said. He turned and pointed across the terrace ahead. “Look. We’re here.”
Across the open terrace, past large, leafy bushes and bubbling fountains, sat the gapping black mouth of a deep cave. Pillars held up its entrance, carved of some blueish rock that stood in stark contrast to the sandy-colored stone of the terrace.
“Whoa,” Vaan said. “That’s where we’re headed?”
“That’s the place,” Balthier replied.
“Won’t there be people inside, though?” Vaan asked. “Like, miners and stuff?”
“Mining operations have been slow recently,” Lamont said. “And when they are going, it’s only deep in the west wing. We should be safe.”
“Then, let’s head in, shall we?” Balthier said, starting off without waiting for a reply. He wanted to find this Penelo and get on with his own business at Bhujerba. The others followed him, and they all disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the Lhusu Mines.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

The Lhusu Mines at Bhujerba
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Inside the Lhusu Mines, the only light came from the occasional lamp high up on the cavern’s roof, leaving the Lhusu Mines swathed mostly in shadow. Every now and then, a vein of magicite could be seen, a glowing streak of blue or orange over the wall of dark stone. Abandoned miner’s tools lay here and there, an old shovel or rusting pickax leaning against the wall. The faint sound of dripping water came from far away, echoing out of the mines’ depths. Ahead, the massive cavern narrowed, splitting into two winding tunnels.
“Which path do we take?” Basch asked.
“Well, Lamont said most of the mining work take place down in the west wing,” Balthier said, “so we’ll want the other path. It makes sense Ba’Gamnan would be where there’re the least people watching.”
“Then let’s get going,” Vaan said. “We need to find Penelo, and fast.”
“And Penelo is your…?” Lamont asked.
“She’s a friend,” Vaan replied. “Some bounty hunters kidnapped her and told us to come here.”
“Bounty hunters? Ah.” Lamont glanced over the group with renewed interest. “So the three of you are… sky pirates?”
Balthier let out a sigh. “Vaan, try not to spill every secret in the book, will you?”
“That was a secret?” Vaan asked.  
Balthier sighed again. “Maybe it would be better if you just didn’t talk at all.” Vaan’s shoulders slumped, but there wasn’t time for that now. Balthier nodded towards righthand passageway. “Come on, everyone. Let’s be off.”

The Lhusu Mines were very different from the Barheim Passageway. The Passage had earthen walls, with paths and lights made by ancient machinery, and the Lhusu Mines had a similar man-made structure to them, up to a point. But as the party progressed deeper underground, the mines became simple tunnels carved from solid rock, lit only by the sparse glow of magicite veins crisscrossing the ceiling and walls. They went so far down Balthier began to wonder if Ba’Gamnan was there at all. The deeper down they went, the narrower the tunnels got. The ceiling was never so low they had to stoop, but there were places where it got dangerously close. Rounding a corner, Balthier, at the front of the group, was the first to see the miraculous sight.  
The tunnel suddenly opening into a massive cavern, the roof soaring high overhead. Flecks of glowing blue magicite covered the walls like glitter, but their glow was dim in the sunlight.
Yes, sunlight! Over the floor and walls were massive holes, craters through which showed bright blue sky. It was a startling reminder that Bhujerba was a sky continent; in reality, they were not deep underground but high in the sky. The sudden sight of the sky after such a long time underground was so shocking Balthier stopped short as soon as he entered the cavern. The others, in turn, filed out and stopped, taking in the incredible sight.
“Wow…” Vaan breathed.
As spectacular as it was, they were there for a reason, and Balthier wasn’t going to sit around and enjoy the view, as much as he would have liked to.
“This looks like the end of the road,” he said. “What do you think? Do we head back and try the west wing?”
“That seems to be our only option,” Basch replied.
“What?” Disappointment flickered in Vaan’s eyes. “We came all the way down here for nothing?”
“Ba’Gamnan isn’t here,” Fran said. “We have no choice but to return.”
“Wait,” Lamont cut into the conversation.
“Listen,” Balthier said before he could continue. “You’re only along for the ride, Lamont. This is our business. I suggest you stay out of it.”
“Look over there,” Lamont said, pointing across the voluminous cavern. “There’s another passage at the end. See it?”
Balthier could see it. Passed a cliff that dropped away into open sky was another tunnel, leading out of the massive cavern.
“It seems Lamont is right,” Balthier said, though it was very hard to admit. “We have one more place to explore. If Ba’Gamnan isn’t there, we head back.”
The others murmured their agreement, and the group set off towards the last passageway. Time for one more try.

The tunnel opened into another cavern. This one wasn’t nearly as large as the previous one and lacked the pieces of sky showing through. However, it was a massively rich magicite deposit. There was more magicite over the walls, floor and ceiling than there was stone, and their azure glow filled the cavern.
Magicite usually had no effect on Balthier, but here there was so much he could feel it, the thrum of the stone rippling through the air, a faint, musical tone. Then that familiar, awful throbbing of nethicite erupted, drowning out the pleasant hum of magicite. Balthier remembered experiments at Draklor, where the nethicite there had responded powerfully to the presence of magicite, and Vaan had the Dusk Shard with him, to his knowledge; could the stone be reacting in the same way?
“Ah-ha!” Lamont said, gazing over the cavern before them. “This is what I came to see.” He walked over to the wall, kneeling down near a broad stripe of magicite in the floor. Lamont pulled a small blue stone from his shirt. The clean-cut crystal pulsed with a brilliant ultramarine glow as he held it to the magicite. It also emitted a familiar, horrible feeling…
“It’s true…” Lamont said to himself. Balthier got a sickening feeling inside.
“What is that thing?” Vaan asked, staring at Lamont’s little crystal.
“Manufactured nethicite,” Lamont replied. “I wasn’t entirely certain, but now I have the proof I need.”
Those two words made Balthier’s blood run cold. Manufactured nethicite? And where did a kid like Lamont get such a thing?
“Nethicite?” Vaan’s face furrowed with confusion. “What’s that?”
“Unlike regular magicite, nethicite absorbs magical energy,” Lamont explained. “At least, so I’ve been told. This stone is the fruit of years’ research into the manufacture of nethicite. All carried out in the capable hands of Draklor Laboratories.”
That was it. Lamont knew something, something big, and Balthier wasn’t waiting a moment to hear it.
“Errand all attended to, then?” he asked, approaching Lamont’s place by the wall.
“Yes,” Lamont replied, standing. “I’ll repay you shortly.”
“No, you’ll repay me now.” Balthier came up close, practically pinning Lamont against the wall. “I want answers. Where did you hear about nethicite? Where did you get that sample you carry? What do you know about Draklor Laboratories?” Lamont tried to dart away, but Balthier planted one hand against the wall, blocking his escape route with his arm. “Tell me, Lamont: who are you?”
“Balthier, stop!” That was Fran’s voice. But before Balthier could do or say anything, a new voice broke through the air.
“Balthier! You’ve come at last!”
Balthier spun around. There, bathed by magicite’s glow, stood a large green-scaled Bangaa holding a long, saw-edged sword. The crude blade glinted in the stones’ light.
“Ah.” Balthier sighed. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to, Ba’Gamnan.”
“Where’s Penelo?” Vaan asked, frowning intently at Ba’Gamnan. “We’re taking her back.”
Ba’Gamnan let out a chuckle. “The girl? Why keep the bait when you’ve already caught the fish? We cut her loose on the way here, and off she ran! Who knows where-”
Ba’Gamnan cut off as a shape flew past him. Lamont bolted for the cavern entrance, fast as a racing chocobo. Taking advantage of Ba’Gamnan’s surprise, Fran started after Lamont, Vaan on her heels. Balthier dislike the idea of running from the bounty hunter, but it didn’t seem there was much choice in the matter. He dashed off following the others, Basch just behind him.
Somehow, Balthier found himself racing back up the dark tunnels he’d walked down just a few minutes earlier. Lithe little Lamont was far out in front, streaking ahead like he had a whole army after him. Fran was next in line, her Viera agility carrying her at a quick pace with little effort. Vaan was just behind her, displaying that same speed he’d used to outrun Balthier back in the palace all those nights ago. Balthier ran several yards behind Vaan, and he found himself feeling slow when compared to all his companions. At least Basch displayed no great dexterity; the captain trailed behind, occasionally having to swing his sword at Ba’Gamnan or some other Bangaa when they got too close.  
Eventually, the Bangaa bounty hunters ran out of stamina, stopping one by one, until no pursuers were left in sight. The party kept on running, nonetheless, lest Ba’Gamnan and his henchmen got back up and resumed the chase. Besides, Lamont looked like nothing in the world would stop his sprint. Eventually, they made it back into the entrance cavern, Lamont still far in the lead. When Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Basch made it out through the entrance, Balthier immediately ducked behind one of the pillars, motioning for the others to join him. He didn’t like what he saw.
Four Archadian knights and Judge Balthier didn’t recognize stood just near the mines’ entrance. With them was a grey-haired man, wearing ornate orange and white robes. Balthier, like many others, knew that man’s face: Marquis Halim Ondore. What was he doing there? Bhujerba’s ruler and an Archadian Judge: that looked important indeed. Lamont, dashing down the steps up to the mines’ entrance, slowed his pace and approached the party of important persons.
“Oh! There you are,” said the Judge, turning to Lamont. “I see you have been out without the company of your cortege, Lord Larsa. Where have you been?”
Lord Larsa? That was a name Balthier knew. Larsa Soldier, the fifth son of Archadia’s Emperor Gramis? Balthier had expect ‘Lamont’ was someone important, but that was beyond his suspicions.
“Judge Ghis.” Larsa bowed neatly to the Judge. “I apologize. And Marquis.” Larsa turned and gave the Marquis a similar bow. “You needn’t all have come looking for me. If I have disrupted the council at all, I must extend my deepest apologies.” Larsa bowed again.
“No, no, do not trouble yourself, Lord Larsa,” Marquis Ondore said. His Bhujerban accent was very thick. “We all needed a break, at any length. As long as you are unharmed, everything is in order.”
Larsa nodded, then glanced over at one of the knights accompanying Judge Ghis and Marquis Ondore. Balthier noticed for the first time that knight held a girl with blond pigtails, who looked quite out of place among the citizens of Bhujerba. Larsa’s eyes widened.
“Judge Ghis, who is this?” he asked, taking a step towards the girl. Balthier felt like he recognized her, too. Wasn’t that…?
His suspicions were confirmed when Vaan tried to dash out from behind their pillar. Balthier grabbed his arm and yanked the kid back.
“Not now,” he whispered.
“But that’s Penelo!” Vaan said. Balthier shook his head, raising a finger to his lips. Not now.
“We found this girl coming out of the mines, Lord Larsa,” Judge Ghis said. “You must take care with such undesirables about.”
“No!” Penelo spoke up. “I told you, I was kidnapped-”
“Silence!” Ghis cut off Penelo’s plea.
“No, stop,” Larsa said. “If it is a crime to wander on one’s own, then I, too, and guilty.” He turned to Ondore. “Marquis, I trust your estate can accommodate one more guest?”
Ondore glanced between Larsa and Penelo, then shrugged. “Why not? I’ve no quarrel with the girl. If that is your request, Lord Larsa, I will gladly grant it.”
A smile crossed the young prince’s lips. “Ghis, I shall heed your council. I shall travel unaccompanied no longer.” Larsa reached out and took Penelo’s hand, dragging the shocked girl away from the knight that held her, up the stairway to the terrace, and out of sight.
Ghis and Ondore stared after them for a few moments in silence.
“That was unexpected,” Ghis said finally. Ondore let out a chuckle, shaking his head. His humor faded quickly, however.
“Come now, Ghis,” Ondore said. “Our discussions have been delayed long enough.”
“Indeed,” Ghis answered. “It is time we returned to the council.”  
With that, they followed Larsa and Penelo up the stairs, leaving only the hidden spectators at the mines’ entrance. Vaan did not look very happy.
“What does that Lamont think he’s doing?” Vaan fumed.
“That’s no Lamont,” Balthier said. “Didn’t you hear that Judge? Lord Larsa Solidor, son of Emperor Gramis and brother to Vayne.”
“What?” Vaan stared at the place Larsa had disappeared. “That kid? And he’s got Penelo?”
“Don’t worry,” Fran said. A smile of amusement crossed her lips. “I believe he will treat her well.”
Vaan sighed, then turned to Balthier. “So, how do we get Penelo back now?”
“It would seem all our errands meet in the same place,” Basch said. “We only need to meet with the Marquis.”
“Easier said than done,” Balthier said. “We’ll never get near his estate on our own, so we need him to take notice of us. How to go about that…” Balthier stroked his chin, thinking.
“If Ondore heard that I was alive and free, he may very well seek me out,” Basch began.
“So if we were to raise clamor to that effect,” Balthier picked up, “we just might find ourselves on his to-do list. A bit of a bother, but it could work.”
“So, we just parade Basch around town,” Vaan said. “How hard can that be?”
“Hold on. It was Basch’s ‘execution’ that secured Bhujerba favor with the empire,” Balthier said. “If we tell everyone that was all lies, who knows what will happen? No, ideally, we want the Marquis to hear that Basch is alive, but not have anyone else believe it. That will be a bit tougher.”
“Well, what if I go around saying Basch is alive?” Vaan said. “No one would believe it, but the guards just might tell the Marquis.”
“That’s hardly a safe task,” Balthier said with a scoff. “Ondore hid you with hopes of organizing a resistance against Archadia, didn’t he?” Balthier said, glancing at Basch. “It’ll be his resistance that comes hunting Basch down. What do you think they’ll do when see you’re not Basch?”
“I don’t care,” Vaan replied. “I’ve gotta save Penelo! And besides, Basch will be around, won’t he?”
“If you are willing,” Basch said, “then I would be most grateful.” Vaan nodded.
“Then, it sounds like a plan,” Balthier said. “Vaan, you go about spreading the word, and we’ll follow you from a safe distance. When Ondore’s operatives apprehend you, we’ll tag along and hopefully get ourselves a ticket to the Marquis’s estate.”
“Alright!” Vaan nodded eagerly. “Let’s go!”

…

Penelo had no idea what just happened. One moment, imperial knights held her captive, cold, iron-clad hands clamped around her arms, and the next, this kid grabbed her by the hand and dragged her away. By the way even the marquis of Bhujerba treated him, this Larsa was obviously someone important, though Penelo hadn’t a clue who.
Once they reached the top of the stairway, Larsa let go of Penelo’s hand.
“You’re Penelo, correct?” he asked. Penelo let out a gasp.
“How do you know who I am?” she asked.
Larsa made a motion for them to keep walking, then spoke. “I met friends of yours in the mine, the sky pirate Balthier and his crew. They were looking for you.”
“Wait.” Penelo frowned in confusion. “That guy came after me?”
“Of course,” Larsa replied. “Isn’t he a friend of yours?”
Penelo shook her head. “No, I barely know him. Wait…” Hope sparked inside her for the first time since the night of the fete. “Was Vaan with him?”
Larsa nodded. “Yes, there was a boy named Vaan there.”
Penelo let out a sigh of relief. “Then I’ve got to go back!”
“No, not with Judge Ghis and the Marquis watching,” Larsa said, shaking his head. “But don’t worry. You’ll be safe at the Marquis’s estate until I can arrange for you to be sent home. Where are you from, Penelo?”
“Rabanastre,” Penelo replied.
“Perfect,” Larsa said with a smile. “I will be departing for Rabanastre this evening. Would you be so kind as to accompany me until then?”
“Uh, sure,” Penelo replied. This Larsa seemed nice enough, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go.
But soon she’d be back in Rabanastre, with Vaan. She clung to that hope.

Ondore’s estate was impressive indeed. Chandeliers, balconies, grand hallways; splendor Penelo had only dreamed of in nights spent sleeping in crates down in Lowtown.
Larsa brought Penelo to an ornate drawing room up on the second floor. One side opened into a large balcony, providing a splendid view of Bhujerba and the ocean below. Penelo, exhausted from her long day of capture and rescue, plopped down on a long sofa, while Larsa sat at a desk and worked on a letter of some sort. The room was silent save for the scritch of Larsa’s pen and the bubbling of a fountain on the street far below. The quiet was comfortable. It gave Penelo time to think over what had just happened. This Larsa was a prince, she had learned on the way there. He was the son of Emperor Gramis Solidor, the ruler of the Empire Penelo so despised. However, Larsa had been nothing but kind to her since they met. She enjoyed their walk to the estate. Penelo had told Larsa her story, about Vaan’s arrest and her capture. Larsa explained that he was in Bhujerba to represent House Solidor at some sort of convention, but that he couldn’t tell her any more. Penelo was amazed by Larsa’s maturity; he looked younger than she was, but acted far wiser. She supposed that, as the emperor’s son, Larsa had seen a lot more than most kids his age.
After a while, the silence became awkward.
“So, Vaan’s really alright?” Penelo asked. She’d asked it before, but she couldn’t think of any other way to start a conversation.
“Yes,” Larsa said with a nod, folding up the letter he was working on. “You’ll rejoin him shortly. Until then, I promise you will be kept safe.”
“Thank you,” Penelo said, still feeling awkward. Her conversation hadn’t gotten very far.
“I am troubled by your story, however,” Larsa continued. “It appears the imperial guard at Rabanastre have overstepped their bounds. I will have to speak with my brother on this matter.”
“What?” Penelo asked, confused.
“Rabanastre’s new consul, Vayne, is my brother,” Larsa replied. Penelo let out a gasp. It made perfect sense; Vayne was also Emperor Gramis’s son. But it had never occurred to her that Larsa could be the brother of that dark, sinister man.
“The first duty of a consul is to maintain order,” Larsa continued. He stood from his chair and walked over to the balcony. “My brother is not one given to failure. Perhaps things aren’t going as well as they could be…” Larsa sighed. His face fell momentarily, then he turned to Penelo with a smile. “Give him time, and he will put things to rights. Don’t worry; my brother is a remarkable man.”
“He scares me,” Penelo said, without really thinking about it. Larsa frowned in confusion.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. He is your brother,” Penelo said, shaking her head. “But… you don’t understand how much we all lost in the war. Family, friends, homes.” Penelo sat back in the couch with a sigh. “I know it’s not your fault, but…”
“You mean… You fear the Empire?” Larsa’s brow furrowed in a muted mixture of confusion and worry.
“Well… Yeah.” Penelo didn’t want to hurt Larsa’s feelings, but she wasn’t going to lie to him either. “They’ve taken everything away from us, and even now we aren’t free. You never know what’ll happen. Everyone’s scared of the Empire.”
Larsa stared silently out the balcony, over the streets of Bhujerba. After a few moments, he turned back to Penelo.
“Things were not meant to be that way.” In one swift motion, Larsa knelt in front to the sofa, looking up at Penelo with imploring eyes. “Listen to me. The men of my family, we are taught to put the needs of others before our own. However things have been in the past, you needn’t fear as long as my brother rules. He will protect Rabanastre, just as I will protect you until you are safely home. That is the duty of House Solidor.”
“But…” The memory surfaced in Penelo’s mind of Vayne, on the day of the speech. He spoke so convincingly, and yet there was that look behind his eyes, something sly and deceitful. He had worn that same look the night he arrested Vaan. “How can I trust you?”
“Because I give you my word,” Larsa said, no doubt in his voice. “My brother would do no less.”
The look in his eyes… Penelo felt she could trust Larsa. But Vayne? Well, if Larsa thought he was trustworthy, then perhaps he was right.

…

“Basch lives!”
Vaan stood in the terrace beyond the mine, one foot up on the fountain’s rim, jerking a thumb at himself, shouting out to everyone within earshot. The poor kid looked ridiculous, proclaiming to the masses that a long-dead killer of kings was alive and well. Everyone who heard stared at him like he was a lunatic, and rightly so. Balthier was very glad it was Vaan throwing away his dignity for their cause and not him.
As Vaan progressed farther into town, Balthier, Fran, and Basch shadowed him from a safe distance.
“He’s doing a good job,” Balthier said to Fran. Basch walked a few feet ahead of them.
Fran nodded. “If your theories are correct, we’ll be caught soon.”
“Wait, look.” Balthier stopped Fran and Basch and nodded ahead. Two rough-looking individuals, a burly man and a grey-scaled Bangaa, closed in on Vaan.
“Boy,” the burly man addressed Vaan. “You will come with us.” Vaan cast a helpless glance back at Balthier, who nodded. This was their plan; as long as Vaan could play along, then things would go just fine.
“Alright,” Vaan said, the tremble in his voice controlled, nervous smile thrown up, every muscle tense. The grey-scaled Bangaa grabbed one of Vaan’s arms, then dragged him towards a nearby tavern.
“That’s our cue,” Balthier said, signaling to Fran and Basch. “Don’t let Vaan out of your sights.”
The Bangaa hauled Vaan into the tavern, the burly man following behind. Balthier, Fran, and Basch entered the tavern warily, keeping at a safe distance. The burly man sat down at one of the many round tables scattered about, while the Bangaa dragged Vaan towards a doorway in the back. Balthier tried to follow, but the burly man stood up and blocked their path.
“And where do you think you’re going?” the man asked.
“Is that back room off-limits?” Balthier asked, holding eye contact with the man.
“Yes,” the man replied.
“We have reason to enter,” Basch said, coming up to face the man. The man’s eyes widened.
“You’re…?” he broke off with a chuckle, his astonishment melting away. “The word is true. Won’t Havharo be shocked? Fine.” The man gestured to the back room. “Go on in. But I’ll be watching, hear?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll behave ourselves,” Balthier said, then turned back to his two companions. “Come on, then, let’s not leave Vaan to his fate.”

Balthier pushed the back door open slowly; its hinges made no creaking. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with a single long table set on its smooth tiled floor. A lone man sat at the table, dressed in usual Bhujerban attire. The grey-scaled Bangaa stood over Vaan, who sat in an undignified heap on the floor.
“This is him, Havharo!” the Bangaa said. “Says he’s Captain Basch, he does!”
“Really?” the man at the table, Havharo, arched an eyebrow. “He would sooner pass for the king.”
“Argh!” the Bangaa hissed. “I knew it weren’t true! What do we do with him now, Havharo?”
“Wait.” Havharo held up a hand to stop the Bangaa. “It seems we have visitors.”
“I was wondering when you’d notice,” Balthier said, stepping out of the doorway into the torchlight. Behind him came Fran, then Basch.
“Ah,” Havharo said as he spotted the last of their group. “So Basch von Rosenburg does yet live.”
“We have business with the Marquis,” Basch said.
“And he with you,” Havharo replied. “But first, I’ve quite a few questions for you.”

Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Basch spent the next long hour telling Havharo and his resistance allies their story. Basch did most of the talking, retelling his tale of King Raminas’s assassination, and of his rescue. Havharo asked many questions on his own, prying all the information he could out of Basch, who held little back. Balthier was glad Havharo didn’t seem interested in anyone other than Basch.
“That is quite the story,” Havharo said when it was finished. “The Marquis will be overjoyed to hear of your escape.”
“We’d like to tell him ourselves,” Balthier said. “How about that audience you promised us?”
“Yes, yes, the Marquis will want to see Basch,” Havharo said, nodding. “And I’m certain he’ll allow you others to pick up your friend as well.”
“How soon can this audience be arranged?” Basch asked.
“As soon as my agents reach Ondore,” Havharo replied. “I’ll let you know when that is. Until then, you’re free to stay here. It shouldn’t be long.”
And it wasn’t. After only half an hour more, a few agents arrived to escort Basch and his companions through a secret passage to Ondore’s estate. Everyone was focused on Basch and his great need to see the Marquis, but Balthier was just as eager for his own reasons. Rescuing Penelo was very good, and, well, Basch could do what he liked as far as freeing Dalmasca went, but Balthier couldn’t wait to find out exactly what Vayne was planning and how much Ondore knew.

…

After their arrival at the estate, two Bhujerban guards led Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Basch to a pair of double doors. The guards said that the Marquis was waiting inside, then left them.
“This is it,” Balthier said, half to himself. “What we’ve all been waiting for.”
“Why are we still waiting?” Vaan said. Balthier chuckled at Vaan’s impatience, and Basch threw open the doors. Inside, Marquis Ondore stood alone, staring out a large picture window, his back to the newcomers. The grand sight of Bhujerba spread out before them, a city that cut through the clouds, surrounded on all sides by endless sky, tinged red in the beginnings of sunset.
“You’re here.” Ondore turned to face the party. “Basch. It has been some years since I saw your face.”
“And I yours,” Basch replied.
“To see you alive and free is a relief, I must say,” Ondore said. “With you out of imperial hands, I have much less to worry about.”
“Uh, I have a friend who’s here,” Vaan cut in. “With Larsa? Can we see her?”
“I’m afraid you’re too late,” Ondore said, turning to Vaan. “Lord Larsa has already rejoined the imperial fleet; he took the girl with him. They’ll be departing shortly.”
“What? No!” Vaan’s face fell in disappointment. Balthier felt frustration coiled up inside; even after all that, they couldn’t catch that girl?
“Marquis,” Basch said. “I’ve a favor to ask of you. The Empire, they have captured very important member of the resistance in Rabanastre: a woman named Amalia.” That perked Balthier’s interest. It wasn’t anything about Vayne’s plans, but he had been wondering just who Amalia was.
“I see.” Ondore nodded slowly. “And you think she is…?”
“I have no doubt,” Basch replied, being annoyingly ambiguous. “I met with resistance members at the capital. Captain Azelas confirmed it.”
“Mm.” Unease flickered in the Marquis’s eyes.
“His information says she is here, with this fleet,” Basch said. “I ask your assistance in retrieving her.”
“That is a tall order,” Ondore replied. “I do have my position to think of. If I am caught, your resistance will lose a valuable ally.” Ondore turned back to the window, stroking his chin in thought. “Although,” he said after a moment, “you might go yourselves. That is, if you think the enemy’s chains an easy enough burden to bear.”
Basch frowned in confusion, then realization dawned on his face.
“Chains?” Vaan hadn’t caught on yet. “What does he mean?”
“If Amalia is on Ghis’s ship, then you may easily go and rescue her,” Ondore said, turning back to the group. “If you go as prisoners yourselves.”
Basch nodded, then reached for his sword.
“Wait!” Balthier called out. He didn’t mind if Basch wanted to be captured by imperials and go on some suicide escape-and-rescue mission, but he wanted no part in it. To stop the Empire, yes, to uncover Vayne’s plot, yes, but Balthier had no desire to go charging in to rescue some mysterious resistance leader. And if imperial guards came it to lug them off to Judge Ghis, Balthier doubted they’d leave anyone in that room save Ondore.
“Sorry,” Basch said. “Can’t be helped.” He whipped out his sword, holding it threateningly before the Marquis. Ondore shouted for guards, and the double doors flung open as five imperial knights rushed in. Basch lowered his sword.
“They’re to be taken to Ghis,” Ondore said, stepping back from Basch. Balthier fought the urge to fight back as an Archadian knight clamped heavy handcuffs around his wrists. It would probably be a losing fight, anyway.
Once the guard secured everyone in the room, they dragged them away, back out the double doors. Balthier sighed; not only had he failed at learning about Vayne’s plans and rescuing Penelo, but he was now being dragged off as an unwilling participant in a reckless rescue plan. What else could possibly go wrong?

End Part Two, Act One: Spark

Chapter Text

Part Two, Act Two: Burn
Chapter Nineteen

The Dreadnaught Leviathan, docked at Bhujerba
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The sun sunk slowly into the sea, painting both sea and sky with the most wonderous shades of crimson and ruby. But enjoying the sunset was the farthest thing from Balthier’s mind. The knights had taken him, Fran, Vaan, and Basch from Ondore’s mansion to a small transport craft, which had carried them up to a massive dreadnaught. The ship was too large to dock at the aerodrome, so it sat anchored just outside Bhujerba with the rest of Archadia’s eight fleet. The knights led the procession of handcuffed prisoners from the transport craft onto the dreadnaught. Balthier didn’t bother to reach out to the ship; he knew what Archadian military crafts were usually like, and he doubted the dreadnaught Leviathan would turn out to be another Strahl.
There was no talking as the division of knights led the prisoners through the hallways of the dreadnaught. Balthier was astonished by how many knights ran through the ship’s passages; the Archadians were certainly well prepared. After a short walk, they made it to the bridge.
In the Leviathan’s bridge, several pilots sat at various control desks, manning weapons, engines, steering, and everything in between. The windshield was massive, providing a more stunning a view of Bhujerba than the marquis’s window. Clouds danced over the roofs of houses, in some places close enough to touch. A great city carved from sky, now bathed in the fiery light of the sun’s last glow. Backed by this display stood two distinctive persons. One was Judge Ghis, in his full Judge armor and high-council cape, all midnight black. The other was Amalia. She stood, her hands free, but flanked by two knights. Her burning blue eyes were fixed on Ghis, her face painted with fear.
“Your Honor!” One of the knights leading Balthier and the others saluted, calling out to catch Ghis’s attention. “We have the prisoners from the marquis, sir!”
“At ease.” Ghis waved one hand, then turned to the group. His face was hidden beneath his ornate helmet. He was silent for several moments as he studied the captives, then let out a chuckle. “Ondore was right. He has indeed brought us Basch. I didn’t think the Marquis was so loyal to our cause.”
Amalia let out a gasp at the word ‘Basch.’ She stared a few moments, then broke away from the knights holding her and rushed up to him.
“Majesty-” Basch began, but he broke off as Amalia slapped him.
“You.” Amalia’s voice was barely more than a whisper, angry and broken with awaked grief. That same old pain glittered in her blue-grey eyes. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Amalia!” Vaan called out. “Is that you? Are you alright?”
“Come now,” Ghis spoke before Amalia could. “That is hardly the courteous due… the late Princess Ashe of Dalmasca.”
Balthier’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure who he thought Amalia was, but Princess Ashe? She had never struck him as particularly regal or princess-like, not once in their short acquaintance. The shaky, excitable little girl who leapt down into Vaan’s arms in the sewers was, in truth, Princess Ashelia Dalmasca? Few things shocked Balthier to the core, but that did.
“It is true,” Ghis continued, “she has no proof of her former station. Just another member of the insurgence. Those who stir up such strife among the people will meet their fate at the gallows. Of course, if Her Majesty would choose to bring peace to her people…”
Ashe spun around to face Ghis. “I will not play puppet to Vayne! I won’t give up! Say what you want, but I will fight for Dalmasca!”
“But this is for Dalmasca,” Ghis replied. “Don’t you want to see peace in the streets of your kingdom again?”
“I want to see Dalmasca as it was! Free! Not under Vayne’s rule!” Ashe’s voice broke, and she fell silent. In that moment, her eyes were a flaming pyre of anger, sorrow and despair, yet with a single spark of stubborn hope. A struggling flame that would not snuff out. Broken, but not defeated.
“A pity,” Ghis said, shaking his head. “It seems-” He broke off as a harsh red glow like dying embers shimmered through the air, reflecting off the metal of handcuffs and knights’ amor, scattering in a thousand different directions. Balthier felt suddenly like he might faint as that spinning, throbbing feeling shot through the air. It sang, ‘I remember,’ ‘I know this blood,’ ‘this is what I was waiting for…’ Balthier struggled to block out the grating voice and keep his hold on reality.
Ashe spun back to the group of prisoners, letting out a gasp as her eyes met the source of light. The Dusk Shard- for that’s what it was- reveled and cackled in a horrible sort of glee. It made Balthier’s mind reel, to the point even thinking was difficult.
“What is that?” Ghis asked. “Boy, show me.”
Vaan struggled to grab the stone out of his pocket with his hands bound. The painful, glaring light increased tenfold as he pulled it into the open.
“The Dusk Shard…” Ashe breathed. She didn’t look surprised; of course, she knew Vaan had it. She had seen it back in the Garamsythe Waterway. The stone had reacted similarly then, but not as powerfully. Perhaps Balthier was just more attuned to the flow of its power now.
“That stone…” Ghis strode up to Vaan. His black armor seemed to drip with blood in the shard’s red glow. “Give it to me.”
“No!” Ashe’s face erupted with fear. She turned to Vaan with desperate eyes. “No, don’t! You can’t let him have it!” 
Vaan looked around helplessly. It was obvious he didn’t have a choice. He hesitated for a few moments, then Ghis simply snatched the stone from his grasp. The harsh glow of Dusk Shard retreated, until it was contained within the stone itself. Like a beating heart, a glow deep within the shard throbbed and pulsed, a tiny spark of hidden power. The terrible force that had washed over Balthier like waves of heat pulled back as well, and he finally felt like he could breathe again.
“Incredible,” Ghis breathed, gazing down at the stone in his hand. “Dr. Cid will be beside himself.”
Balthier sucked in a breath at those words. It was obvious that the Empire would bring new nethicite straight to Draklor, but to hear it out loud… In the past two years, Balthier hadn’t heard or thought of his father’s name once. But now, Dr. Cid had more nethicite, or at least, he would very soon. Balthier’s father had wreaked enough havoc with just the one piece. No, Balthier’s father wasn’t the one who did that. Balthier remembered the last time he saw Dr. Cid, in the aerodrome, after Nabudis’s destruction, and that unfamiliar, dark look in his eyes. The Dr. Cid working this chaos was not the man he knew. Not his father. At least, it was easier to think about it that way.
“Take these prisoners away,” Ghis said to the nearest knight. “Princess Ashe is to be quartered separately.”
The knights replied in a unison, “Sir!” then turned the usher the prisoners out. Two knights took Ashe down some other corridor, while the rest escorted Balthier, Fran, Basch, and Vaan farther into the ship.

The knights led their prisoners down the passages of the Leviathan, presumably towards some prison cell. Two guards took up the front, followed by Vaan and Fran, then Basch and Balthier, with two more knights behind them. They marched through the hallways, and Balthier noticed the abundance of knights they passed. The Dreadnaught Leviathan was well-staffed.
“So you carried the stone all along,” Basch said gravely. “The fates ill favor us.”
Balthier let out a scoff. He had trouble seeing much blind fate about their capture. “Well next time, Captain, tell these fates of yours to leave me out.”
“I am sorry,” Basch replied. “You realize I had little choice.”
“Quiet!” one of the knights shouted, but Balthier ignored him.
“Oh, I understand. Honor, duty, and all that,” Balthier said with a sigh. “I still can’t believe that girl was the princess.”
“I said quiet!” the knight shouted again. He swung his spear at the two of them, more to make a point than anything else. Balthier saw an opportunity and didn’t let it go to waste. With his hands still bound, he grabbed the spear’s shaft and yanked on it. The knight was caught off guard, and Balthier managed to wrench the weapon out of his hands. Basch quickly caught on, smashing his bound hands down on the knight’s head with a clang. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Fran used a powerful kick to send one knight in front of her flying into a nearby wall, and the other front knight pulled out his sword. He was about to strike at Fran when the other remaining knight charged at his fellow guard cracked him in the head with his sword hilt. All fell silent again. Balthier watched the last remaining guard with suspicion as he removed his helmet. Underneath was a man with crisp black hair and a short beard. He immediately locked eyes with Basch.
“Vossler,” Basch said, studying the man. “The Marquis sent you?”
Vossler nodded. “Yes. I didn’t trust him lightly, but it seems you were right. He will be a valuable ally.”
“Then you believe me?” Basch asked.
Vossler heaved a sigh. “You’ll have to forgive me for my distrust back at Rabanastre. I’ve guarded Her Highness for two years now. I’ve had to doubt friend and foe alike. But yes, Captain Basch. I need your help to free Princess Ashe.” Basch nodded solemnly in response.
“So this is one of your resistance friends, is it?” Balthier asked. Basch nodded, and Vossler glanced over the other prisoners for the first time.
“What do we do with these people?” he asked, stepping up to unlock Basch’s handcuffs.
“We can trust them,” Basch said, rubbing his free wrists. “Balthier and his friends have proved valuable allies so far.” Basch turned to Balthier. “That is, if you wish to help us.”
Balthier scoffed. “Do I have much choice? I don’t see any other way off this ship. That is, assuming you even have an escape route planned.”
Vossler fixed Balthier with a most unfriendly glare. “I don’t lightly place my trust in anyone, much less filthy mercenaries,” he growled.
Balthier rolled his eyes. “Call me what you like. Do you want my help or not?”
Vossler glared at Balthier a few moments more before shaking his head with a sigh. “Fine.” He grudgingly unlocked Balthier’s handcuffs, then moved on to Vaan. Once they were all free, Vossler addressed the whole group.
“Princess Ashe is being held in the third detention block, down a level from us now. There are a lot of knights on this ship, and we’re likely to get in a fight or two.”
“We’re all aware of the dangers,” Balthier said, walking up to the front of the group. “Are we leaving or not?”
Vossler gave Balthier his glare again, then turned back to the others.
“Come on, let’s go.”

…

“Get in there!”
A knight shoved Ashe into her cell, then pulled the door shut. The small sliding door had no windows, and the only light came from a single glaring light on the roof. The room was clean but very small, the walls and floor all grey and completely featureless.
Ashe’s head spun with everything that had just happened. First, her father’s killer came strolling in, along with the thieves from the palace. And that boy- he had the Dusk Shard with him. That stone was Ashe’s only hope. Possessing the Dusk Shard was proof of her royal lineage. Without it, restoring Dalmasca would be impossible. And now the Empire had it. But maybe, she realized, thinking over the old legends again, the Dusk Shard wasn’t her only hope…
Ashe was desperately tired. Since her capture in the waterway, she had endured interrogation, torture, and everything in between, and now she just wanted a moment’s rest. Ashe collapsed in the corner of her cell. No one was watching, no one was depending on her, so she drew her knees up to her chest and leaned her head against them. She felt so tired, so alone… She wanted her husband, or her father, but she knew they were all gone. Ashe would have been overjoyed just see Vossler again, or anyone other than traitors and killers. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she instinctively fought them back. Ashe sucked in a deep breath and mumbled the words her father had taught her to say, back when her mother died.
“I am Princess Ashelia Dalmasca, and my duty is to my people. I have not the privilege of tears.”
She had only been seven at the time, before she’d even met Vossler, but Ashe remembered that day like yesterday. She could hear her father’s voice so clearly. He’d said they weren’t the only ones sad, that all of Dalmasca wept at the queen’s passing. He’d said that they couldn’t cry, that they had to stay strong for the people, even when they were sad. He’d said that was the duty of a king and his family. Her father’s kind eyes, his warm smile, even when things were darkest…
But he was dead now. King Raminas was dead. Killed by that traitor, Captain Basch, who walked aboard this very ship. The thought made angry tears push again into Ashe’s eyes. How could he still be alive?
And her husband. Somehow, Rasler was never far from Ashe’s thoughts. She remembered the first time they met, at a conference between Dalmasca and Nabradia. Ashe had only been ten. Dalmasca and Nabradia had many such conferences over the years, and her friendship with the prince had grown, and then eventually it became something more. When their wedding was announced, Ashe had been overjoyed. She had always known her husband would be chosen for her, that her marriage would be one more step in advancing Dalmasca’s future. To marry even someone she knew was beyond her wildest dreams, much less someone she cared for and respected. Their wedding had marked the start of unexpected happiness for both Ashe and Rasler, but it was cut short. After only a few weeks, Rasler was killed. Killed by the Archadian Empire. With that thought, those burning tears finally forced their way out and ran down Ashe’s cheeks. That was why she couldn’t help the Empire. She had to fight for Dalmasca, fight against the Empire, bring freedom to her people, and yes, avenge her loved ones. That was what she wanted, that was why she fought. These thoughts spinning through her mind, hot tears on her face, Ashe finally fell into an uneasy sleep, curled in the corner of her cell, feeling nothing like the strong leader she knew her people needed.

…

“In here. She’s in one of these cells.” Vossler strode through the doorway, into a short hallway, Balthier, Bash, Fran, and Vaan behind him. As Vossler had predicted, their journey to the detention block hadn’t been without difficulty. They ran into guards only twice, and both times they managed to escape undetected. Vossler seemed to hold some innate distrust of Balthier, which he found particularly aggravating. Balthier couldn’t wait to be off that ship and away from Vossler and his antagonism.
Inside the hallway, thick doors lined both walls, each labeled with a number. There were only six in all. Vossler turned to the nearest one and quickly typed in the entrance code. Everything about him was in a rush; it seemed Vossler was in quite a hurry to get Princess Ashe back. Inside the first cell, the walls and floor were a dull grey. It was empty. Vossler strode over to the next door and opened it. This cell was the same, save the girl crouched in one corner.
Ashe looked about the same as Balthier had ever seen her. Flustered, desperate, and scared. Now, she looked bone-weary, too. She raised her head as the door slid open, her eyes brimming with relief as they rested on Vossler. Vossler looked even more relieved than the princess. Balthier said nothing and watched. He had a feeling interrupting this reunion would get him on Vossler’s bad side even more than he already was.
“Vossler!” Ashe called, pulling herself unsteadily back to her feet. “You… you came!”
“Of course.” Vossler stepped over the threshold, eyes locked on the princess. “You thought I’d do nothing?”
“N-No, of course not-” Ashe lost her balance with a gasp, nearly falling, but Vossler dashed over and caught her.
“Highness!” Vossler cried, holding her shoulders. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Ashe said, getting her feet under her again and stepping away from Vossler. She sucked in deep breath. “I’m fine, really.” Ashe turned from Vossler to the others. Her eyes rested on Basch. The weariness there dissolved, and a flame of anger took over.
“You,” she breathed, in that same whisper of anger and sorrow.
“Your Highness, we can trust Basch,” Vossler said. Ashe whipped her burning gaze towards him, but he continued. “He didn’t kill your father. I’m sure of that, now.”
Ashe glanced between Basch and Vossler, her eyes conflicted.
“Then… who did?” she said at last. “Can you tell me that?”
“One of the Empire’s Judges impersonated me,” Basch replied. “It was Archadia. I failed to protect him, and that is my fault, but…” Basch shook his head with a sigh. “We should leave. The guards will find us soon.”
“Yes, that, I agree with,” Balthier said, glad to finally get a word in. “If we want to make it out of here, it would be wise to start now.”
Ashe’s gaze swung over Vaan and Fran, finally settling on Balthier.
“You’re the thieves from the palace,” Ashe said, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
Balthier sighed. “That’s a long story for a later date, when we’re not all in mortal peril. Are we going to leave or not?”
“Highness, you’re sure you’re alright?” Vossler asked.
“Yes, I said I’m fine.” Ashe held her head high, attempting to look regal.
“Then we can leave,” Vossler replied. He headed for the door, Ashe following behind him. “I have an Atomos waiting down in the hanger bay. If we can get there, we’ll be as good as out.”
“But… what about the Dusk Shard?” Ashe asked. “We need that! Without it-”
Vossler cut her off with a shake of his head. “No. The Empire has it, for now. Perhaps a larger rescue force could have gotten it back, but not us. Your safety is more important than that stone, Highness.”
“But, Vossler, we’ve gone through so much to get it!” Ashe said. “You even hired mercenaries to get it out of the palace!”
“You did what?” Balthier said. He studied Vossler in a new light. “You hired mercenaries to retrieve the Dusk Shard?”
“And they obviously failed. I haven’t heard from them in weeks,” Vossler said with scoff. “Sky pirates are unreliable, cowardly, and entirely self-centered.” Vossler fixed Balthier with his glare. “I should’ve known that before I tried working with them.”
Balthier returned Vossler’s glare whole-heartedly, saying nothing.
“Come on,” Vossler said at last, striding out the door. He nodded to Ashe. “Like the pirate said, we need to hurry.”

…

A wining alarm suddenly filled the air, startling Penelo so badly she jumped. Larsa had graciously offered to show her around the ship, the massive dreadnaught Leviathan, and she thought it would be rude to refuse. They had wandered the halls of the ship for some time now, talking and laughing. Penelo had almost forgotten about her predicament. But really, what trouble was there left? Larsa was taking her back to Rabanastre, and surely once he knew she wasn’t in Bhujerba, Vaan would come back, too. Penelo had found her hope again and had thoroughly enjoyed herself as she and Larsa waited for the ship to set sail. Only now, their pleasant conversation was cut off by that awful alarm.
“Larsa?” Penelo asked. “What’s that mean? Is something wrong?”
“Prisoner escape,” Larsa replied, worry in his eyes.
“Prisoners?” Penelo’s eyes widened. “There are prisoners on this ship?”
“I heard my brother entrusted Ghis with a leader of the resistance,” Larsa replied. “But the knights are most diligent. I can’t believe they would let her escape.”
“The resistance?” Penelo asked. “You mean… the Dalmascan resistance?”
Larsa nodded. “She was caught in Rabanastre a short while ago.”
“But…” Penelo struggled for the right words. “Why send one of the Dalmascan resistance all the way out here?”
Larsa let out a sigh. “I… I know very little about this prisoner. Though with the rumors I’ve heard, perhaps…” Larsa shook his head. “No, no I shouldn’t. If she has escaped, the ship will be on high alert. We should get somewhere safe.”
“O-Oh, okay,” Penelo said. “Where should we go?”
“To the bridge,” Larsa replied. “Ghis will want to know where I am.” Larsa sighed again and glanced down the nearest hallway, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. Penelo hadn’t known Larsa very long, but she felt like she could read what he wanted well enough.
“Maybe we could… go look for her ourselves?” Penelo said tentatively.
“That would be most unwise,” Larsa replied, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself, as well. He glanced back at Penelo.
“So?” Penelo asked.
“Come on,” Larsa motioned for her to follow and started down the passage. “The detention blocks are this way.”
Penelo had to agree with Larsa. This was most unwise. But if that was what he wanted…

…

Vossler walked at the front of the group, Ashe close behind him. The group kept up a quick pace, moving as fast as they could down the Leviathan’s hallways. Archadian knights were everywhere, and they had to hide from them at various times. They hadn’t gotten very far from the detention blocks when a voice called out.
“Vaan!” It was a girl’s voice, not one Balthier recognized. Vaan seemed to know it, though. He stopped and spun around, and a girl with blond pigtails rushed into his arms.
“Penelo!” Vaan said, hugging her back.
“Vaan, you’re alright!” Penelo said with desperate relief. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
“Not now,” Vaan said. “Penelo, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Penelo replied. Their reunion was cut off as another familiar person strode up behind Penelo. Larsa.
“Oh,” Vaan let go of Penelo and scowled at Larsa. “Thanks for what you did back in the cave, Lamont.”
“I must apologize for that,” Larsa said, “but later.” He turned to Ashe, studying her intently. “Then it is true,” he breathed. “Princess Ashe.”
“What?” Penelo stared at Ashe in astonishment. “The princess?”
“I’d be careful what you do next, young lord,” Vossler said. His hand was on his sword hilt. “We’re in a hurry.”
“Yes, you must flee. The guards will be here soon,” Larsa said.
“What?” Ashe’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to try and stop us?”
“Lady Ashe, that you were made to appear dead, and not even I knew of this…” Larsa shook his head and sighed. “There is something afoot, and I intend to uncover it. Princess, go, and do what you must. I believe ’tis for the good of Dalmasca, and for the good of the Empire.”
To see such honesty among the Archadian higher-ups surprised Balthier. Maybe there was some hope for the Empire, after all.
“Penelo.” Larsa turned to the blond-haired girl. “I assume you want to go with Vaan?”
“Uh, yes,” Penelo replied.
“I see. Then this is farewell.” Larsa reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny. Balthier couldn’t see it clearly. “For you.” Larsa placed whatever it was in Penelo’s hand. “May it bring you good fortune.”
“Oh! Thank you,” Penelo said. “It’s beautiful.”
“I should leave, and so should you.” Larsa started down the corridor, then looked back. “Good luck to you, Lady Ashe.” Then he was gone.
“You heard him,” Balthier said, moving to the front of the group. “Let’s be off.”

Vossler seemed to know where they were going, so Balthier let him lead. They had to fight off a handful of knights at various places, but nothing too much. They took an elevator up once and journeyed through several winding passages. Vossler stopped them in front of a wide metal door.
“This way leads out onto the ship’s outer deck,” Vossler said.
“The deck?” Vaan asked. “You mean like, outside? Why are we going this way? Aren’t we headed for the hanger?”
“This is a short cut,” Vossler replied. “The hanger is on the opposite side of the ship, and it’s a maze to get there. We’ll go over the top of the ship and back through a doorway on the other side, and that will bring us straight-”
The sound of shouting and armored footsteps from behind cut Vossler off.
“Knights,” Balthier said, frowning. “I think they’ve found us.”
“Blast! Time to hurry!” Vossler turn to the keypad next to the door and tapped in the code. The door slid open, revealing a long, flat deck underneath a sky filled with stars. No lights adorned the Leviathan’s deck, leaving it lit only by moonlight and the glow from the doorway. Balthier didn’t see any railings on the sides, either. Thoughtless design. Someone could easily slip and fall over the ship’s edge to Bhujerba far below.
“There they are!” An Archadian knight appeared in the hallway behind them.
“RUN!” Vossler shouted. Quick as lightning, he grabbed Ashe’s hand and bolted into the night. Ashe let out a gasp as he dragged her away, clearly surprised. Balthier smirked at her look of astonishment, then dashed out after them.
Half a dozen knights charged out after them. Arrows flew from the division of knights, sailing over the ship’s edge and disappearing into the night far below. Oh, blast; they have archers? Balthier was glad for the darkness, otherwise someone probably would’ve gotten shot.
Then Balthier heard a cry of terror. He stopped where he was and glanced around until he saw her. Somehow, Ashe had gotten separated from Vossler in the dash. She dangled from the side of the deck only a few feet away from him, just barely gripping the sides. A knight pointed towards her, and three of the knights broke from the doorway and ran towards the dangling princess. Then Ashe’s hold slipped, and she vanished from view.
Balthier didn’t think; he just dived for the edge. The next moment still enough for him to think, he was bending half over the deck’s edge, hands closed around Ashe’s arm, wondering what on Ivalice he was doing. The princess turned stunned eyes up to stare at him, clearing having trouble processing the fact that she was still alive.
“Give me a hand here!” Balthier said, straining to yank her back up to the deck. He heard an arrow swish nearby and knew it was a miracle he hadn’t been hit already. This princess had better be grateful!
Coming back to her senses, Ashe swung up her other hand and grabbed the deck’s rim. With both of them pulling, Ashe was back up on deck in a few moments.
“Get up,” Balthier said, quickly finding his feet. “And run!” Ashe managed to get upright again, and the two of them sprinted towards the opposite door. It was still open, and they made it inside, the knights on their heels. Balthier spun to the keypad, jammed in the code he’d seen Vossler use, and the door slid closed. The knights outside let out shouts of frustration, and Balthier sighed with relief.
“That was a bit too close,” he said. He turned to Ashe. “You alright, princess?”
“Yes, I… I’m fine,” Ashe replied. She was still gasping for breath. “You… You saved me. Thank you!”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Balthier said, shrugging.
“You’re… Balthier, right?” Ashe asked, her blue eyes fixed on him. “Or were you Vaan?”
“It’s Balthier,” Balthier replied. He glanced down the corridor. The bright light was blinding after the dark night outside. “It looks like the others have already moved on. We should hurry if we want to catch up with them.”
“Oh, yes,” Ashe said, nodding. She had one hand clamped over her arm, blood running out between her fingers.
“Hold on,” Balthier said. “You are hurt. The archers hit you?”
“It’s just a graze,” Ashe said. “I’ll be fine.”
Balthier rolled his eyes. “Of course you will be.” He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and tore it lengthwise. “Let’s get you fixed up then hurry after the others.”
“Really, I’m fine,” Ashe said.
“Oh, do stop with the tough act,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“It’s not an act!” Ashe replied. She didn’t resist as he started to bandage her arm, though.
“You may be good enough to fool the likes of Basch and Vossler,” Balthier said as he wrapped the bandage around her wound, “but you can’t fool me. I know a cover when I see one.”
Ashe didn’t reply. She stared at Balthier a few moments, then looked pointedly away. Oh dear, Balthier thought. There I’ve gone and insulted her. But there wasn’t time to sit there and make up. There were still knights right outside the door, and it was only a matter of time before they got it open.
“All done,” Balthier said, tying off the bandage. “Now let’s hurry.”
Balthier and Ashe were just rounding the next corner when Vossler met up with them.
“Your Highness!” He rushed up to Ashe, his look of panic melting away. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Ashe said, nodding. “Thanks to Balthier.” Apparently she wasn’t too mad at him.
Vossler turned a simmering gaze to Balthier. That was about all he could take. What did this Vossler guy have against him?
“Your welcome, Vossler,” Balthier said. “Of course, it’s not like I’ve just gone and saved your princess’s life or anything. There’s no need to grateful.”
Vossler scowled at him one more time before turning back to Ashe. “Come on, Highness. The docking bay is just up ahead. The others are already there.”
“Oh, yes.” Ashe nodded. 
Balthier, Vossler, and Ashe continued down the hallway and through the door at the end. Inside, five Atomos were lined up in front of an already open docking port. The night sky, filled with sleeping ships under the shimmering stars, spread out before them. The city of Bhujerba glittered with the distant light of lamps, dying out one by one as the street markets closed their shops for the night. The moon, a glimmering half-circle of pure white light, nestled among the stars just over the sea, bathing the waters in its silvery light. Inside the hanger, Basch, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo stood just a few yards away from one of the Atomos with its door wide open. But between them and their escape craft stood Judge Ghis. He held two long swords, their black metal gleaming in the mixture of harsh, artificial light from the hanger and the soft moonlight outside. Balthier, Vossler, and Ashe stopped at the sight.
“Ah.” Ghis turned his attention to the newcomers. “There she is. Princess Ashe.” Ghis strode forward, walking past the others to confront the princess. Vossler whipped out his sword, a massive, broad blade, holding it defiantly between Ashe and Ghis.
“I see your bodyguards are ever faithful,” Ghis said. “Now, princess, I’ll give you one more chance. Help us bring peace to Dalmasca, or die here by my hand.”
“No,” Ashe shook her head. “I won’t help the Empire!”
Ghis let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Very well. If you’re intent on being so stubborn, then Archadia no longer has any use for you!”
Ghis jabbed with both his swords. Vossler blocked one attack, and Ashe managed to dodge the other. She had no blade of her own and would be helpless in a battle. Ghis leapt back, raising his swords for another charge. Balthier felt frustratingly useless. The guards had taken all of their weapons, not just Ashe’s, so Vossler was the only one with a sword, and he looked outmatched fighting alone against an Archadian Judge. The crash of steel on steel echoed through the hanger, a harsh music full of both strength and desperation as Ghis drove Vossler back against one of the Atomos. With Vossler’s back pressed against the vessel’s wall, it looked like his fate was sealed. Ghis brought down a crushing overhead blow, but Vossler blocked it with lightning speed. With his other blade, Ghis made a thrust to run him through, but Vossler swung his blade around, managing to deflect it. He shoved with such strength that he pushed Ghis back, extracting himself from the precarious position.
“Get Ashe away!” Vossler shouted above the din of the clashing blades, his eyes fixed on the princess. Blocking another blow, he turned his gaze to Basch. “Captain! Protect the princess!”
Basch nodded, then turned to Ashe.
“Now, while we have the chance.” Basch turned to Ashe. “We must leave now.”
“But…” Ashe swung desperate eyes between Basch and Vossler, locked in deadly combat with Ghis.
“You heard him!” Balthier said, loud enough everyone could hear. “Everyone, on to the ship! This is our only chance!”
Fran beckoned to Vaan and Penelo and led the two teenagers towards the small ship, Basch close behind. Balthier followed, but stopped when he saw Ashe wasn’t coming.
“Ashe!” Balthier strode back over to her. “We have to go.”
“But Vossler! We can’t leave him!” Ashe said. Her blue eyes were wide as she watched the combat. Ghis sent strike after deadly strike at Vossler, and Vossler narrowly blocked again and again. It was only a matter of time before he got skewered. Whatever differences Balthier had had with the man in their short acquaintance, he recognized now that Vossler was willing to die for his princess. Ashe, whose eyes had shown with such unending determination back on the bridge, looked on the brink of tears. Balthier didn’t want her to have to witness Vossler’s end.
“Princess! Come on! We have to go.”
Ashe shook her head. “No! I’m not leaving without Vossler!”
“We can’t help him now!” Balthier said. Ashe’s stubbornness was starting to get to him. “He’s doing this for you, Ashe! Do want him to die for nothing?”
Ashe glanced helplessly between Balthier and Vossler, saying nothing. Ghis struck a blow at Vossler, managing to hit his sword arm. The strike found a joint in Vossler’s armor, and he let out a hiss of pain. Vossler kept fighting, but his lightning reflexes were slowing. They had to leave now or never. Balthier grabbed Ashe’s arm and dragged her back towards the Atomos where everyone else was waiting. They stood just outside the doorway, watching Vossler and Ghis’s death duel with rapt attention. After a few moments, Ashe found her feet and followed reluctantly, her eyes always fixed on her guardian in his deadly fight for her escape. Balthier tightened his grip to keep her moving. Finally, they reached the others waiting.
“Everyone, on board now,” Balthier said. “We-”
He cut off at another crashing clang. Vossler had aimed his own blow at Ghis, and the Judge blocked it with both his swords. It one fluent motion Ghis flung Vossler back with the combined force of his two blades, sending the valiant knight flying across the floor.
“Vossler!” Ashe all but screamed; Balthier’s grip was the only thing that held her from flying to Vossler’s side. Vossler tried to push himself up, but his strength failed, and he slumped back to lie on the floor. Balthier expected Ghis to move in for the final strike, but the Judge turned to the group at the Atomos instead.
“This is the end of the line for you, insurgents!” he shouted. Ghis dropped both his swords, raising his hands over his head. A drop of golden light formed in the air above him, growing larger by the second.
“Myst!” Fran cried. “He’s using a spell!”
And it looked like a doozy of one. The orb of collected myst seethed in a mass of glittering golden energy. The air around it rippled like a heat haze. Such a massive spell would surely wipe them out.
Then a stabbing pain split Balthier’s head, and it was all he could do not to cry out. This happened so often lately he recognized the pain immediately: nethicite. Only, this was different. It didn’t feel like the nethicite back at Draklor labs, or the Dusk Shard. This was something unnatural, something sharp and cold. It felt like icy claws raking across his mind, backed with a hissing voice that rasped, ‘I’m hungry.’ Before Balthier could even wonder where this nethicite was or why it was reacting this way now, the orb of myst energy collecting for Ghis’s spell rippled and warped, twisting into a stream that rushed straight towards them. But instead of exploding and wiping them all out, it fastened onto one destination and began to drain away. Balthier turned, and what he saw made it all clear. Penelo, Vaan’s little sister, held in her hands the manufactured nethicite Larsa had in the mines. That was what the little prince had given her? Of course, Larsa didn’t know that it was potentially one of the most dangerous things on Ivalice.
The myst from Ghis’s spell drained straight into the nethicite, disappearing as the stone’s aquamarine glow grew brighter. The wretched feeling of the nethicite’s satisfaction flooded the air all the more, and Balthier clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. The stone greedily slurped up every last drop of Ghis’s spell, draining dry his supply of myst. The world was silent as everyone stared in awe at Penelo’s nethicite. When the stone had finally devoured everything it could reach, Ghis dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.
“What…?” His voice was weak, barely audible beneath his helmet. “What… is that?” Balthier agreed with his sentiment.
“Vossler!” Ashe broke from the others and rushed to her protector’s side. Balthier followed her, the others close behind. Vossler lay on the floor, gasping for breath. The wound on his arm bled freely, pooling on the ground beneath him. Balthier couldn’t see any other wounds, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
“Your Highness…” Vossler gasped out. “Ashe… You have to… go.”
Ashe dropped to her knees beside Vossler, saying nothing but clearly stifling tears. Fran rushed over to Vossler’s other side and knelt down also, holding out her hands. A glow as pure and white as moonlight flowed out, bathing Vossler’s wounds. Balthier kept an eye on Ghis in case he got back up, but the Judge seemed incapacitated. He just sat there on his knees, gasping for air, oblivious to anything else. The cold reality of the nethicite’s power was a terrifying one; that wasn’t even its full potential. Balthier had felt it; that stone hadn’t been attacking, just sucking up as much myst as it could. What could the nethicite do when used for destruction?
After a few moments, Vossler managed to sit up.
“I’m fine,” he said between breaths. “We have to leave. They’ll be after us soon.”
Basch nodded, a single, firm jerk. “Vossler. If you can stand, let’s go.”
The captain helped Vossler get to his feet, slinging his uninjured arm around his shoulder. Vossler on his feet, the party rushed towards their Atomos. They hurried on board, flying out into the night sky beyond. Atomos could only fly short distances, but it would take them to Bhujerba’s aerodrome. After that, then they’d figure out what to do next.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty

The Skycity of Bhujerba
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Balthier could barely believe it as the Atomos sailed out of the Leviathan’s hanger and into the night sky. They were all alive, even Vossler. The wounded knight sat slumped against the wall in the back of the cockpit, Ashe kneeling next to him. Fran was at his other side, working to heal his lingering injuries. The only seat in that Atomos was the pilot seat, and Balthier occupied that. He hated driving this thing. It was just like Fran’s hoverbike, powered by an electrical system rather than a skystone. Such a system carried very little power, barely enough to get them back to Bhujerba’s aerodrome, but it was much cheaper than the average glossair engine. The skiff was only designed to travel between ships in the fleet, so it made sense they’d use the cheaper method to build them. But piloting some zombie-type craft that moved and flew like a normal airship, but just wasn’t alive, made Balthier’s skin crawl. He shoved away the uncomfortable feeling, unwilling to let it ruin the delight of their escape. But still, this Atomos flew with no semblance of Strahl’s power and grace.
“Hey, Penelo,” Vaan asked, breaking the silence. “What was that thing you used on Ghis?”
“What?” Penelo turned to Vaan. She seemed like she was miles away. “Oh, that? I have no idea. I didn’t do anything, it just… happened, I guess.” Penelo reached into her pocket and pulled out the nethicite. The stone was devoid of any glow, now, its deep blue surface glittering in the moonlight from outside. “Larsa gave me this. I thought it was just… I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to do that!”
“Wait…” Vaan narrowed his eyes at the stone. “That’s the thing he had in the cave. What’d he call it again?”
Balthier glanced away from the windshield, letting his eyes rest briefly on the nethicite. The stone was completely silent now, slumbering after its meal. Balthier let out a sigh and turned his eyes back to the sky.
“Nethicite,” he replied. The word was bitter in his mouth.
“But what is it?” Vaan asked, his eyes fixed on Penelo’s stone. “I mean, you saw what it did to that Judge!”
Balthier didn’t reply. He knew what nethicite could do, but as to what it was, he had no answer. Even if he did know, Balthier didn’t want to drag all the others into his plans.
“We’re headed back to Bhujerba, right?” Vossler’s voice interrupted the conversation. He stood shakily to his feet, leaning one hand against the wall. Blood still stained his armor, but evidently his wounds were all healed.
“That’s as far as this bucket of bolts will take us,” Balthier replied.
“Once we get there, we head straight to Ondore’s manor,” Vossler said. “The princess should be safe there.”
“Vossler,” Ashe began. “What about the-”
“Not here,” Vossler cut her off.
Ashe didn’t reply, her gaze falling to the ground. Balthier pulled his full attention back to driving, rather than worrying about whatever Vossler, Ashe and their resistance was scheming up. They were nearly to the aerodrome, and he needed to focus on docking unnoticed.

…

The party managed to dock in the aerodrome undetected and slip out into Bhujerba’s night. Vossler led them to another entrance to that same hidden passageway that had brought them to Ondore’s estate the previous day, and they easily slipped inside. Some guards found them and said that “their arrival was expected.” With that, they were led to Ondore’s meeting room up on the top floor, the same room Balthier, Fran, Basch, and Vaan had gone less than a day before. It felt like forever ago now. The double doors swung open, and the two guards led the party inside.
“Uncle Halim!” Ashe said as they entered.
Ondore greeted her with a smile. “Ashe!” he said. “I am glad to see you are well.” Ondore turned to the guards. “You may leave us, now.” The guards bowed and exited the room, closing the double doors behind them. “Vossler.” Ondore nodded to the knight. “You did a fine job. And you as well, Basch. I thank you both for your valent effort in bringing Lady Ashe back safely.”
Balthier wanted quite badly to point out the fact that he and the others had also done their share of rescuing, and not entire of their own free will. He did, however, manage to keep his mouth shut.
“Uncle,” Ashe said, “the Empire has the Dusk Shard! What-”
“Princess, we’ll discuss such things in the morning. For now-” Ondore rested a hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “-you must be exhausted. You may all stay here tonight, if you wish. There’s room enough.”
“We thank you, Marquis,” Basch replied. Balthier might have interjected with something clever or expressed the tinge of annoyance he felt at Basch speaking for all of them, but it had been a long night. As much as he loathed to admit it, Balthier was exhausted.
“Very well. I’ll have my guards escort you to your rooms,” Ondore said. He turned to Ashe. “Don’t worry, princess,” he said in a hushed tone. “Everything will be fine.”
“I…” Ashe let out a sigh. “I hope so.”

…

Ashe couldn’t sleep. Even though she was exhausted, her mind wouldn’t rest. So she wandered the halls of Ondore’s manor, mulling over the ancient legends of her family and King Raithwall. In order to restore Dalmasca and claim her right to be queen, Ashe needed proof of her royal lineage. The Dusk Shard was the Empire’s now, but perhaps…
Ashe found a hallway with a tall window on one wall and stopped there. She stared out the window at the beautiful half-moon, awash with ethereal silver light. The half-circle rested high in the sky, indicating that it was somewhere around midnight. Stars swirled around it, decorating the inky tapestry of the sky like tiny diamonds, clear and bright, tiny yet oh-so beautiful. Ashe let out a sigh; it had been a long time since anything in her life had been so simple and wonderful.
“Ashe? Even after your long day, you can’t sleep?”
“Uncle Halim?” Ashe turned at Ondore’s voice. He stood behind her, still dressed in his elaborate orange and white robe. While he wasn’t her uncle by blood, Bhujerba’s Marquis had been a very close friend of Ashe’s father, the king, and Ashe had grown up thinking of him as family. She hadn’t seen him since before the war, and she was overjoyed at their reunion. However, it was hardly in pleasant circumstances.
“What are you doing up?” Ondore asked. “You really should get some rest, Ashe.”
Ashe let out a sigh. “But, uncle… What are we going to do? About the Dusk Shard?”
“I’m certain the resistance will do all they can to retrieve it,” Ondore said, walking up to stand beside Ashe at the window. “However, it may be that it is lost forever.”
“Then… what about the Dawn Shard?” Ashe asked. “Raithwall’s legend talks about it. With that, we wouldn’t need the Dusk Shard! I’ve been thinking… I could go to find it! And then-”
“On you own?” Ondore asked, more than a little shocked. “Ashe, if the legends are even true, the Dawn Shard lies in Raithwall’s tome, deep within Jagd Yensa. The jagd is filled with foul beasts, the tome full of traps, and with the Empire after you as well… You really believe you can get there and back all on your own?”
“Well… Maybe Hasta could come with me,” Ashe said. “Or Vossler. But we need that stone! If-”
“Ashe,” Ondore lowered his voice. “Your safety is more important than anything else, as far as Dalmasca is concerned. Vossler, Basch and I have decided you will remain here, at my manor, for the time being. It is the only way to ensure no harm comes to you.”
“What?” Ashe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But… But I can handle myself in the field! I can! I don’t need to be protected! I want to do my part!”
“Ashe, this is your part,” Ondore said. “Wait here safely and give the people hope. As long as they know the princess leads them, the resistance will keep fighting. And when the time is right, you will take your throne, and all will be well.”
“But, I…” Ashe trailed off, struggling for the rights words to say what had troubled her for years. “I can’t lead! Vossler and the others, they all tell the resistance what to do! The only help I can offer is on the field. Uncle Halim, I… What did I ever do to earn that sort of respect?”
“You were born to a king,” Ondore replied. “That is how things work in this world. Ashe, you have your role to play, and we all rely on you playing it well.”
Ashe didn’t reply. She stared at the floor with no words to express the frustration she felt. Ondore placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Get some rest, Ashe,” he said. “Things will all be clearer in the morning.”
Ashe nodded slowly, then turned to head to her room. An idea was forming in her head, a reckless and dangerous one. As soon as she was around the corner, she glanced back once to make sure Ondore wasn’t following her, then headed towards the staircase. The thought that she could sit there and watch as her people fought made Ashe sick. So, no matter how dangerous or foolhardy it was, Ashe resolved then and there what she would do, and she wouldn’t let anyone stop her.

…

Even after a long day, Balthier couldn’t sleep. He lay there for hours, tossing and turning on the unfamiliar bed in one of Ondore's many guest chambers. Every time he closed his eyes, the only thing he could see was the nethicite, either the Dusk Shard’s harsh light, like the glow of a distant inferno, or the cold, piercing light of that manufactured nethicite. Manufactured nethicite… That thought was chilling indeed. If his father had somehow managed to make more of the nethicite, then who knew what he’d do with it? And Lord Larsa had had a piece of it, so that meant there was some connection to Archadia’s higher authorities, as well. Dr. Cid may very well not be alone in his schemes.
The nethicite’s intense power had stirred another memory in Balthier’s mind, one he had almost succeeded in blocking out: that ghostly creature that had waited within the first piece of nethicite. With everything going on in Archadia with the nethicite and the war at the time, that inexplicable encounter had been the last thing on Ffamran’s mind. He’d managed not to think about it over the years, and it hadn’t even entered his mind as he considered going back to resolve the nethicite affair. It was obvious the two were related, and Balthier couldn’t ignore the mystery behind that creature. He had a feeling that, if he stuck with this, he’d find those answers whether he wanted them or not.
Eventually, Balthier’s exhaustion won over, and he fell into an uneasy sleep. In his dreams, he was back in Nabudis, stumbling over the nethicite and struggling futilely against that creature. He felt its claws in his mind as clearly as the day it happened…

“Balthier?”
The image of Nabudis’s destruction wavered, blending eerily with the shadowy walls of some unadorned bedchamber. Balthier was dimly aware that the scene from his memory wasn’t real, and he struggled to pull himself from the beckoning dreamscape.
“Balthier! Can you hear me?”
The voice was distant, but Balthier could hear it in his mind. Still shaking off sleep, it took him a few moments to recognize it.
“Strahl? What are you doing?”
“Oh, you can! Good.” Strahl sighed with relief. “You’ve gotta be halfway across the city! You know how hard it is to make contact from this far away?”
“Wait, what’s going on?” Balthier asked. He was fully awake now. “What’s so important you had to reach me?”
“It’s that princess you thought was so pretty!” Strahl said. “She’s trying to steal me!”
“Hold on a moment,” Balthier said. “How do you even know about her? And I don’t believe I ever said anything like that.”
“I just skimmed the story out of your thoughts,” Strahl replied. “It’s easy enough. I do it all the time.”
Balthier sighed. “She’s trying to steal you.”
“Yeah,” Strahl replied. “She won’t get anywhere, don’t worry. She doesn’t have a clue how to fly an airship. I’m just worried she’ll get me off the ground and forget to open the hanger roof first.”
“How did she even get in there?” Balthier asked.
“You left my door unlocked,” Strahl replied.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Well, you do it all the time,” Strahl said. “No one’s ever tried to steal me before.”
Balthier sighed, shaking his head. “Just hold on. I’ll be right there.” Balthier threw off the covers and swung his legs off the bed. He hurried to dress, then started the task of finding his way out of Ondore’s mansion. It wasn’t as hard as he expected, and soon Balthier was striding down the streets of Bhujerba, illuminated only by the gentle light of the moon and stars. From the moon’s position, Balthier guessed it was past midnight. After clearing a few blocks, he reached out to Strahl again. Making contact from that far away, even with Strahl, was difficult, but their connection was sure and easy enough to follow.
“Strahl, how are things?” he asked. “Ashe hasn’t managed to get anything working yet, right?”
“Don’t worry, she’s hopeless,” Strahl replied. “Vaan found her and they’re arguing now.”
“Wait, Vaan’s there, too?” Balthier said. “What’s he doing there?”
“He was just looking around,” Strahl replied. “What’s harm in that?”
Balthier sighed. “I can’t believe this. When I get there…”
“Oh, calm down,” Strahl said. “First you flip out at Larsa, now this- What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t lecture me, Strahl,” Balthier said.
Strahl sighed. “Oh, don’t worry, I understand. You can’t stand the thought of being without my wonderful presence-”
“Oh, no melodramatics either, please.”
“No lectures, no melodramatics.” Strahl sighed. “What do you want?”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “I’ve been asking myself that for a long time.”
“Well, last I checked,” Strahl said, “it was stop nethicite, end you father’s plans, put Archadia back in its place. Right?”
“I barely know what the nethicite is or what it does,” Balthier said. “I don’t know what my father or Archadia is planning, or if those two things are the same. All I know is that nethicite is dangerous, my father is dangerous, and there’s an exasperating little princess desperate to save her kingdom trying to steal my airship. And before I can do anything, I need to know what nethicite is and how it works. Only now Archadia has the Dusk Shard, and the only piece of nethicite around is the manufactured bit Vaan’s little sister has. I don’t want to drag them into this, and besides, that piece felt… different somehow. I don’t think Archadia’s perfected this manufacture yet. At least, I can hope so.”
“So… you need to find more of the stuff?” Strahl said.
“Oh…” Balthier sighed, shaking his head to clear out the confused thoughts. “All I know right now is that I don’t want the little princess crashing you into the aerodrome roof.”
“I second that,” Strahl.

Balthier continued down the streets of Bhujerba, eventually reaching the aerodrome. Inside, it was easy enough to find Strahl. She sat there in her hanger, the same as usual. He could barely make out her massive form in the shadows of the hanger bay. The aerodrome was all closed up for the night, every light off.
“Strahl, I’m here,” Balthier said as he pulled open her door.
“They’re both up in the cockpit,” Strahl said.
Balthier climbed the short stairway and stopped at the top, just before the empty doorway to the cockpit. Ashe sat in his pilot’s seat, struggling with various switches and buttons on the control panel.
“But… You can’t just take Balthier’s ship!” Vaan said. He stood behind Ashe’s seat.
“I’ll bring it back,” Ashe said. She pulled one leaver, then groaned in frustration when nothing happened. “Oh, why doesn’t this thing work?”
“I’m sure it works fine,” Vaan said. “It’s just… Have you ever flown an airship before?”
“Well, no…” Ashe leaned back into the captain’s chair, letting out a sigh. “I have to do something! The Marquis just wants me to hide away safely, and I can’t do that! I have to do my part!”
Balthier decided this was a good time to make his entrance. But not the traditional way. He reached up and pulled off a microphone that hung just within the doorway, a long wire attaching it to the wall and Strahl’s communications. And loudspeaker. Enough to get the attention of the little would-be thief. But no, why not scare her, too? Balthier pushed a few buttons and spoke into the mic.
“So here’s where you ran off to, Highness.”
The voice that broadcasted over Strahl’s speakers sounded perfectly like Marquis Ondore’s.
Ashe let out a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Vaan whipped around with equal surprise. Balthier couldn’t help but smirk.
“What do you think? A little over the top?” he asked the stunned princess, pulling the mic away from his mouth. “In my line of work, you never know when something like this might come in handy.” He hung the mic back up on the wall. “Now, princess, exactly what are you doing here?”
“Balthier. I… I have to leave.” Ashe shook off her shock and threw up a veil of confidence. “There’s… something I need to do.”
“And just like that, you think I’m going to let you fly off?” Balthier asked. Ashe faltered, finding no response. “That’s what I thought,” Balthier said. “Now, what exactly do you have to do so badly?”
“I… I…” Ashe fumbled for words. “I need proof of my lineage. To become queen, when this is all over. Only, now the Empire has the Dusk Shard. You saw how it glowed when I was near it, right? That relic is the only way to prove I’m descended from King Raithwall.” Ashe let out a sigh, pausing a moment before continuing. “Only… It’s not the only way. The legends tell of another shard, the Dawn Shard. They say it was buried with Raithwall in his tomb. If I can get that, then I can prove my right and restore Dalmasca!”
“Another shard?” Balthier asked suddenly growing interested. If there was another shard, then maybe that was nethicite as well. “Where exactly is this Raithwall’s tomb?”
“Deep within Jagd Yensa,” Ashe replied. “Please, I have to go! Maybe… you could take me?”
Balthier scoffed. “You do realize journeying into a jagd is about the most dangerous thing you could do, right? That’s no small favor to ask.” But, if the Dawn Shard was nethicite, it might do Balthier some good to see it for himself, or at least make sure it didn’t fall into imperial hands.
“But I have to!” Ashe said, her eyes glowing in desperation. Balthier heaved a sigh.
“What about Ondore? And Vossler? How do they feel about this little plot of yours?”
“They… they don’t understand!” Ashe closed her eyes, breathing for a moment as she tried to calm down. “They want me to sit here and stay safe, while my people are risking life and limb! I have to do this, for them! For Dalmasca! For… for everyone who’s died! Balthier, please!”
Balthier sighed, conflicted. If the Dawn Shard was nethicite, then his mission would probably bring him there sooner or later. If Archadia and Vayne knew about this Dawn Shard, then if would certainly be in his best interest to retrieve it. However, though he loathed to admitting, the biggest thing swaying his decision was Ashe’s pitiful, pleading eyes.
“Sorry, princess; I don’t make a habit of throwing around favors.” Though that didn’t seem to be entirely true given recent events.
“Well, then…” Ashe stammered. “Steal me! You’re a pirate, aren’t you? Kidnap me! Sneak off into the night, and no one has to know. And then… the Dawn Shard isn’t the only thing in Raithwall’s tomb. Whatever else you find, you can have that as payment. Oh, please, Balthier, please take me!”
Balthier sighed, debating what to say.
“Fine,” Balthier said at last. “I hope you’re ready to go, princess, because we’ll be leaving very soon.” He turned to Vaan, who had listened to the whole conversation in silence. “Vaan, we’ll head back to Ondore’s mansion. I’ll get Fran, and you find that sister of yours. I’ll drop the two of you off at Rabanastre on the way.”
“Wait, but…” Vaan sighed. “Yeah, Penelo should go home, but I-”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no room for argument,” Balthier said, cutting him off. He turned and headed for the door. “Ashe, you stay here. Don’t touch anything, alright? And get out of my seat.”
“Oh, yes,” Ashe said, standing up with nervous jitters. “Th-thank you, Balthier! I… Thank you!”
“We’ll be back as soon as possible.” Balthier started down the stairway. “Come on, Vaan. We don’t have all night!”

About fifteen minutes later, Balthier stood in the dark halls of Ondore’s manor, in front of Fran’s door, Vaan beside him.
“You know where Penelo’s room is, Vaan?” Balthier asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Vaan replied. “I’ll go wake her, and then… we’ll meet back here?”
“Right. Now go on.”
Vaan strode down the hallway, disappearing around a bend. Balthier reached up and rapped on Fran’s door.
“Fran! Wake up!” Balthier kept his voice to a harsh whisper. He didn’t want to wake anyone else. The noise of stirring came from within the room. Balthier waited until the door flung open, and Fran stepped out. She looked perfectly neat and awake. Balthier wondered if she had been sleeping at all.
“What is it?” Fran asked.
“We’re leaving,” Balthier said. “We have… a new job.”
Fran cocked her head. “A job? Customers hail in the middle of the night?”
Balthier let out a chuckle. “We’ll be taking Princess Ashe into Jagd Yensa. Apparently there’s some relic she needs in there, and she wants the help of kidnappers to get there and back again.”
Fran nodded slowly. “A relic? Like… the Dusk Shard?”
“She called it ‘the Dawn Shard,’” Balthier replied. “I assume it’s the same sort of stone as the other one.”
In Fran’s eyes, there was a glimmer of… something. Fear? Worry?
“More of it?” Fran said, so quietly Balthier could barely hear her. Balthier hadn’t told her anything about the nethicite, and yet she seemed troubled by it. That was worrying.
“Fran…” Balthier chose his words carefully. “Is there… something you want to tell me?”
Fran was about to reply when another voice cut her off.
“But why are we leaving now?” It was Penelo’s voice, coming from around the bend.
“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Vaan’s voice replied. “But we gotta keep quiet. We can’t get caught.”
Vaan appeared around the corner leading a groggy Penelo. Penelo rubbed her eyes, then reached back to tie up her wild blond hair as she walked.
“Wait up, Vaan!” she said, jogging to keep up with him. Balthier bit back his frustration. He really wanted to hear what Fran was trying to say. However, her moment of openness was over. Balthier resolved to finish that conversation as soon as he got the chance.
“We’re all here now?” Balthier asked, glancing over the two kids. They nodded. “Good. Then come on; Ashe is waiting.”

…

Back in Strahl’s cockpit, Balthier couldn’t help but smile at what he saw. Ashe was sound asleep in the seat behind the pilot’s, her soft snoring the only sound in the air. She wore the tiniest, gentle smile, her soft features holding no trace of the tension and anxiety she’d had when they left her. Her hair, blond with a tinge of silvery gold, fell just past her chin, framing her face and glimmering like precious metal in the dim light. Maybe Strahl was right; she was pretty.
“Should we wake her?” Vaan asked.
“No, the poor girl’s obviously exhausted,” Balthier said, sitting down in the captain’s seat. “I guess it’s hard work being a princess. She’ll wake up when we take off, anyway.”
Fran took her place in the copilot’s seat, and Vaan sat just behind her, Penelo behind him. She looked halfway to joining Ashe in dreamland. Balthier spared the usual ‘are we all ready?’ comments and just worked on flipping switches.
Balthier pulled the last lever, and Strahl lifted slightly off the ground as the hanger roof opened. The sky stretched out above, filled with stars like shards of glowing ice. Glowing shards…
Balthier couldn’t wait to get his hands on that nethicite and find out exactly what it was. Of course, he had to get to it, first. Balthier could never have imagined how hard that would be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One

The Royal City of Rabanastre
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The sun was just peaking over the horizon as Strahl docked in Rabanastre’s aerodrome, bathing Dalmasca’s deserts with rosy light. The flight from Bhujerba to Rabanastre had been an uneventful one. Ashe struggled to stay awake while Vaan and Penelo chatted. Balthier wondered if the two teenagers would ever run out of things to talk about, but they never did. He’d be glad to be rid of them. Now that they had arrived at Rabanastre, that would be soon.
“We’re here,” Balthier said, standing up from his pilot’s seat. “Vaan, Penelo; this is your stop.”
“Well, Balthier,” Vaan started, “I was thinking-”
“You can’t come, sorry,” Balthier said. He had no desire to take care of those kids a moment longer.
Vaan sighed. “I thought so.”
“Why would you want to?” Penelo asked, frowning. “It’s dangerous!”
Vaan sighed again, then turned to Ashe. “Bye, princess. It was great to meet you!”
“Oh, yes.” Ashe stood, still looking exhausted. “It was… good to meet you, too.”
“Alright, down to business.” Balthier strode to the cockpit’s doorway where he could address the entire group. “Vaan, Penelo; go home. Fran and I will go around town to gather supplies, and meet back here as soon as we’re done. I hope to leave for Jagd Yensa before noon.”
“What should I do?” Ashe asked. Balthier studied her tired face a moment before replying.
“Stay here and take a nap.”
“What?” Ashe’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am,” Balthier said. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today, and I can’t have you falling asleep on your feet.”
“But… Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”
Balthier sighed. “Here, if any Moogles come in here, tell them to leave, alright?”
Ashe frowned in confusion, but Balthier ignored her. He turned and walked down the stairs.
“Come on, Fran. Vaan, Penelo, are you leaving?”
Fran followed Balthier down the stairs, Vaan and Penelo close behind.

Vaan and Penelo said their goodbyes outside the aerodrome, then set off down the bright streets of Rabanastre. Balthier was surprised by the tinge of disappointment he felt as he watched them go. He’d gotten used to having Vaan around, sure, but it would be easier to get things done without the kid underfoot. So, of course, there was no reason to be disappointed.
Tents, provisions, and other basic survival equipment had to be gathered, so Balthier and Fran split up to cover more ground quicker. Balthier found a lot of trouble in obtaining a map of Jagd Yensa. The massive desert sprawled to the west of Rabanastre, drenched in a myst so thick no airship could operate. That meant, while they could fly Strahl out to the edge of the Westersand, they’d be walking the rest of the way. The desert of Jagd Yensa, also known as the Yensa Sandsea, was, like all jagds, a dangerous place full of vicious creatures and other unpredictable natural forces. It was rarely traveled and apparently, mapped even less. Balthier tried two shops and eventually found a traveling cartographer selling out of his caravan in an open-air marketplace. He figured the man might have some more exotic maps then the local stores and decided to give it one more try.
“Jagd Yensa?” the man said after Balthier asked. “I’ve maps from the Tchita Uplands to the Ozmone Plain, but it’s asking a lot to find a man who’s walked the depths of jagd just for the sake of a map.” The man shook his head, stroked his short beard for a moment, then spoke again. “I’ve got a few maps from an old friend in the back. I’ll check those, but if there’s nothing there, you’re out of luck, my friend.”
“That’s alright,” Balthier said. “I’m willing to take a chance at this point.”
“Well then, just wait here and I’ll be right back.” The mapmaker climbed into his caravan parked by the roadside, vanishing beneath the thick canvas sides. The chocobo tied up next to it, whom Balthier assumed pulled the vehicle, chirped and thrust its head under the canvas, as if curious about what its owner was up to. Balthier stood by the roadside, watching.
“Hey. You there.”
Balthier nearly jumped at the voice. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, but as he turned, he saw a woman standing nearby at the roadside. She had long hair of darkened blond, like Ashe’s, and her bangs were combed to one side, covering one of her cool amber eyes. She wore a blue-grey tunic and matching breeches, a long, thin sword in a leather sheath tied at her belt. She was completely silent, staring at the mapmaker’s wagon. She seemed so distant Balthier wondered if it was her who’d spoken.
“Did you hear me?” This time the woman let her gaze drift sideways at him. Her eyes narrowed in a most unfriendly way.
“What is it?” Balthier asked, more than a little suspicious of this newcomer.
“You’re a sky pirate, right?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Why do you ask?” Balthier replied.
“Because I’m looking for one,” the woman replied. “One in particular. You know a Balthier?”
“And if I do?” Balthier said. This was beyond suspicious. Who was this strange woman?
The woman let out a chuckle. “Yeah, I thought so. Listen: tell the little princess Hasta’s looking for her, alright?” And then she turned around and walked back down the street, vanishing around a bend. Balthier stared after her, brow furrowed in confusion. ‘The little princess’ meant Ashe, of course, but who was that woman? One of the resistance, or maybe an imperial spy? Perhaps Ashe would be able to shed some light on the matter.
“You see something?” That was cartographer. He had climbed out of his wagon and walked towards Balthier.
“No, nothing important,” Balthier said, tearing his eyes away from where the mysterious woman had disappeared. “Did you find that map?”
“No, sorry. I’m afraid your out of luck.” The mapmaker threw up his hands in a hopeless gesture. “Just out of curiosity, what takes you to the Yensa Sandsea, anyway? It’s hardly a vacation destination.”
“Just business,” Balthier replied. “If that’s all, I think I’ll take my leave, now. Thank you for your efforts.”
The mapmaker nodded in acknowledgement, and Balthier set off down the streets of Rabanastre, back towards the aerodrome. Hopefully, they’d be ready to leave as soon as he got there, even without a map.

Inside Strahl’s cockpit, the first thing Balthier saw was Ashe pacing back and forth between the two rows of seats, head hung in thought. She didn’t look nearly as tired as before. The next thing Balthier noticed was that Fran wasn’t there.
“Hello, princess,” Balthier said. Ashe lifted her head, halting her pacing.
“Oh, hello,” she said. Her eyes glittered with a suppressed apprehension, and she refused to meet Balthier’s gaze. He guessed she was just worried about their trip.
“Fran hasn’t come back yet?” Balthier asked, taking one more glance over the cockpit. Ashe just shook her head in reply.
“Odd.” Balthier walked down the aisle, stopping at the wide panel of controls. “She’s usually quick.” He plopped down in his seat with a sigh. “I suppose we just wait, then.” This was also the perfect opportunity to get Ashe’s take on the strange woman from before. Balthier didn’t intend to waste it.
Ashe sat down in a seat in the second row, just behind the copilot’s seat. She leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on some point far away, or perhaps one that existed only in her memories. Balthier took this moment to broach the subject.
“I met someone out in the marketplace,” Balthier said. “It seemed she was looking for you.”
“Really?” Ashe said. That seemed to catch her attention.
“All she said was ‘tell the little princess Hasta’s looking for her.’ I hope you know what that means.”
“Oh,” Ashe said with a gasp. “Yes, I… I do know… what that means.”
Balthier sighed. “Care to clarify?”
“Hasta is one of the resistance,” Ashe replied. “Her and Vossler have been my personal guardians these past two years. I suppose… Vossler must’ve noticed I was missing and sent word to Rabanastre. Or he might be here himself…” Anxiety filled her voice again. “No, they can’t find me now…”
“Calm down, princess,” Balthier said. “We’ll be leaving in just a few minutes, as soon as Fran gets here, then we’ll be far away from your resistance friends.”
Ashe nodded, then leaned back in her seat, resuming her distant staring up at the roof.
The next half-hour was full of awkward silence. Ashe said nothing at all, and Balthier found silence unnerving. When he could take it no longer, he stood from his seat.
“I’m going to go look for Fran,” Balthier said.
“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Ashe said, standing also.
Balthier let out a sigh. “Weren’t just freaking out over the resistance finding you? And it’s not like we don’t have the Empire to worry about, as well. No, it’d be much safer for you just to wait here.”
“Again? But… but I want to help!”
Balthier sighed. It seemed like arguing with the little princess was a waste of time.
“Fine, come along. But do try and keep a low profile, alright?”
“I will,” Ashe said, “don’t worry.”
Balthier sighed once more as he turned towards the doorway. I have a feeling I’m going to.

Crisp morning sunlight washed down over the city of Rabanastre, bathing the sandy streets and buildings hewn of grey and brown stone in its light. Merchant stalls lined the main street, among which people from many of the high races wandered. A pair of Bangaa scrutinized the fruit of a human’s stand, a Seeq at an adjacent stall snorted his approval over a new weapon, and a Moogle across the street by a pen of renting chocobos struggled to calm one of the massive birds, which had been frightened by some noise from the marketplace. Though he’d seen it a lot over the last two years, such diversity still amazed Balthier; the population of Archades had been almost entirely humans, and he still couldn’t help but think of that as normal.
Ashe stared at everything with nostalgic wonder, like she was walking through her childhood home for the first time in decades.
“I haven’t been able to walk around the city like this for years,” Ashe said.
“Haven’t you been here since the war ended?” Balthier asked.
“Yes, but always hiding,” Ashe replied. “Underground, moved through secret passages, only coming out at night for strikes. Never like this.” Ashe sighed. “Really, even before the war, I could never walk around just normally. But the city… Rabanastre hasn’t changed so much. Maybe there’s hope for Dalmasca yet.”
“Perhaps,” Balthier replied. “Now keep an eye out for Fran. If she’s around, we’ll spot her. The crowds usually give her a wide berth.”
Ashe nodded. “Right, I’ll- Oh! Look! Over there!” Ashe pointed across the street, eyes wide with alarm. Balthier followed her pointing finger, expecting to see Fran at the indicated place, but he saw nothing. It took him a few moments to find what Ashe had spotted: two Archadian knights, standing over a boy who looked even younger than Vaan. The boy crouched on the dusty ground, covering his head with both arms while the knights shouted at him. One knight kicked the boy, who let out a cry. Balthier didn’t like getting involved in things, but that wasn’t something he could just watch.
“I see,” Balthier said, frowning. “Ashe, you wait here, and-”
Balthier didn’t finished, because Ashe darted away from him, straight towards the Archadian knights. He could barely believe it. Surely the princess wasn’t that foolish? Balthier shook off his shock and raced after her, wishing once more that he was a little quicker on his feet.
Balthier caught up to Ashe just as she reached the knights.
“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it right now!”
“Stop it? And who are you to tell us what to do?” one of the knights replied, turned to face Ashe.
“This rat tried to swipe my money bag!” the second knight said. “He needs to be taught a lesson! If you ask me, all you Dalmascan sand rats do!” He finished with a barking laugh.
“How dare you?!” Ashe said, eyes smoldering.
“Ahem.” Balthier came up beside Ashe, inserting himself before things could get out of hand, or the knights recognized Ashe as their escapee. “Please excuse her, sirs, she’s rather… excitable.” Humbling himself to two Archadian lapdogs, the type he’d commanded only two years before, was hardly pleasant, but it was preferable to getting caught.
“What?” Ashe snapped her gaze to Balthier. “What do you mean?”
With the knight’s attention on Ashe’s outburst, Balthier made eye contact with the boy still crouching on the ground and nodded as subtly as he could towards a nearby alleyway. The boy seemed to notice; he carefully uncurled, slipping away behind the two knights towards the escape route.
“So you want us to forgive this defiance?” the first knight said, his gaze dancing between Balthier and Ashe.
“You have no right to rule in the first place!” Ashe snarled. That got the two knights upset. The first one growled in his throat, and the second rested at hand on his sword hilt.
“Why don’t you calm down, Ashe?” Balthier said. He realized too late that he’d said her name, but the knights didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t think this is really our place to interfere.” Of course, the boy had already gotten away, so the interference was all said and done. Ashe hadn’t noticed this yet, however.
“Balthier!” Ashe swung an astonished look to him. “What are you saying? You’re on their side?”
“I think you should listen to your boyfriend, blonde,” the second knight sneered. “Archadia does what she likes in her provinces.”
Ashe swung a look of shock and horror between Balthier and the knights, floundering for words until she spotted the little boy’s absence.
“Oh!” she gasped. The two knights spun around, muttering and cursing their surprise and irritation.
“I think that’s our cue,” Balthier hissed into Ashe’s ear. He turned to leave, but Ashe stayed rooted to the spot. Unwilling to wait until she decided to follow, Balthier turned back, grabbed Ashe’s wrist, and dragged her after him as he crossed the street. It seemed like he was always dragging Ashe around. The princess stayed right where she’d planted herself until someone forcibly removed her. Stubborn as a mule and reckless to boot.
Balthier released Ashe’s wrist once they’d made it across the street, then turned on her with a scowl.
“What happened to keeping a low profile?”
“I wasn’t going to do nothing!” Ashe replied. “Unlike you, apparently!”
Balthier sighed. “We distracted the guards, and the kid got away. Everything worked out. You should be glad those knights didn’t do their homework, otherwise you’d be back behind imperial bars.”
“But I… I…” Ashe shook her head with I sigh. “I couldn’t do nothing.”
“Well, next time, think a bit before you go flying off to save the day.” Balthier turned to continued down the street. “Come on, princess. We still have to find Fran.”

Balthier and Ashe continued into the next open marketplace, but Fran was nowhere to be found. They looked all over, and eventually stooped to asking if anyone had seen a Viera recently, but the answer was always no. Balthier had expected Fran was just running a little behind, but now he was getting really worried. After a while, he and Ashe had stopped in the shade of an alleyway to discuss their next move. The day was getting on, and the desert sun beat down mercilessly.
“I don’t understand,” Balthier muttered under his breath. “Where is she?”
“We’ve looked everywhere reasonable,” Ashe said. “If you sent her to fetch supplies, why hasn’t anyone in the marketplaces seen her?”
“I… I don’t know.” Balthier shook his head and sighed with frustration. “It just doesn’t make sense…”
“HEY! Balthier!”
Balthier looked up sharply at the sound of his name. Dashing across the street towards him and Ashe was none other than Vaan. Balthier let out a groan.
“Oh, not again.”
Vaan darted into the alley, then bent over, leaning on his knees and panting for breath.
“Vaan? What are you doing here?” Ashe asked.
“Hey, is… is Fran with you?” Vaan asked between breaths, ignoring Ashe’s question.
“No,” Balthier replied. “We’re looking for her. Why?”
Worry flashed on Vaan’s face. “Well… One of the other orphans, he told me he saw some weird guys and a Viera fighting down in Lowtown. I just thought… I mean, I’ve never seen another Viera around Rabanastre, and since you guys were still in town…”
“I see.” Balthier did not like the sound of that. “That does sound disturbingly plausible. In Lowtown, you said? Can you take us there?” Lowtown was the underground, less desirable section of Rabanastre. What Fran was doing there, Balthier couldn’t fathom, but it was a good a lead as they had.
“Sure thing,” Vaan said, nodding. “It’s just this way. Follow me!”

Lowtown was accessed through a large gateway at near Rabanastre’s south gate. Vaan said there were other entrances, but this one would bring them closer to the spot of the fight. Balthier tried to get some more information out of him, but Vaan said he only knew what he’d been told. The other orphan, who’d seen the whole event, was waiting down at the scene.
Lowtown was vastly different from Rabanastre, though its occupants were no less varied. Members of all four of the commonly seen high races walked the tunnel-like streets of the underground city. The walls were made of tiled stone like the floors, obviously man-made if not well maintained. Small brooks of underground spring water ran here and there, and the street simply arched over them. The shadowy underground passages and plazas were lit with small lights hanging from the ceiling, emitting a soft, golden-white glow. No chocobos or carts could be seen, no stands or merchants, only ragged people and stacks of crates. Rabanastre’s buried slums.
Vaan led Balthier and Ashe to a large open plaza, where a few grates in the ceiling let in rays of sunlight. Plants sprouted up around a once fabulous fountain, now covered in ivy and moss. People sat all around the fountain, chatting among themselves. A large, charred crater in one wall hinted the use of a powerful spell, and recently, given the smoke still curling slowly from the crumbled stone. Uprooted plants, other smaller impacts in the walls and on the fountain all told that quite the fight had taken place there. As they entered the plaza, a boy with sandy brown hair jumped to his feet and rush to meet the newcomers. He was younger than Vaan by a few years, Balthier guessed.
“Vaan! You’re here!” the boy said, grinning up at Vaan. “Hey, these those friends you were talking about?”
“Hey, Kytes,” Vaan said. “Yeah, this is Balthier and Ashe.” And there he’d gone and spilled out Ashe’s name. At least this kid had no idea what he meant.
“I’m all for pleasantries, but this is important,” Balthier cut in. He turned to Kytes. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
“Oh, sure,” Kytes said, shrinking a little under Balthier’s intensity. “Well, they came out of that alley over there.” Kytes pointed towards a shadowy alleyway across the street from the plaza. “That Viera lady and three guys with swords. They chased her up here and they fought on the plaza. I hid behind the fountain, so I didn’t see much, but that Viera did some really cool magic!”
Balthier sighed. “What about her attackers? Were they imperials? Knights?”
“No, they were weird,” Kytes replied. “They all dressed the same, dark clothes and brown capes. Their swords were all the same, too. Like I said, they were weird!”
Balthier frowned. That did sound odd.
“And what happened after? Where did they go?”
“One of the guys knocked the Viera out cold, and they dragged her off down there.” Kytes pointed towards a dark passage Balthier hadn’t noticed before. It led away from the plaza, the entrance barely larger than an average doorway. The walls within were old and crumbling, the lights dim and flickering. “No one goes down there anymore,” Kytes explained. “It’s been disused for years. The place is falling apart.”
“I see,” Balthier said, nodding slowly. “I suppose the next course of action is clear. Vaan, you think you can avoid getting underfoot?”
“Wait, you mean… You’ll let me help?” Vaan said with wide eyes.
“If you have a sword with you, then yes. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be easy.”
Vaan nodded, patting the scabbard that hung by his side. Balthier turned to Ashe, who was about to speak, but he cut her off.
“Sorry, Ashe. This time, you’re staying put. Stay right here, in this plaza, and don’t leave unless it becomes very unwise to remain.”
Ashe’s face hardened into a scowl, but for once, she didn’t object. “Alright,” she mumbled after a few moments.
“Good,” Balthier said. “Come on then, Vaan. Let’s go rescue Fran.”

Past the small doorway, then tunnel was just as decrepit as it appeared from the plaza. The walls had clearly once boasted the same tiled pattern as the rest of Lowtown, but now the paint and tiling had eroded away, patches of bare earth showing through in places. Cobwebs laced the ceiling, the occasional bat rousting among them. A trail of fresh footprints ran along the musty floor, leading down into the shadowy dungeon. Balthier could only assume those belonged to Fran’s captors. But who were these mysterious people, and why were they after Fran? Fran owed Balthier some answers, and he intended to collect as soon as she was safe and sound.  
“How far do these tunnel’s go?” Balthier asked as he and Vaan rounded a bend.
“I’m not sure,” Vaan’s replied. “This was a storage area way back when, but no one’s been down here for decades.”
“No one except a bunch of mysterious kidnappers,” Balthier added.
They carried on for a while longer, until Vaan stopped them.
“Wait, there’s a door over here,” Vaan said. He pointed to the wall on his right. The old wooden door eaten with mold hung on rusty hinges, and light flickered from under it.
“Right. Let’s look inside,” Balthier said, nodding. He grabbed the doors rusty handle and twisted it with some effort, then pushed the door open. Its hinges let out a whine in protest. Beyond the ancient door lay another passage, exactly like the one where they stood. Footprints trekked down both passageways.
“We could split up,” Vaan suggested.
“That sounds like asking for trouble,” Balthier replied. “Although… it is the most logical course of action. Vaan, you go down there, and I’ll keep on the main passage. If it doesn’t seem like anyone’s been there, come back and find me. If I can’t find anyone, I’ll come and join you. Understood?”
“Yep,” Vaan said with a nod. “Good luck!” Then he started off down the passage. Balthier didn’t look twice before leaving the kid and continuing down his corridor. He’d made it a few yards when shouts from Vaan’s hallway drew his attention. Balthier stopped in his tracks as the shout was followed by the clang of steel on steel. Oh, dear…
Balthier spun around and hurried back towards Vaan’s passage, trying to keep his footfalls light while keeping up a reasonable speed. The element of surprise would be key, but not if he got there too late.
Vaan had left the door open, and Balthier arrived just in time to see the kid hit the floor, obviously unconscious. Over him stood a girl who looked not much older than Kytes, dressed in a navy-blue tunic and dark brown cloak, holding a short sword. Her back was to Balthier, so he couldn’t see her face, but she had coal-black hair tied in pigtails. She was scrawny little thing, and certainly didn’t look capable of defeating Vaan in a sword duel, yet there she stood over his unconscious form. Balthier didn’t know how things could get any more confusing.
Seeing Vaan had already lost the fight, Balthier stayed where he was, using the door at cover. He watched as the girl pulled her cloak’s hood back over her head, then removed Vaan’s sword from his hand. She threw it against the wall, then grabbed Vaan under the shoulders and started to drag him down the hall. Balthier had no idea what to do. Vaan was in no immediate danger, so he had time to think. He could jump with his rifle out, but Balthier knew there was no way he could shoot a little girl like that, even if she had just taken out Vaan single-handedly. Perhaps he could-
Balthier’s thoughts broke off at the feeling of cold steel against the back of his neck. He froze instantly.
“I want your hands where I can see them,” said a voice as cold as the sword that held him in place. Balthier compliantly lifted his hands. There was really nothing he could do but obey.
“Now move forward,” the voice said.
Balthier walked in the direction he was prodded, through the doorway. He was simmering at this guy telling him what to do, but, he reminded himself again, he was in no position to argue.
“Cara,” the man behind Balthier said, and the girl dragging Vaan stopped and looked up. The shadow of her hood hid her face save, the faint outline of her nose and mouth. “Take this one, too,” the man continued. The girl in the hood nodded.
“Understood.”
“Search these two then tie them up,” the man continued. Balthier was sure he felt the sword against his neck press harder. “Can you handle this one, or should I knock him out?”
“That would be convenient,” the girl replied.
“Now, let’s not get hasty,” Balthier said, speaking up even with the sword against his neck.
“Prisoners don’t get a say,” the man said. Balthier was about to reply, but something hit the back of his head with incredible force, and world spun into blackness.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lowtown, under Rabanastre
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Reina’s face. Glittering green eyes and chocolate-brown hair, the sweetest, most gentle, most innocent smile. Gone forever. Gone because he wasn’t there…
The phantoms of the past slowly dissolved into an aching, uncomfortable reality. Balthier forced his eyes open, ignoring the throb in the back of his skull. Around him, the walls were just as broken down and rotted as that section of Lowtown he and Vaan had been crawling through. The room was small, with an empty doorway on one side that opened into a narrow passageway. He was still under Rabanastre.
Balthier shook his head, trying to get his senses back in tune. He was leaning back against… Vaan? The two of them were tied together back-to-back in the center of the room; hardly a comfortable position. Balthier found his ankles tied, too, so tightly he was losing feeling in his feet. Vaan was still out cold, slumping so his weight pulled on Balthier. Balthier tried to yank his arms from the encircling ropes, but they were secure. Letting out a sigh, he pondered his next course of action.
“Vaan!” No one seemed to be in the vicinity, so Balthier didn’t bother to keep his voice down. “Vaan, wake up!”
Vaan stirred, lifting his head with a moan. He studied the room groggily for a moment, then let out a gasp when he realized he was tied up.
“Balthier?” Vaan glanced over his shoulder at his fellow prisoner. “Wait, what happened? Where are we?”
“I don’t know exactly where we are,” Balthier replied, “though it looks like we’re still in that decrepit tunnel system. As for what happened, we were careless and we got caught.”
“You mean… by those same guys who kidnapped Fran?” Vaan’s eyes widened. “But… what are they gonna do with us?”
“Who knows?” Balthier said. “Seems like they’ve left us here for now. Maybe we’re just supposed to rot down here.”
Vaan let out groan, tipping his head back.
“It was a stupid dream, wasn’t it?” he said.
“What?” Balthier said, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t even understand what Vaan meant, much less what it had to do with them rotting in an underground tunnel network.
“Being a sky pirate,” Vaan continued. “It was stupid. Now I’m gonna die and all I’ve ever done is dream stupid dreams.”
Balthier let out a sigh. “You’re not dead yet, are you?” The moment they left his mouth, Balthier remembered that those were the same words Zecht had said to him, when he left for the front two years before. Not dead yet, still a chance to make a difference… I really threw out that opportunity when I ran away, he thought bitterly.
“But I’m right, right?” Vaan said.
“That being a sky pirate is a terrible thing to want? Well, yes, you are,” Balthier replied. He fought to keep his own anger out of his voice. “Being a coward is hardly enviable.”
“What?” Vaan craned his neck to glance over his shoulder at Balthier. “But… But you’re plenty brave, Balthier. I mean, you saved me back in the dungeon, from those Seeqs. And you saved Ashe up on the Leviathan, too.”
Balthier let out a scoff. “I suppose so. But reckless, battlefield courage is hardly in short supply. It takes a different kind of courage to take responsibility for your actions. Or… lack of them. To stick around. To do what it takes to make a difference.”
“I guess that’s what I wanted,” Vaan said. “To run away. Not worry about the Empire, or what it’s doing to Dalmasca. It’d be so easy.”
“Running away’s a hard mistake to fix. Trust me, I know.” Balthier let out a sigh. The images of his father and Reina swirled in his mind, taunting his failure. “I still don’t know if it’s even possible.”
Vaan was silent for a long moment. “Balthier-” he started, but was cut off as a figure entered the room through the empty doorway. It was girl in the hood, the one who’d somehow taken out Vaan single-handed. She still had her hood up, and it kept her face swathed in eerie shadows. She carried Vaan’s sword in one hand and Balthier’s rifle in the other. Her own sword was in its sheath at her side, just poking out from beneath the cloak. As she entered the room, she froze. Balthier assumed she was staring at the two captives, but her eyes were invisible beneath the hood.
“You’re awake,” she said at last, then turned and set the two weapons against the wall.
“Who are you people?” Balthier said. He had a chance for answers, albeit a small one, and he wasn’t letting it go to waste. “What did you do with Fran?”
The girl stared at Balthier for a few moments before answering.
“You are prisoners. Prisoners do not ask questions.” Then she knelt down next to Balthier and Vaan’s weapons and just sat there. Evidently, she didn’t think her captives would escape.
“Hey, just who are you?” Vaan asked after a few moments. Balthier agreed with that question; the little girl, creepy though she was, didn’t seem old enough or strong enough to make it as the mysterious assassin type.
“Prisoners do not ask questions,” the girl repeated. She drew her cloak over her arms like she was cold, then sat there motionless. Vaan sighed.
“I don’t think she’s gonna tell us anything,” he whispered to Balthier.
“No,” Balthier replied.
They all sat there in silence. Whenever Balthier or Vaan tried to get out of their bonds, or even moved too much, the girl would just say, “prisoners will remain still,” in that chilly, robotic voice of hers. After several minutes, a man in the same blue tunic and brown cloak appeared in the doorway. He definitely wasn’t the same one that apprehended Balthier; while that voice had clearly belonged to a grown man, this guy looked only a few years older than Vaan. Even so young, he looked more at home as a creepy assassin than the girl.
“Cara,” he called, and the girl stood. She walked to face him at the doorway, throwing off her hood. Her back was to the bound captives, so Balthier still couldn’t see anything but her black hair.
“Ceg. What is it?” the girl, Cara, said.
“The target’s escaped,” the guy, Ceg, replied. “Everyone else is already there, but Zanthe wants your help. The prisoners shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like we care about them, anyway.”
“Understood,” Cara said, nodding. She walked past Ceg into the hallway, then stopped. “Ceg?” she said, without looking back. Some emotion creeped into her voice. “Is this… Is this-”
“It’s our mission,” Ceg said before she could finish. “You know that. We have our orders.” He didn’t look too sure, though. “Come on, Cara. We both know you’ll be more use out there in the action than just guarding prisoners.” Cara nodded, and Ceg moved to join her. They were just about to depart when Balthier called out.  
“What’s wrong? A little indigestion?” he said. “Assault, kidnapping, and various other misdemeanors not settling well with you?”
Ceg gave Balthier a glare. “Quiet.”
“Why?” Balthier replied. “I might prick your conscience?”
“I said quiet,” Ceg repeated, then led Cara off down the hallway and out of sight.
“So… what now?” Vaan asked. Balthier sighed, then scanned the room. Vaan was closest to the wall where Ceg had conveniently left the weapons unguarded.
“Can you reach your sword with your feet?” Balthier asked. “We can use that to cut these ropes.”
“I’ll try,” Vaan replied. He stretched out, sliding his feet forward and consequently dragging Balthier backward. He would be very glad when he was no longer stuck to the kid. After a few tries, Vaan shook his head.
“No good,” he said.
“Wonderful,” Balthier said with a sigh “What now, I wonder?”
“Uh, hey, Balthier, about before…” Vaan started.
“Ah, sorry,” Balthier said. That little heart-to-heart wasn’t something he’d planned, and certainly wasn’t something he wanted to continue. “That… wasn’t all meant for you.”
“Oh, yeah. I just-” Vaan cut off as a new figure entered the room. He certainly wasn’t one of those assassins; this man held a long gleaming sword, dressed in the outfit of the Dalmascan guard, and had crisp black hair and a short beard. He fixed Balthier with the most unfriendly glare.
“Vossler?” Balthier said, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ll have you know,” Vossler said, ignoring Balthier’s question, “I don’t take kindly to those who kidnap my princess.”
“I see,” Balthier replied, a twinge of worry in his gut. “So that sword has my name on it?”
“Oh, in blood,” Vossler replied. “But not now. Her Highness would never forgive me.”
“You found Ashe?” Vaan said, eyes wide. “What are you doing in Rabanastre, anyway?”
“Story time later,” Vossler said. “For now-”
“You put that sword to a more humane use than revenge and get these ropes off us?” Balthier finished for him. He hoped that was what Vossler was going to say.
“Hmph.” Vossler knelt down next to them and roughly sawed away at the ropes that bound Balthier and Vaan together.
“I hope you’re grateful for this,” Vossler said as he worked. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Lady Ashe’s incessant pleading. Also know I’m not letting you off the hook for what you did to her.”
“I haven’t done anything to her,” Balthier said. With his hands free at last, he bent forward to untie his ankles.
“You stole her away in the night,” Vossler said, rising.
“True,” Balthier said, standing also. “But only because she asked.”
Vossler let out a scoff. “Really? You’re so benevolent you’d do whatever the princess wants, just because she asks? With nothing in it for you? No, I know your type, pirate. Anything for a piece of gil.”
Balthier rolled his eyes, hiding his offence at Vossler’s doubt of his character. “I’m not going to hand her over to the imperials, if that’s what you’re saying. No, Princess Ashe has kindly offered to let me have whatever other treasures we find in Raithwall’s Tomb while we look for the Dawn Shard. Payment and service. No underhanded deeds.”
Vossler’s eyes narrowed. “All I’m saying is, stay away from her, pirate.”
“Um, hey, I- I don’t want to interrupt, but…” Vaan broke in.
“But what?” Balthier said, turning his gaze from Vossler’s death glare to Vaan.
“Shouldn’t we go find Fran?” Vaan said. “You know, before those guys do?”
“Yes, we should,” Balthier replied. “Only, I’m not quite sure-”
“There’s an entrance to the waterway in these tunnels,” Vossler cut in. “Your Viera’s down there. I know a shortcut. Follow me.”
Vossler turned and started down the hallway.
“You sure know your way around,” Balthier said as he followed. Vaan came along behind.
“The resistance sometimes these tunnels,” Vossler replied. “Not often, but they’ve made a good escape route once or twice. It’s easy to lose pursuers down here.”
“I see.” Balthier nodded. “Now, why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?”
Vossler let out a sigh. “Basch and I left Bhujerba as soon as we realized Ashe was missing. We got the aerodrome attendants to tell us what direction your ship went and figured you were headed for Rabanastre. We met up with others at the resistance base then started the search. Basch, me, and few others found the princess back in Lowtown, and she told us what happened. I told her to forget about you people, but, well… Ashe is Ashe. I only came because she’d have gone herself otherwise.”
Balthier let out a chuckle. Yes, that did sound like Ashe. “So where is the princess now?”
“I sent her back to base with the others,” Vossler replied. “I-” He broke off, freezing. “Wait, listen.”
The sound of crackling flames pulsed a moment, along with gasps and cries of terror, then dropped away. A mighty crash of steel-on-steel followed, and more shouts.
“In here,” Vossler said, pushing open a door to the right. Beyond it was a narrow stairway, leading straight down into the Garamsythe Waterway, Rabanastre’s expansive sewer system. The stairs emptied onto a high ledge, part of the maintenance passages that crisscrossed the waterway. On that platform, a battle was taking place.
Four of the cloaked assassins battle against Fran and… Ashe? Apparently, even Vossler going in her place wasn’t good enough for the princess.
“What? No…” Vossler’s face twisted in shock and disappointment. “That stupid girl…”
Below, Fran jumped back from one attacker, dangerously close to the edge. She raised both hands and shoved the assailant back with a stream of fire. The man tumbled backward, then struggled to put out the flames clinging to his cloak. Ashe dueled with another cloaked man, the sounds of their swords echoing up through the passages. The man thrust his sword at her, but she dodged, using the opening to lay a vicious slash on his shoulder. The man stumbled back and crashed into the wall, agony plain on his face. Balthier briefly wondered when Ashe had picked up a sword. One cloaked figure left the fight to tend to the fallen man, while Fran released another fire spell that blew back the other two. Balthier didn’t see that Ceg character or the little girl among their ranks; it seemed they beat them to the battle.
“Shall we go lend the ladies a hand?” Balthier said, turning to Vossler. Vossler let out a scoff, then charged down the stairway. Balthier smirked and followed.

Balthier, Vaan, and Vossler charged into the fray, and with Fran and Ashe, they now outnumbered the attackers. Vossler brought his sword down mercilessly on one man still downed by Fran’s blast of fire, who narrowly dodged the deadly strike. The second of the two scrambled to his feet, but Balthier leveled a shot that grazed his arm, and he flattened back to the ground. Vaan was locked in combat with the guy who’d been tending the wounded man, and Ashe quickly joined him.
“We’re outnumbered!” the man Vossler fought with shouted, jumping back from the engagement. “All units, withdraw!”
The man dueling Ashe and Vaan gave Vaan a hard kick in stomach, then used the created opening to sprint for the stairway. The other two made a dash for the injured man, one attacking Vaan and Ashe while the other hauled the wounded man to his feet. Then they made for the stairs, disappearing up them. No one made any attempt to chase.
“Princess Ashe!” It was Vossler who spoke. He rounded on Ashe with a disproving glare. “What on Ivalice are you doing here?!”
“I… I wanted to help,” Ashe replied, meeting Vossler gaze with glittering eyes. “I don’t need you always protecting me. Besides, Fran and I were winning even before you arrived!”
Vossler sighed, shaking his head. “Highness, you can’t keep being so hare-brained!” Vossler went on to reprove Ashe more, but Balthier stopped listening. There was an important conversation to be had.
“Fran,” Balthier said, walking up to his partner. “Are you alright?”
Fran nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” Balthier said. “Now I need to know what’s going on. Feel like sharing?”
Fran was silent for a long moment, refusing to meet Balthier’s gaze. “Soon,” she said at last.
Balthier let out a sigh. “Sorry, Fran; not this time. I need you tell me now. Who were those people? What did they want with you? And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me what you know about nethicite, too?” Maybe that last one was a bit presumptuous, but Balthier was fed up with Fran’s mysteriousness. He needed answers.
Fran let out a heavy sigh. Her brown eyes, usually so devoid of emotion, glazed with heaviness and melancholy.
“They’re called the Red Fangs,” Fran said. “Those people. They’re a scientific organization. They mainly work with other laboratories, retrieving dangerous or difficult to obtain specimens. However, they do some work of their own. They want me…” The glint of painful memories flashed across Fran’s eyes. She closed them, sighed, and continued. “In my wanderings, after I left my home, I stumbled over one of their groups. They brought me back to their base, and… I was a test subject there for about five years.”
Balthier was silent. Having lived in a laboratory for a good many years, he knew test rats didn’t exactly have a cushy, carefree life, no matter how rare and precious they were. Knowing exactly what sorts of experiments a myst-conducting Viera would be put through didn’t create a very pleasant picture, either.  Balthier knew Fran wouldn’t appreciate his pity, but if she wanted it, it was readily available.
“A few months before I met you,” Fran continued, “the Red Fangs made a deal with Draklor Laboratories, about… about the nethicite. They brought it to the base for testing, and… and something else. There was something within the stone, some-”
“Some sort of… myst creature?” Balthier finished. The image of that ghost from Nabudis swirled in his mind, as clear as day. And if Fran knew about it, that meant there was no way he’d imagined it.
At Balthier’s words, Fran snapped to attention, fixing him with her penetrating stare. Some emotion hid behind her eyes, but it hid well enough Balthier couldn’t decern it.
“So?” Balthier said after a few painful moments under Fran’s searchlight. “What happened?”
“They used me to free… it. Whatever it was,” Fran said, breaking away her gaze. “It worked. After that, they made a deal to send me to Draklor, and I was stored at Nalbina until payment could be arranged. And then…”
“And then I got in the way,” Balthier finished for her. “And they want you back now?”
Fran nodded. “I assume.”
“Because Archadia has more nethicite,” Balthier thought aloud. Everything was fell into place, now. “But why you? Wouldn’t it be easier to find some other unsuspecting Viera?”
“Have you ever seen another? My kind rarely walk beyond the borders of our forests.” Fran said. “And besides, they’ve probably been tracking me these past two years.”
“And that’s why you decided to come with me?” Balthier said. “It’d be easier to avoid them from the air?”
Fran nodded slowly. “Yes, partly.”
There was silence between them for several long moments. Balthier vaguely heard Vaan, Ashe, and Vossler talking a little distance away, but his attention was on Fran. She didn’t meet his eyes, and hers glittered with unease. Spilling out a story of distant, painful past was difficult, Balthier knew that well enough. He didn’t blame her for her discomfort.
“So, was that it?” Balthier asked after a few moments.
“What?” Fran asked, turning back to him.
“‘Not yet?’ Down in the Barheim Passage?”
“Oh.” Fran looked away again. She stared at the ground, as if debating what to say. “No,” she said at last. “No, it wasn’t.”
“What?” That wasn’t the response Balthier expected. “What else is there? Fran?”
Fran shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I… I should never have said anything.”
Balthier wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. “But… What could possibly be that important? And if it is so important, why won’t you just tell me?”
Fran shook her head again. Emotions flickered in her usually cool eyes, trickling into her voice despite her obvious attempts to hide it. “No, I don’t… I can’t…” Fran broke off, taking a deep breath to collect herself and lock away those emotions Balthier had gotten so close to identifying. “We have a job to do, don’t we?” Fran said. “We should head back to the aerodrome and get going.” And with that, Fran turned and walked towards the staircase, bringing their conversation to an abrupt end.
“Fran! Wait!” Balthier called after her, loud enough all the others ceased their talking. Fran paused briefly at his call, then continued up the staircase without looking back. Balthier had known Fran for two years, and nothing like this ever surfaced, yet now… Fran was one of the only people Balthier trusted, yet now it seemed she hid something important. Certainly, Balthier had secrets of his own, and he couldn’t blame her for keeping things to herself, but…That look in Fran’s eyes down in the passageway, full of concern and almost fear… What could it possibly be Fran felt she had to tell him, and yet, when it came down to it, couldn’t?
“Is… is everything alright?” Vaan said, breaking the awkward silence that filled the room. Balthier let out a long sigh. The answer to Vaan’s question seemed even more complicated now than it had been a few minutes before.
“It looks like we’re leaving,” Balthier said, deciding not to answer Vaan. “Come on, everyone; let’s go.”

…

Back at the plaza in Lowtown, Vossler stopped the party.
“Look, we need to talk,” he said. “Highness-”
“I’m going to Jagd Yensa,” Ashe said, face set.
“And I can see nothing will stop you,” Vossler said with a sigh. His shoulders slumped and looked oddly tired. “All I ask is that you let me accompany you. I am not letting you go alone with a bunch of sky pirates.” Vossler sent Balthier one of his burning glares at that last word. Balthier just ignored it. His mind was spinning too much with Fran’s mysteries and the journey ahead to let Vossler rile him up.
“So… you won’t try and stop me?” Ashe said, eyes wide in astonishment.
“But like I said, I’m coming, too,” Vossler said. “I need to make sure things can run without me at the resistance first, and then we’ll leave.” Vossler turned his gaze to Balthier. “And you will not leave without me. Understood?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Balthier said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll wait until you’re good and ready.”
Vossler glared at him a little longer, then turned back to Ashe. “We’ll meet up in front of the aerodrome, alright?”
Ashe nodded. “Yes. We’ll be there. Oh…” She turned to Balthier. “I mean, if-”
“Yes, yes, we’ll all be there,” Balthier said. “Now, I’d like to leave before dark, so I suggest you go and get your business done, Vossler.”
“Fine,” Vossler turned to leave, then briefly set his hand on Ashe shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, princess.” Then he walked off, disappearing into the foot traffic of Lowtown. Ashe stared after him a few moments, obviously surprised. Balthier chuckled at the sight, then turned to Vaan.
“So, will you finally go home?” he said.
“Well…” Vaan began.
“No, no, no,” Balthier said, shaking his head and stifling a groan. “Vaan, you are not coming, so save your breath.”
“Just hear me out!” Vaan said. “I want to help the princess. I want to help free Dalmasca. We’ve lived under the imperial’s fist for years, and now I can do something about it. I don’t want to turn a blind eye, and I don’t want to run away.”
If the kid was smart enough to use Balthier’s own rhetoric against him, then that had to count for something. Besides, it was a good argument…
“Fine,” Balthier said after a few moments. It wasn’t easy to admit defeat to the kid. “If you can pull your own weight and not get underfoot, then…” Balthier paused to let out a sigh. “You can come.”
“Really?” Vaan’s eyes widened. Clearly, he hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “I will! I mean… I’ll be a big help! I won’t let you down!”
“Good,” Balthier said. “And I will hold you to that.” Balthier turned to address Ashe and Fran as well. “Come on then; let’s all get to the aerodrome and wait for Vossler.”
“Oh, wait!” Vaan said. “Penelo and Kytes and everyone are all waiting for me. I need to go tell them I’m leaving. I’ll try and be quick!”
Balthier sighed. “Just meet us at the aerodrome and don’t keep us waiting, alright?”
“Okay. I’ll see you all soon!” Then Vaan dashed off, disappearing around the street corner.
“Either of you have any pressing tasks to accomplish?” Balthier said to his two remaining companions.
“No,” Ashe said. Fran said nothing at all.
“Then come on,” Balthier said. “Let’s get up to the aerodrome and wait.”

…

Outside the aerodrome, Balthier, Ashe, and Fran waited for the rest of their party to assemble. The sun, high in the sky, beat down mercilessly, and Balthier noted with displeasure it was already noon. They wouldn’t make it very far into Jagd Yensa that day.
Finding a shady spot in the overhang of the aerodrome’s wide entrance, the three of them waited for a while; Balthier guessed about half an hour from the sun’s movement. No one spoke. Ashe sat on the sandy ground, locked away in her own world of nervous excitement. Balthier found a spot to lean against the wall, and Fran stood as still as a statue, watching people walk in and out of the aerodrome. Occasionally, she’d glance over at Balthier, quickly, but with enough of that penetrating gaze of hers to make Balthier’s skin crawl. He wanted to talk to her again, to maybe get some idea of what she was hiding and what it had to do with him, but he decided not to. Not so soon, and not with Ashe listening. So the three of them sat there in silence, Fran as cold as a stone, Ashe anxiously watching the road for their expected arrivals, and Balthier pondering Fran and what she was hiding, and just how important it really was. Maybe it was nothing. But something told Balthier it wasn’t.
“I’m here!” Vaan’s voice announced the arrive of one of their expected companions.
“Vaan!” Balthier welcomed a break of the stifling silence. He pushed off from the wall to greet Vaan. “Good to see you. That leaves just Vossler. I can’t imagine he'll be much longer. Everyone ready to leave?”
Fran nodded slowly, and Ashe didn’t reply. She still sat on the ground just under the overhang’s shade, legs folded under her, staring away into the sky. Her eyes glittered with a wistful, far-away look, seeming bluer for the blue sky overhead. Apparently, she wasn’t listening.
“Princess? Can you hear me?” Balthier said. He managed to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice.
“What? Oh, yes.” Ashe stood, nodding. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Balthier turned back to the others. “We’ll-”
“WAIT!” A voice called. Racing across the street came Penelo, short blond pigtails flying out behind her.  She came to a stop just in front of Vaan, then doubled over, leaning on her knees and gasping for breath.
“Vaan, you can’t… can’t… You can’t go…” she wheezed out.
“Penelo, I have to,” Vaan said. “I told you why!”
Penelo shook her head. “No, I mean… you can’t go… without me.” She sucked in a deep breath and straightened, wiping the sweat from her forehead with one arm. She looked like she’d run a marathon.
“Penelo, it’s dangerous out there!” Vaan said.
“I know,” Penelo replied. “But I can’t let you go without me. I… I… Oh, Vaan, don’t leave me here!” Penelo’s voice fell to a desperate plea.
“I… Well, it’s really up to Balthier,” Vaan said, turning to Balthier.
“Oh, oh please let me come!” Penelo said, turning desperate brown eyes to Balthier. “Please, Mr. Balthier, sir! I can take care of myself. I won’t get in the way! And… and I’ll make sure Vaan behaves himself!”
“Hey!” Vaan said. “I don’t get into trouble! …much.”
Balthier let out a chuckle. “Well, if it means I don’t have to do that, then… fine. Come along. You do know how to use a weapon, don’t you, Penelo?”
“Uh… I can… dance with a staff,” Penelo said with a nervous half-smile.
Balthier let out a sigh. “Oh, dear.”
“Are we all ready?” Vossler’s voice entered the conversation. He emerged from the stream of people entering and exiting the aerodrome. His gaze fell on Penelo, and a frown crossed his face. “Who’s this?”
“This is my little sister, Penelo,” Vaan said. “She’d part of our crew.”
“Really?” Vossler said, arching an eyebrow at Balthier.  
“It seems that way,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“Highness, are you ready to go?” Vossler said, turning to Ashe. She nodded. “Good,” Vossler continued. “I left Basch with full charge of the Rabanastran resistance, and Hasta to help him. She’s not happy you took her sword, you know.”
Ashe glanced down at the sword hanging by her side, then back at Vossler with a guilty, almost pathetic smile. “Well… She has others, right?”
Vossler sighed. “Oh, come on.” He moved towards the aerodrome door. “We should be leaving.”
“Yes, we should,” Balthier said. He didn’t know why, but Vossler being the one to declare their departure annoyed him greatly. “If we wait any longer, we might as well wait until tomorrow.” He set off towards the door, the others following.
Once inside the aerodrome, they headed for Strahl’s hanger. Balthier had a few questions for Vossler, so he quickened his stride to catch up with him.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked.
“About what?” Vossler said, barely glancing back at Balthier. Balthier came up next to him to put them on more even terms.
“This whole quest,” Balthier continued. “According to Ashe, you were quite determined to keep her safe and sound back in Bhujerba. Only now, you’re just gung-ho about flying her into mortal peril. It didn’t take much to convince you either. So, what changed?”
“Nothing at all,” Vossler said, a little too quickly. “And even if it had, resistance affairs are none of your concern, pirate. Now, before we leave, I want you to know one thing:” Vossler threw a searing glare in Balthier’s direction. “You are only here because the princess wants you, and because I think a bigger party will be easier to get through jagd with. You are cannon fodder, monster food, just another target to keep the princess safe. I don’t care if you or any of your friends live or die. I only want Her Highness alive and well. Have I made myself clear?”
Vossler didn’t like Balthier. Balthier already knew that already; he’d said it so many times it was really starting to get on Balthier’s nerves.
“You care about no one but Ashe, for whom you care extensively,” Balthier replied. “Yes, I think you stated that clearly. But like you said, the princess wants us here. Doesn’t keeping her happy mean keeping us alive?”
Vossler gave Balthier another stinging glare. “Stay away from her, pirate. I’ve said that, haven’t I? And I mean it.”
Vossler strode ahead, and Balthier simply stopped and stared after him, wondering that had come from. It occurred to Balthier that he’d be crossing the whole Yensa Sandsea with that man and his unwarranted hatred. Really, Balthier couldn’t believe what a party he’d gathered up: the stubborn-as-a-mule princess, her fiery bodyguard, the naive kid and his sister, and a long-term friend he no longer felt he could trust. Their journey would be… interesting, at least.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three

Over the Westersand
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“Let’s be on our way then,” Balthier said, staring up at Strahl anchored at the jagd’s edge. No visible marker indicated the cloud of dense myst other than the increase in desert cacti, but Strahl had been quite keen to warn Balthier when they got too close for her comfort. They set sail from Rabanastre’s aerodrome only a short time after noon, headed west towards Jagd Yensa. The Sandsea was located beyond the Westersand, the expansive desert to the west of Rabanastre. In such fair weather, the flight took only about half an hour; a lot quicker than the day it would take on foot.
“We’ll barely make any progress today,” Vossler said, frowning at the desert ahead. “But yes, you’re right; we should get going.”
“Hey, uh… Why can’t we just fly straight to Raithwall’s Tomb?” Penelo asked, glancing up at Strahl, anchored above them.
Balthier sighed. “Haven’t you ever heard of jagd?” 
“That’s where the myst is really thick, right?” Penelo replied.
“Yeah,” Vaan said. “And airship engines don’t work if there’s too much myst.”
“Well, what do you know,” Balthier said. “You do know something after all, Vaan.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vaan asked. Balthier didn’t reply. He turned to address everyone; it looked like Ashe and Fran were talking, but Vossler had interrupted and was talking to Ashe.
“Come on, everyone,” Balthier said. “The Sandsea’s a big place, I hear, so we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
Everyone murmured their agreement. Except Vossler. He stepped out front and said, “You heard the pirate. Let’s move.”
Balthier struggled not to say anything at that. Yes, he knew Vossler wasn’t a bad person at heart. He’d seen him risk life and limb for Ashe, and, despite his claims, Balthier didn’t think he’d sit back and watch any of the rest of them die. But Vossler jumping up and acting like he was this leader of this group was really starting to annoy Balthier. However, he managed not to say anything.
“Hey, good luck out there,” Strahl’s voice interrupted Balthier stream of irritation.
“Thanks,” Balthier replied as he followed the others and Vossler, who annoyingly took the lead.
“I wish I could help you,” Strahl continued. “Anything…”
“You got me here, didn’t you?” Balthier said.
“Oh, sure,” Strahl said with a sigh. “And now you’ll go off into deadly peril and I won’t even know if you’re dead or alive until you get back, much less do anything about it. I can’t even get you all the way to Raithwall’s Tomb!”
Balthier bit back an audible sigh. “Strahl, if there was anything in the world you could do to help me, you’d do it in a heartbeat. I know that, and… I appreciate it.”
Strahl let out a weak chuckle. “Balthier, that you’d try and be sentimental for me is very touching, but you’re no good at it, so… you can stop now.”
Balthier chuckled. “Thank you.”
“Well, don’t worry about me,” Strahl said with a sigh. “You get out there and put this whole story to a rest. You are the leading man, after all!”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Balthier said with a scoff. And certainly not if Vossler has anything to say about it, he added to himself.
“Well, good luck anyways,” Strahl said, then her presence vanished. Balthier set himself towards the road ahead. They had a lot of ground to cover.

…

For the first couple hours of walking, the Sandsea looked a lot like the Westersand with more cacti and shrubbery. It was still a desert, to be sure, with sand and hot, dry air, but Balthier figured the heavy myst sped the growth of the usual desert foliage. Balthier remembered how warped and vicious the creatures in the Barheim passage had been; he could only imagine what effects such a dense myst would have on the creatures out here, under the sun. Quite frankly, he was eager to find out, as long as it didn’t involve a detailed tour of their digestive systems.
Balthier got no such chance that day to prove his theory about Jagd Yensa’s wildlife on that first stretch of their journey. The desert was surprisingly calm, and they made good progress. At around four in the afternoon, judging by the sun, they entered a canyon path that carved its way through a large ridgeline. This rather narrow gorge was the only way west, where Ashe claimed Raithwall’s Tomb resided. At the end of this gully, a grand sight awaited that made everyone freeze in their tracks.
The sands stretched forever off into the horizon, glowing golden under the low sun. Massive oil rigs rose up out of these flat plains, their images rippling in a haze of heat. The magnificent sands seemed to move and ripple like ocean waves. Balthier had heard of this; in the places where the grains were finest, the sands of Jagd Yensa actually flowed like water, an effect of the thick myst’s constant flow. It was a common rumor, but not one Balthier had ever believed. Until now, that is.
 Vaan broke from the stunned group and rushed to the water’s, or sand’s, edge, kneeling and reaching out to touch the churning waves. He scooped up a handful of liquid sand, mouth falling open. Balthier wasn’t close enough to hear the shocked “wow…” that must have drifted out. The sight of Vaan’s wonderstruck face was enough to pull Balthier from his amazement.
“Welcome to the wide world, Vaan,” Balthier said with a chuckle. “There are always some things left to surprise you.”
Vaan glanced back over his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the sandsea.
“Did you know this was here, Balthier?” he asked.
“Ah, well…” Balthier replied. “Like I said, there are always some surprises left.”
With the spell of wonder broken, everyone came forward to the waves’ edge. Penelo crouched down next to Vaan, and while everyone else simply stared over the view. Balthier resisted the temptation to kneel down with the teenagers and touch the miraculous sand-waters. Instead, he stood on the banks, letting the hot wind rush over his face.
“Oh, it’s… beautiful,” Ashe breathed. Balthier hadn’t noticed she stood right next to him. Her eyes were wide, shining like pure gemstones in the brilliant desert light.
“It’s just a desert,” Balthier said. “Haven’t you seen one before?”
“Well, yes,” Ashe said. “I suppose so. But it just… goes so far. It’s… pretty.”
“I suppose,” Balthier said with a shrug. “But it's really just sand once you get down to it. You won’t think so highly of that view once we’ve spent weeks walking across it.”
“I guess.” Ashe replied with a sigh.
Vossler stepped forward, planting himself between Balthier and Ashe. He gave Balthier a withering glare for no reason he could think of, then set a hand on Ashe’s shoulder.
“You ready to go, Highness?” Vossler asked. Ashe nodded. Vossler removed his hand, then turned to address the whole group. “Come on, everyone,” he said. “We’ll go over those oil rigs to cross the sea. It’s late, and I doubt we’ll make it far, but we should make what progress we can.”
“Agreed,” Balthier said, joining in. “Let’s move.”

…

The oil rigs provided an excellent view over the sandsea, and the party made good progress in the last few hours before sundown. The rigs were old, abandoned by the Rozarrian Empire several years ago, according to Balthier, and they were in disrepair. Luckily, nothing decided to collapse on them.
With a gorgeous sunset bleeding crimson light over the expanse of the sandsea, the party settled down for the night on one of the larger oil rigs.
After a while, Vaan noticed Penelo was missing. That rig, like the others, had one massive central column encircled by a walkway, bridges to the adjacent rigs running off on each side. Vaan figured she’d gone to the other side of the column for some peace and quiet. He decided to go see how she was before turning in for the night. Sure enough, he found his little sister on the other side, practicing her dancing. Penelo never let a day go by without some practice, not for as long as Vaan could remember. She’d picked up a metal pole to use as a staff; perhaps it had been a lever once, or maybe some sort of support. Now, it served to swing through the air as part of Penelo’s display. She was so lost in her routine she didn’t even notice Vaan’s arrival. He leaned against a stack of crates nearby and watched her for a good long while. Eventually, he called out to her.
“Hey, Penelo.”
Vaan’s voice broke Penelo’s concentration, and she ground to a halt in the middle of a spin, barely managing not to lose her balance.
“Oh. Vaan.” Penelo said. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Vaan said with a shrug. “I can’t believe you’re still practicing, even out here. Aren’t you exhausted after all that walking?”
“We’ll walk even more tomorrow,” Penelo said. Vaan didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and stared out into the distance. The sun peaked just barely over the horizon, the last of its rays staining the sands with a red like dying embers. Clouds floated over the drowning sun, stained brightest scarlet on the bottom and fading to a nighttime grey on top.
“Are you glad to be out here, Vaan?” Penelo asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Of course,” Vaan replied.
Penelo chuckled. “You’re finally having an adventure, huh?” she asked.
Vaan chuckled too. “Yeah, I guess. But…” He’d always wanted an adventure. A sky pirate’s adventure… Balthier’s words from Lowtown sounded again in his mind, and Vaan let out a sigh. “But I’m really here to help the princess, you know?”
“And go with your new hero?” Penelo said.
“What do mean by that?” Vaan asked, snapping his gaze to Penelo.
“Balthier?” Penelo said with a teasing grin. “Come on, Vaan, you worship him! I know you’ve always wanted to meet a real sky pirate. He given you any good tips?”
Vaan let out a sigh, tipping his head back to face the darkening sky overhead. It took a lot of effort to say what he wanted to say. “Penelo… I’m not so sure I want to be a sky pirate anymore.”
“What?” Vaan couldn’t see Penelo’s face, but he could hear the surprise in her voice. Her footsteps approached, and she rested her arms on the stack of crates beside him. “But Vaan,” Penelo continued, “that’s all you’ve ever wanted. What happened?”
“I guess…” Vaan sighed, still staring up at the sky. “I wanted to run away. To not worry about all those problems, to forget and start over. That’s what I wanted. I…” Vaan sighed and turned his gaze back to his sister. “Penelo, now I can do something about it. I want to help fix things, not throw it away and start over.”
Penelo was silent for several moments. “Why’d you change your mind?” she asked at last.
“Just… something Balthier said,” Vaan replied.
“But… Balthier is a sky pirate,” Penelo said, tilting her head and frowning.
Vaan let out a light chuckle. “Yeah. He said…. He said running away is a hard mistake to fix. And he knows.”
“He said that to you?” Penelo said, eyes wide. Vaan laughed at that.
“We were in the disused Lowtown tunnels. Those people who kidnapped Fran had tied us up down there. Balthier said he was sure we’d survive, but…”
Vaan laughed again, and Penelo laughed with him. She sat silent but smiling for a few moments, then spoke.
“Well… I’m proud of you, Vaan. You’re actually growing up.”
“Hey!” Vaan said. “I’m older than you, you know!”
Penelo giggled. “Yeah, I know. But I can dance better.”
“You sure can,” Vaan said. “But I’m older, and faster, and stronger, and I can use a weapon.”
“Well, I can, too,” Penelo said, hoisting up the rusty pole she’d been dancing with. “I’m gonna use this as my weapon.”
“Hey, I thought you were joking when you said that!” Vaan said. “And you think that old thing’ll hold up against monsters?”
“I’ll clean it up and practice a bit, then you’ll see,” Penelo replied. “And I doubt you’re faster than me, either.”
“Wanna bet?” Vaan said, smirking. “Race you back to camp!” He took off before Penelo could reply, leaving her in the dust.
"Hey!" Penelo shouted. “That’s cheating!” Vaan could hear her footsteps clanging over the metal platform behind him, but he didn’t look back; laughing as hard as he was, he needed to focus to beat Penelo back to the others.

…

Balthier woke to the sound of popping sparks and the smell of burning tinder. He hadn’t slept well that night; the hard metal floor of the oil rigs was hardly comfortable, and images of nethicite and that ghostly myst-creature spun in his head. According to Fran, Balthier’s father had succeeded at freeing that thing, whatever it was, and that meant it was free to… do what, exactly? The creature had dropped some vague hints on that day at Nabudis all those years ago, and Balthier spent the sleepless night pondering those. He came up completely empty. Frankly, he was glad to open his eyes as Fran relit the fire and be free of the past’s phantoms.
And then there was Fran… Balthier watched her from his bedroll for a few moments. The sun was barely rising in the background; it was probably a good thing she’d risen early to get them all moving. But what she’d said back in Barheim, and then in Lowtown… What was she hiding?
Oh, I’ve already thought that one to death, Balthier thought, rolling onto his back. A better use of my time is getting up and getting going.
That decided, Balthier sat up, banishing sleep’s haze.
“Good morning, Fran,” he said. “Up early as usual, I see.”
Fran just nodded. She left the fire and walked over to the pile of travel packs heaped against the rig’s central column, crouching to fish something out. Provisions, Balthier guessed. Oh, he’d have loved to know what she was hiding and why it was so important. Maybe he’d finally be able to trust her again.
Balthier climbed out of his bedroll and rolled it up, banishing the thoughts he’d already deemed unproductive. He deposited the roll with the rest of the cargo, then walked back to the fire. Everyone but Fran was fast asleep, even annoying Vossler, leaving the camp wonderfully still. A chorus of insects blended with the fire’s crackling made a musical backdrop, melding perfectly with the bright sunrise. Everyone slept on. But not for long.
“Come on, everyone, wake up,” Balthier called, loud enough to disturb the sleepers. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we’d best get started.”
Vossler stirred, but that was the only response. Balthier waited a few moments as Vossler sat up, shaking his head.
“Oh, good, someone’s awake,” Balthier muttered to himself. Vossler said nothing, and Balthier left him to clear his cobwebs away. Penelo had woken, too, and she sat half in her bedroll, rubbing her eyes. After a few moments, she climbed out and knelt down next to Vaan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Vaan, get up!” she said. Vaan rolled over, muttering something incoherent, and Penelo sighed. Balthier chuckled.
“I’ll leave him to you.” Balthier turned to Ashe, who lay in her sleeping bag. Her golden-blond hair splayed around her face, frizzed from a night of tossing. Whatever troubles she’d had sleeping before, she was still as a corpse now. All the stir around hadn’t even affected her. At that moment, asleep and vulnerable, she looked no less a little girl than Penelo, though there were some years between them. Balthier felt almost bad about waking her, but they had to get moving. He was about to call out when he remembered Vossler’s anger over his taking Ashe, and the man’s vehement instructions to stay away from her. Balthier figured it was best not to get on Vossler’s bad side again; besides, he had no burning desire to try and get that sleeping princess awake.
“Vossler!” Balthier called. Vossler looked up from rolling up his own sleeping bag.
“What is it?” he said, frowning.
Balthier nodded to Ashe. “This one is all yours. Good luck.”
Vossler glanced at Ashe, then Balthier. He sighed, then nodded, leaving his bag and going over to the sleeping princess.
Balthier glanced back over at Penelo and Vaan. Vaan was awake now, and they were both rolling up their bedrolls.
“You two ready to go?” Balthier said.
“We get breakfast first, right?” Vaan asked, looking up from his sleeping bag.
Balthier rolled his eyes. “Yes, but eat quickly. I want to be off before the sun is fully up.”
Vaan glanced at the horizon, where the sun was just pulling itself from the sea of sand.
“Whoa, that soon?” he said, eyes wide.
“Yes, that soon,” Balthier replied. “So I’d hurry if I were you.”
“Roger,” Vaan said, nodding. He returned to rolling his sleeping bag with renewed vigor. Balthier chuckled, then turned to the rapidly brightening horizon. He knew the sandsea became solid ground again at some point, but wherever that was, it was far out of his sight. They had a lot of ground to cover.

…

“Are we stopping soon?”
Balthier let out a long sigh at Vaan’s complaint.
“You’re the one who volunteered to come on this quest, so don’t start whining when things get tough. It’s best just to grin and bear it.”
Vaan sighed, squaring his slumped shoulders and trying not to look exhausted. He was silent after that, and Balthier was glad for it. Frankly, the kid was doing better than Balthier thought he would. It was almost noon and Vaan had only asked that twice. The sun beat down without mercy, letting its searing rays wash like ocean waves over the party of travelers. The oil rigs provided little shade, even less now with the sun directly overhead. Everyone looked tired. Thoughts of a break flitted through Balthier’s weary thoughts, so he really couldn’t be annoyed with Vaan. He was just a kid, after all.
After they left the campsite, Vossler took the lead, just as Balthier expected. They ran into a group of rather large lizards sunning themselves soon after; they proved Balthier’s hypothesis that the creatures of Jagd Yensa were both large and unfriendly. Unfortunately, he also learned that they scratched hard and bit even harder. The hot sun slowed reflexes, and after that fight they were all glad for Fran’s healing magic.
“So, are we?” Vaan asked again. “Stopping soon. You said we’d break around noon, and it sure looks like noon to…”
Balthier made no attempt to keep his annoyance from leaking over his face, fixing Vaan with a sharp glare. It worked. The kid trailed off, giving him a nervous half smile.
“Uh, well, we don’t have to,” Vaan said, redoubling his effort to look less exhausted than he was. Balthier sighed and shook his head. The heat was making him irritable and he knew it, and that was the only reason for his short fuse.
“No, it’s probably best if we do. Keep pushing under this sun and we’ll fry ourselves.”
“I agree.” That came from Vossler, up at the front of the group. “Come on, everyone. Let’s stop for now.”
The band of weary travelers responded with an affirmative murmur. There was no decent shade anywhere in sight, so they settled in for water and a quick breather near the central column of one of the many oil rigs. Every one of the rigs looked the same, and Balthier didn’t think he’d have noticed if they’d gone in a completely circle; this could be the very same rig they slept on the night before and no one would know. The network of abandoned drills stretched for miles, all monotonously the same. Balthier felt sorry for whatever company spent the money to put in so many rigs, only to leave them rusting under the desert sun.
“Whew.” Vaan sat down with a blustery sigh. He leaned back against the rig’s column, his head hitting the metal with a loud thunk. If it caused him any pain, it didn’t show. “We have water, right?” he said, eyes closed. Honestly, the kid looked pathetic.  
“Yes, we have water,” Balthier replied as Fran broke open the pack containing their waterskins and passed them around. Vaan grabbed his with wide eyes and guzzled it down like he was dying. Balthier refrained from such an undignified display. However, while he was restrained on the outside, Balthier couldn’t help but think how glorious the cool liquid was as it drained down his throat.
Ashe opened her skin slowly, staring down into it like she’d never seen water before. She raised the flask to her lips with great care, closing her eyes in deep satisfaction when she finally tipped it back.
“Five minutes,” Vossler said when he finished his water. “We’ll take five minutes then move again.”
“And you’ll know when five minutes is how, exactly?” Balthier said, quirking an eyebrow.
“I have a good internal clock,” Vossler replied.
“Oh, well, I’m sure that’s awfully convenient for you,” Balthier said with a scoff. Vossler gave him an unfriendly look but said nothing. Everyone had sat down by now, resting comfortably as they drank their water.
“So…” Vaan said after a few moments of silence. “How far away is Raithwall’s Tomb, anyway?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Ashe replied, lowering her flask from her lips. “The legend says it’s in a valley, beyond the sandsea.”
“Dry ground can’t be that much farther away,” Vossler said. “That in mind, the journey should take… a week, at the very most.”
“Then a week back, and off to your master plan?” Balthier asked.
“Don’t talk about it like that,” Ashe said, looking quite hurt. “Archadia took everything from us. Our home, our families…” Ashe sucked in a shaky breath. “We just want it back! We’ll fight the Empire, and… take back what’s ours.”
“Yeah!” Vaan thumped down his water skin, voicing his approval with bitter resolve. “The Empire’ll get what’s coming to it! All those blasted Archadians had better be careful!”
“Mm,” Vossler nodded, less verbal in his agreement but not less firm.
It was hard to just sit back and listen to that. Sure, Balthier had his own distain for the Empire; he could see and remember so clearly every battle of the war, every innocent citizen that fell to the Archadian juggernaut, and just as clearly he remembered the haughty nobles living in luxury in the heights of Archades. But he also most of those had no idea what went on in Dalmasca, and if they did, would have no desire to see it continue.
“Archadia certainly isn’t faultless,” Balthier said, careful to sound fully indifferent to the matter, “but I doubt everyone of Archadian blood is blood-thirsty and power-hungry.”
“Yeah! What about Larsa?” Penelo said, turning imploring eyes to Vaan. “He was very kind to me! He said he’d do his best to help.”
“Penelo!” Vaan said with a fierce frown. “Remember Reks? What about your parents? Archadia killed them! They died because of the Empire! And Larsa said he’d help? Then why are there still imperial guards in Rabanastre and Nalbina? Why do they still beat up us orphans for fun? Why do they take produce and never pay for it? Why do they lord over us, like they’re so much better, just because they killed our families, destroyed our homes and ruined our lives? Larsa’s a prince; he could change it! But he doesn’t! You know why? ’Cause he’s just another Archadian!”
Silence. The buzz of heat bugs and splashing of sand-waves all sounded very distant, and the party of weary travelers was swamped with silence. Penelo stared at the ground, looking like she might cry. Vaan’s face was a picture of bitterness and anger, brow drawn together and mouth fixed in a firm frown, eyes set with resentment. Everyone sat in somber silence, save the echo of Vaan’s words resounding in all their minds. In that silence, old, hated memories flooded Balthier’s mind. The sight of that little girl at Lemahl, tangled blond hair sticking to her sooty, tear-stained face, crying among the ruins of her home, pleading for help. Daddy took Grampa’s sword off the wall and said he’d be back soon… Balthier had said a thousand times he’d had no choice in any of that, that he hadn’t wanted to fight it that battle, to kill that little girl’s father, but however many excuses he made, he couldn’t shake that fact that it happened. He did it. And the whole war began because his father had the nethicite. Balthier was as aware now as ever that he could have prevented the whole war, just by finding the courage to confront his father. All because of that, so many had died; Vaan’s brother, Ashe’s father and husband, his Reina…
Just another Archadian. He probably deserved that.
“Wait.” Fran’s voice broke the stifling silence. She stood, rabbit ears perked and brown eyes narrowed. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Balthier said, standing to face Fran. He greatly welcomed relief from that maze of memories and guilt. Fran held a finger to her lips in reply. Balthier said nothing and focused on listening. At first, he heard nothing but the rippling of sand far below. The sounds of insects drizzled in, along with the occasional bird call. Finally, a low creaking trickled through to his ears.
“Oh, I hear it,” Penelo said. She rubbed the start of tears from her eyes with one arm, then stood. “It’s like… a door hinge, sort of.”
“Metal,” Balthier said, growing grave. “Old, rusty metal, and it’s not too happy about being disturbed after years in the desert. I suggest we get a move on to the next rig. I assume you agree, Vossler?”
Vossler nodded, standing. “Yes. We-”
Vossler broke off a loud groan split the air. The section of platform they stood on jerked, and the sound of snapping cables echoed off the rig’s scaffolding.
“Go! Everyone run!” Vossler shouted. He grabbed Ashe by the hand and jerked her to her feet, then took off towards the edge of the platform. A bridge connected this rig to the next, the closest safe ground, and that was what he made for. No one needed any further prodding to follow; Fran, Vaan, and Penelo raced after Vossler. Balthier took the rear, trying to make sure Vaan and Penelo didn’t lag behind. The ground shook again, the metal grating underfoot surging with a force that made Balthier wonder why it hadn’t plunged into the sand below already. He raced along with the others, wishing that the Rozarrians hadn’t abandoned their oil rigs, that he wasn’t a hundred feet above the ground, and most of all, that he could run just a little faster. His relief at distraction was entirely replaced by desperation for survival. The ground shook one more time, then fell. With the floor dropping away, Balthier made one last leap for safety.
Balthier caught the bridge’s edge by the tips of his fingers and dangled there over open air. A few moments he just hung there, trying to breath and get his bearings. He wasn’t falling, he was still up above the sandsea, and solid ground was within reach. Vossler, Vaan, and Penelo stood safe just inches beyond his fingers. Glancing sideways, Balthier found Fran dangling next to him in similar fashion. With a jolt of panic, he realized Ashe was nowhere in sight, then spotted her with both hands clasped around one of Fran’s ankles, eyes glued on the waves far below.
“ASHE!” Vossler knelt down, reaching over the edge and shouting the princess’s name. The absolute horror in his eyes lessened as he spotted her. He breathed a sigh of relief, then called out. “Highness, are you alright?”
“Uh, for now!” Ashe called back, forcing her gaze back up towards her guardian.
“Yes, pleasantries are well and good, but could we perhaps focus on doing something?” Balthier said. He strained to pull himself up towards safety, his bad arm protesting with sharp pain at bearing his full weight. Balthier could see Fran’s grip on the edge loosening; obviously Ashe’s weight was dragging her down. But he couldn’t help them until he was up on solid ground himself.
Vossler snatched Fran’s hand just as her hold slipped. The two girls’ weight combined nearly dragged him over the edge, but he managed to hold his ground. Unfortunately, Vossler’s position, kneeling on the ground bent half over the edge, didn’t give him enough leverage to haul Fran and Ashe back up to land. Balthier pulled harder, almost getting his arms over the edge. If he could just get up there to help Vossler…
“Hold on!” Vossler shouted, bending farther over the edge. Balthier could see Fran’s hand sliding out of his.
“I… can’t…” Fran gasped, glancing between Vossler and the sandsea far below.
“Fran, hold on!” Ashe cried. Balthier gave one last yank to get himself up. So close…
Fran lost her grip, and she plunged into open air. Balthier had no time to think; he ripped one hand away from the bridge, snagging Fran’s as she fell by. The sudden increase of weight jerked on Balthier’s one remaining grip, his bad arm, of course. Pain surged up his arm, and he gritted his teeth, struggling to hold on. It was a vain attempt. Balthier lost his grip, and all three of them sailed into empty air. Balthier vaguely heard Ashe screaming and Vossler shouting, but the sight of fast-approaching sand-waves below claimed his full attention. He thought for a moment that this was a horrifically anti-climactic way to die, and how frustrating it was that he would never put an end to nethicite or stop his father, never fix his mistakes, never right the wrong of that terrible war he could have stopped.
Then he hit the water.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Yensa Sandsea
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

It wasn’t water. That became very apparent when Balthier hit it. It was liquid, certainly, but hot and rough and dry in his mouth. Balthier went under the sand’s surface, disappearing into the dark world beneath the waves. He could barely tell which way was up, and the thick fluid seemed to pull him down, farther and farther from air and light and sound. With much kicking and thrashing, he managed to break through the surface, back into the hot desert air. He coughed, trying to clear the slick liquid sand from his mouth and catch a breath of much needed oxygen. For several moments, Balthier just sat there treading water, or whatever it was, pulling air into his aching lungs.
Balthier took a moment to catch his bearings. He spotted both Fran and Ashe in the water nearby; they looked unharmed, if a little dazed. Ashe was still hacking her lungs out, barely staying afloat for the violence of her coughing. Pieces of the collapsed oil rig floated nearby among many such wrecks; these rigs had been dropping hunks into the sandsea for many years. Looking up, Balthier could just barely see the silhouette of someone leaned over the edge of the bridge that had once connected to the oil rig. The noonday sun backed the figure, reducing it to a featureless back shape. Two more forms peaked over the edge, accounting for the rest of their group. Vossler, Vaan, and Penelo were still safe atop the oil rigs, while Balthier, Fran, and Ashe floated in the sandsea below. Balthier could only imagine how distraught Vossler must be, with the princess so far away from him.
“Fran! Ashe!” Balthier called out. “Is everyone…” Balthier broke off in another coughing fit. “Are you both alright?”
Ashe nodded, finally ceasing her coughing. Fran didn’t reply, but she looked fine. Balthier swam over to them, then scanned the sandsea for any semblance of solid ground. After a few moments searching, he spotted it: a secondary platform ringed around the base of the nearest oil rig, just above the sandsea’s lapping waves.
“Over there.” Balthier pointed towards the rig. “That seems like out best bet.”
“We should hurry,” Fran said. She stared down into the liquid sand suspending them. “I sense something nearby.”
Well, that’s not ominous at all, Balthier thought.
“Come on, then,” he said aloud. “Let’s move.”

The three of them climbed out of the rippling sand and up onto the rig’s platform. Balthier guessed this level of the rig’s system was built for more direct managing of the drill head. It was in even worse condition than up above, the pathways corroded by myst-laden sand waves; at least they were shaded from the sun by the rig’s upper level. He would never have admitted it, but Balthier was glad to be on solid ground again; swimming had never been his favorite sport. The slick liquid sand slipped right off their clothing, so the three travelers were perfectly dry as they hauled themselves onto safe land.
“I… can’t believe we survived that,” Ashe said, still gasping for breath She stared up at the bridge they had fallen from. “How are we going to get back up there?”
“I imagine there’s some stairway or another that leads back up,” Balthier said. “Well then, let’s get moving.” He turned to leave, but stopped as he noticed Fran. She knelt on the ground, breathing heavily with one hand over her chest. “Fran, are you alright?” Balthier asked, walking over to her.
“The myst is… thicker here,” she replied.
“Will you be okay?” Balthier asked. The exact nature of the Viera’s link with the myst was beyond his knowledge, so he had no idea how serious this was.
Fran nodded. “Yes, it’s… better up here, above the surface.”
“Can you move?” Balthier asked. Fran rose rather unsteadily to her feet, stared over the waves for a few moments, then turned to Balthier. She nodded.
“Then,” Balthier said, “let’s move.”

…

“Are you sure there’ll be stairs?” Ashe asked. Balthier let out a sigh at that.
“It hasn’t been that long, Ashe,” he replied. “And there has to be something somewhere. How else would people get down here? Besides falling, of course.”
“I suppose so,” Ashe replied. “But we’ve been down here so long… Vossler will be worried. Is there any way can go faster?”
Balthier sighed again, fixing his gaze on the rippling surface of the sandsea a just a few feet away instead of Ashe’s pleading face.
“Trust me, Ashe. I want to get back up there just as much as you do. If I could speed up this search in any way, I would.” Balthier let his gaze wander from the water’s surface to scan the surrounding rigs. These surface-level platform ran around most of them, though several of them were in too poor condition to walk on.
“I know,” Ashe said with a sigh. “I’m-”
“Wait,” Balthier cut her off. He walked up to the platform’s railings, and, shading his eyes from the sun, stared over at the next rig along. What he was make him smile in satisfaction. “Other there.” He pointed. "See that?”
Ashe came up beside him as a gust of wind huffed over the sea’s surface. The arid breeze lifted Ashe’s golden-blond hair, making it dance around her face.
“Oh!” she said after staring a few moments. “Stairs!”
Sure enough, a spiral staircase curled around the rig’s central column like a vine crawling up a tree trunk. It wound up and up, all the way to the upper walkways.
“From there, I’ll bet finding Vossler and the kids will be easy,” Balthier said, still feeling very gratified. The last thing he wanted was for Vossler to come down there and rescue him. That would be most humiliating.
“Come on, Fran!” Balthier called. His Viera partner was standing a little ways off, staring over the waves. She had been acting very odd since their dip in the sea. “Fran, are you alright?” Balthier said when she didn’t respond.
“Something’s coming,” Fran said.
“What do you mean?” Balthier asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The myst… surges,” she replied. “It is something… very in tune with it.”
Balthier refrained from asking what ‘in tune’ with the myst meant; he knew that, as frustrating as it was, Fran never gave such questions a clear answer.
“Should we get out of here?” Balthier asked. Even if he couldn’t understand the science of the matter, he trusted Fran’s judgement.
“Yes,” Fran replied, nodding. “We should-”
Fran broke off as something slammed into the side of the platform, sending Balthier, Ashe, and Fran flying backward in a spray of liquid sand. Balthier skidded to a halt on the metal floor. He wiped sand from his eyes with one hand and yanked his rifle out with the other. He had a feeling he’d be needing it.
Balthier leapt back to his feet, weapon at the ready. The cloud of sand cleared, and, crouched half out of the sea on top of the wrecked remains of the railings was a massive fish-like creature, the size of a twin bed. Its body was covered in plate-like scales of dull yellow-grey, jointed like armor. Over the fish’s head were several small, beady eyes, and its wide mouth lolled open, revealing rows of glittering teeth. The creature hung there a few moments, letting out low moaning sounds, then slid back into the sandsea with a tremendous splash. For a moment, all was still.
“What… What was that?” Ashe said. She had her sword out and at the ready, held in a valiant fighting pose, though fear gleamed in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” Fran said, “but I think it’s been following us.”
“And with it prowling below, crossing over the sea won’t be a good idea,” Balthier said, eyeing the bridge they’d cross to reach the rig with the stairway. The bridge lay just barely above the surface, a long, thin, exposed pathway.
“What will we do?” Ashe asked.
Balthier sighed, pondering their situation. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “Maybe-”
Another impact cut him off. The massive fish-creature surged out of the waves again, this time flying entire out of the water and up onto the platform. Balthier, Fran, and Ashe all dived out of the way. Balthier couldn’t believe the thing would beach itself just to get at them. However, the fish seemed to move around with ease, pushing itself along with its long, aquamarine fins, sliding over the ground like a giant snake. The massive thing dived at the stunned princess, but Ashe managed to dodge it. She leapt to the side, then with a cry thrust her sword into a joint in the creature’s armor. Her sword rebounded off what should have been a soft spot, and Ashe jerked back. Before she could move, the fish swung its tail, swatting her like a fly. Ashe hit the rig’s central column and dropped the ground, her sword clattering away. The fish rounded on the incapacitated princess, its jaws working hungrily. Balthier, with his rifle already out, launched three shots at the creature, and Fran release a volley of arrows. Both bullets and arrows glanced off its armor-like planting; the fish didn’t even notice, and lunged towards Ashe, jaws wide. Not stopping to think because he knew he’d change his mind, Balthier dove between Ashe and the great fish.
Balthier held out his rifle, a hand on each end, to block the fish’s impact. It closed its maw around Balthier’s weapon, the force of the collision throwing them both backward. Balthier planted his feet on the ground, skidding them to a halt before they crashed into Ashe. Balthier vaguely heard the princess gasp, and the hustle as Fran dragged her away, but his attention was centered on holding the massive fish back. The creature’s jaws were fastened securely around his rifle, its many eyes staring out at him like shiny black marbles set in clay. The fish let out a low moan, its slathering jaws working as it shoved harder. Balthier knew if the fish actually let go and thrust its full force at him, he would be finished, but even if it didn’t, Balthier couldn’t hold it back much longer; the great fish was much stronger than he, and the moment it got through he would be dinner. Balthier’s mind raced for some solution, but he couldn’t think of any. The fish pushed harder, its growl intensifying. Balthier’s bad arm surged with pain, threatening to give way, and he knew the end was near…
Thump-thump. Something throbbed. A pulse of energy, a dark, rippling force, pounding in Balthier’s chest like a second heartbeat, and a pain rippled through the back of his head. He recognized the feeling, though he hadn’t felt it for a decade: a power long caged away. Its sudden presence took Balthier’s breath away and made his eyes widen. He’d thought it was gone, but there it was, burning deep within him like it always had. The image flashed in Balthier’s mind, that stormy night in Draklor ten years ago- the man brought his sword down, a blast of power sent him flying back… Couldn’t Balthier do the same thing to this fish? How to make his power do what he wanted was an art that had long eluded him, but now Balthier could feel it shoving on its prison walls, just itching to burst out and wreak havoc. All he had to do was release his grip, swing open the cage he’d spent so many years building.
Do you want to survive to stop your father’s nethicite or not?
The thoughts pushed into Balthier’s mind almost without his consent. The fish shoved harder, and he knew he had to decided here and now. Balthier closed his eyes, ignore the losing fight outside and focusing on the war he fought within. All he had to do was let go. That thought was a terrifying one, and not without reason, but Balthier couldn’t just let it all end here…
An incredible force surged outward. Balthier felt it rushing through his body, coursing through every muscle. The force blew him backward, away from the creature, and he crashed into the wall so hard it knocked the wind out of him. The old brick walls of Draklor Laboratories… No, it was the oil rig’s central column. As he slid the ground, Balthier couldn’t force his eyes open, couldn’t suck in air… He was blind to everything but the energy that surged through his whole body, free after so long restrained. Balthier didn’t feel like a grown man anymore- he was a terrified twelve-year-old boy, Ffamran, in the dark hallways of Draklor, helpless against that force he knew was a part of him, helpless to stop it. That thief lay just a few yards away, blood running down his shoulders, a victim of Ffamran’s uncontrollable power. The seething, airless silence claimed him, and he slipped into a horrible darkness where all that existed was him and that terrifying power, one in the same, spinning in the blackness forever and ever…
“Balthier!”
Was that his father’s voice? No, his father would have called him Ffamran, and it had been years since Ffamran’s father had sounded that worried about anything but his nethicite.
“Oh, don’t worry about him, Highness. I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” came a second voice, hard and gruff.
“But Vossler, he’s hurt!” the first voice came again, a sweet, female voice. “And… Oh, no! I don’t think he’s breathing!”
Not breathing? Those words made Balthier aware of a desperate need of oxygen. Through a wall of darkness and pain, he tried to suck in a breath, but the air clogged in his chest full of static and dancing forces, and all he could manage was a feeble, choking cough.
“I think he’s waking up!” the first voice said again. “Fran, hurry! Can’t you help him?”
“Oh, give him a moment, Highness,” the second voice said. “He’s the one who got knocked out in the first place.”
“Vossler, how can you say that? He saved me!”
“And you’d have gotten eaten anyway if I hadn’t showed up.”
Balthier finally managed to choke in a lungful of air. With that glorious flood of oxygen came a multitude of other feelings: the hot, dry, desert air, the hard metal ground under him, the sound of sand-waves rippling.
“Oh…” Balthier couldn’t hold back a groan as he forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Princess Ashe’s face staring down at him, blue eyes wide. Not a vivid blue, but deep and full of life. Balthier raised a hand to his head, with was throbbing.
“Ashe? What… happened?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Balthier remembered. His power… He’d tried, but…
“I... I’m not really sure,” Ashe replied. “That fish slammed into you, I think. It knocked me and Fran over with its tail, so I didn’t really see. More came up out of the water… I’m not sure how many there were, really. Oh, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, princess, don’t worry,” Balthier said, straining to sit up. Three more of those giant fish creatures lay around in various states of disrepair. One had a massive sword with a wide, hefty blade protruding from the base of its neck. That was Vossler’s sword. Then…
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Balthier turned to see Vossler kneeling on the ground just a few feet away. Fran crouched next to him, blasting one of his arms with her healing magic. His arm was bloody and mangled, not a pretty sight; Balthier could only assume one of those creatures got it in its mouth.
“What…? What are you doing here?”
“A lot more good that you are,” Vossler replied. Pain twisted his face, but it didn’t mar his smugness.
“Vossler, Vaan and Penelo showed up,” Ashe said. Balthier spotted the two teenagers stood a little ways off, Vaan trying to clean off his sword and Penelo trying not to look at the gory sights all around. “They came down those stairs you saw, and crossed that bridge even with all those fish around,” Ashe continued. “Vossler took down two of them. But…” She glanced back at Vossler, staring with concern at his wounded arm. “You are alright, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine, Highness,” Vossler said. He stood abruptly, jerking his arm from Fran’s grasp. It was covered in blood but didn’t seem to still be bleeding.
“I’m not done yet,” Fran said, standing also.
“Finish back up top,” Vossler said, wrenching his sword from the great fish’s neck. He plunged the bloodied blade into the sheath on his back. “We have to leave before more of those things show up.” He turned to Balthier. “You think you can walk, pirate?”
“Yes,” Balthier replied, clenching his teeth and fighting to hold back several bitter comments directed at Vossler. The knight had saved all their lives, and yet that bothered Balthier to no end. He pulled himself back to his feet, trying and failing not to wince and the pain rushing all through his body. Every muscle tensed against his command, and he could feel that static-like energy rippling through him, thrumming in and out like a second heartbeat. He did his best to ignore it.
“Here.” Vossler tossed Balthier’s rifle at him, which he caught with a scowl. “Now come on, let’s hurry up. It’s almost hospitable up there compared to down here.”
Vossler started off towards the bridge, Ashe close behind. Vaan, Penelo and Fran followed them, leaving Balthier to take up the rear. Too aching to complain, he followed along. As they passed over the bridge, Balthier, in the back, caught a glimpse of a fourth dead fish, floating in the sandsea just offshore; smoke rose from it, and its form was twisted from the force of a blast. Balthier clenched his fists, trying to hold in another eruption like the one that killed that creature, to hold back that living, writhing power that had gotten a taste of freedom and was hungry for more.

…

The sun set in a glorious display, painting the seas of Jagd Yensa with the richest golden hues as the party set up camp for the night. They still hadn’t reached the end of the network of rigs, but land was now visible on the horizon, and Vossler said he thought they’d reach it the next day. Penelo sat on the ground, leaning against their heap of backpacks, watching the sun sink beneath the distant cliffs beyond the sandsea. That was their destination. Penelo couldn’t believe how far she’d come from home, or how much farther there was left to go. She glanced down at the rusty metal pole she’d picked up, which she held in her hands. It worked great as a dancing staff and walking stick, but she wondered it, and she, hadn’t done that well against the vicious creatures of Jagd Yensa. The battle against those giant fish had really gotten her wondering if she, the little Rabanastran orphan girl, was really cut out for a journey like this.
Glancing up, Penelo spotted Vaan talking with Balthier and Vossler at the platform’s edge, or rather, he was talking to both Balthier and Vossler separately while trying to get them into a conversation together. Vossler said something, then turned and walked off, disappearing behind the rig’s central column. Vaan called something after him, then turned back to Balthier with a shrug. Penelo smiled; she remembered the day before Vaan broke into the palace. She’d told him it was a bad idea and refused his offer to come along. She’d sat with the other orphans that night in Lowtown, terrified for her brother. Even though Vaan was older than her, Penelo had always felt it was her responsibility to take care of him; she was glad to see how much he’d mature already since that night. Although, his terribly anger at Archadia had surprised her. She knew Vaan had been very close to Reks; he had been Penelo’s adopted brother just like Vaan, but he was Vaan’s blood brother, all he had left. She knew Vaan hated the Empire, but she hoped he’d grow beyond it eventually. If this journey was what he needed, Penelo would be there for him, every step of the way.
With a sigh, Penelo turned and watched as Fran worked with the fire just a few feet away from her. Fran arranged several dry sticks along with some larger ones, than held her hands out over the fire. Penelo guessed she was using her fire magic to light it. A red glow spread over the tinder, and a few sparks fluttered away. A sudden pressure in her temples surprised Penelo, and she raised a hand to her forehead with a gasp. The feeling was surprising but not unpleasant. Fran glanced up from the fire, the glow around her hands dying away. She fixed her taciturn gaze on Penelo, cocking her head.
“Are you alright?” Fran asked, in that cold, emotionless voice of hers.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Penelo said with a nervous chuckle. “Just a headache.”
Fran stared at Penelo a moment longer, then held out her hands again, resuming her spell over the kindling. That weird pressure returned to Penelo’s head, and she tried hard not to grimace or groan. Evidently, not hard enough; Fran stopped her magic, turning her cold gaze back to Penelo.
“You can feel that?” she asked.
“Feel… what?” Penelo asked.
“That spell,” Fran said. “You could feel it?”
“Oh, it was just a headache,” Penelo said. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Fran’s unreadable gaze remained fixed on Penelo. “What is it, Fran?” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“Can you feel this?” Fran held up one hand. The flicker of her fire spell returned, the red glow around her finger tips brighter than before. That odd sensation returned, and Penelo sucked in a breath, raising her hand back to her head.
“Yeah, I… I guess so,” she said, suddenly worried. “But…. what does it mean?”
“It may be you can feel the myst’s flow,” Fran said, her spell dying away. “And if you can feel the flow, you may direct it.”
“Direct…?” Penelo frowned, then realization dawned on her. “You mean… You think… I can use magic?”
“Perhaps,” Fran said. She held her hands out over the tinder again, and this time Penelo ignored the weird feeling when her magic started.
“I’ve never tried before,” Penelo said. “I wouldn’t know where to start!”
“You might learn,” Fran said, not looking up from the fire.
“Could… Could you teach me?” Penelo asked. She knew it was a long shot, asking the quiet, reclusive Viera for such an involved task, but she could try. To be able to use magic, the ancient arts that had sustained Ivalice for centuries, would be a revolutionary talent.
Fran was silent. The sticks caught under her fire spell, bursting into flames, and she pulled her hands away. She crouched there, cool brown eyes staring into the fire, still as a statue.
“If you are willing to learn,” Fran said at last, still not looking up.
“Oh, yes, please!” Penelo said, leaning forward. “When can we start?”
“As soon as you’d like,” Fran replied.
“Can we start now?”
“If you’d like,” Fran replied.
“Oh, yes!” Penelo said, a rush of nervous excitement electrifying her every nerve. Fran nodded, as unmoved as ever.
“Magic comes in two varieties,” she began. “Black uses elemental spells for combat, and white uses the myst’s powers for healing. I find most humans can use only one or the other. Before you may learn, we must know which kind you can use.”
“Okay,” Penelo said, trying to swallow her nervousness and lean into her excitement. This would change everything for her and their party. She glanced up at Vaan, who still chatted with Balthier at the platform’s edge; she couldn’t wait to show him what she could do.

…

Ashe sat near the platform’s edge, on the opposite side of the central column from the rest of the group, watching the glorious sunset. The sun’s last rays shot from behind distant mountains, red as the glow of dying embers. The sky was already fading from brilliant sunset hues to midnight black, and the princess knew she’d have to turn in soon. After such an eventful day and so many near-brushes with death, she wanted some time to think, and no better place presented itself than here; Ashe was content to relax in this quiet place, alone with the last light of day, with no one relying on her, no one depending on her being the strong, noble leader she was born to be.
“Highness. There you are.”
Ashe turned at the sound of Vossler’s voice; he approached from their campsite.
“Vossler,” Ashe said. “I’ll come back soon; I just… wanted a moment to breath.”
Vossler nodded, coming up to stand behind her. After several silent moments, he sat down next to her, eyes fixed on the fading sunset.
“Vossler,” Ashe said, tentatively, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything, Highness,” he said, turning from the sunset to meet her gaze.
“Why don’t you trust Balthier?” she said.
Vossler let out a sigh, tipping his head back towards the sky, where the first stars were peeking out. After a few moments, he turned back to Ashe.
“You’re not the first resistance member who’s thought to ask mercenaries for help, Highness,” Vossler said. “I’ve met his type before. Men like him care for only one thing: themselves. I just want you to be careful, Highness; people can hide their true colors a lot easier than you’d think.”
“But Balthier saved my life!” Ashe said. “Twice, and at great risk to his own! How could you possibly call that selfish?”
Vossler let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “Princess, you’re too naïve. People you’ve trusted for years can betray you, much less those you’ve known for a few days.”
“Balthier could have died saving me,” Ashe said. “Both today, and on the Leviathan. How could he stand to gain from that?”
“Today? Maybe he could’ve died, but he certainly didn’t save you,” Vossler said. “When it came down to it, he couldn’t do anything. How can trust someone like that?”
“But he’s helping us now, even though we’re barely paying him anything. I’m not that naïve, Vossler; I’ve seen what evil men can do. I lost my husband, and my father to Archadia. But Balthier’s not like that! I know we haven’t known him all that long, but… for what it’s worth, I trust him. He’s… he’s a good man.”
Vossler’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away from the princess. After a few moments, he turned back with a sigh.
“Highness, people don’t come in black and white, just shades of grey. We all have hidden agendas; why do you think Balthier came with us? Purely because of how benevolent he is? No, there’s more to it than that, and until I know what that is, I won’t trust that pirate as far as I can throw him. You should keep your distance from him, Highness. I don’t want you getting hurt. And…” Vossler’s face grew harder as he spoke, and finally he trailed off with a sigh. He turned his face from the princess and stared down into the sandsea far below, eyes smoldering with anger and frustration.
“And?” Ashe said. “What is it, Vossler?”
Vossler let out a bitter chuckle, tipping his head up to the sky, still not looking Ashe in the face.
“Oh, Highness, you don’t know, and that’s the point,” he said, so quiet Ashe could barely hear. She frowned in confusion.
“What? Vossler, what do you mean?” she said.
Vossler sighed and shook his head. “Just be careful around him, Highness. The man has no respect for you or your position. He doesn’t even use your title.”
“I don’t mind that at all,” Ashe said. “Balthier treats me like an equal. Not a haughty noble or a political pawn - just a person. I like it when he calls me Ashe. I wish you’d call me Ashe.”
Those words seemed to have a different effect than Ashe had anticipated. Vossler frowned, jaw and brow hardening. He stared off into the distance for a few moments, then stood.
“I’m turning in. You should get some sleep, too.” Then he turned and walked off towards the campsite.
“Vossler-” Ashe broke off when she saw he wasn’t stopping. She couldn’t fathom why that had made Vossler so angry. She understood he wanted to protect her; Vossler had always been like her big brother. But Balthier obviously wasn’t a threat. And what did he mean, she didn’t know? After a few moments watching her guardian’s retreating back, Ashe stood with a sigh. It was late, and she needed rest. Perhaps everything would be clearer in the morning.

…

Sleeping was impossible. Every time Balthier closed his eyes, all he could see was that night at Draklor ten years ago, the face of the man he’d killed. Balthier knew just how dangerous his power could be, and now it was alive and awake. It no longer restricted his breathing or tried to force its way out, but it was there, and Balthier couldn’t deny it. He lay in his sleeping bag among the others of his party, eyes closed, wrestling with those thoughts while vainly seeking sleep. And what good had it done? Only put everyone in danger, just like always. He wasn’t there when Ashe needed him, when they all needed him. How was he never there when it mattered? After what must have been hours, Balthier couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up, rubbing his face with his hands in an attempt to clear away the haze of sleep. The desert air had taken on a nighttime chill in stark contrast with the heat of the day. Overhead, the sky stretched like a sea of ink, in it floating pinpricks purest light. It was so still, so peaceful… Nothing like the chaos he felt within.
Balthier pulled his gaze from the heavens and scanned their campsite. The fire had died down to a few embers, their warm glow painting the sleeping forms of his traveling companions with crimson hues. Everyone was asleep, and rightly so. It had been a rather eventful day, though not as bad as it could have been. All thanks to Vossler, Balthier noted with frustration. Balthier could have loved to get a good night’s rest himself; it was only that tormenting ebb and flow deep within that kept him awake, and the terrible memory of what it was capable of.
Balthier shook his head with a sigh, then crawled from his sleeping bag and stood. He just needed a breath of cold air to clear his head, then he’d be fine. He left the ring of sleeping travelers around the fire and walked over to the guardrails, watching the moon’s reflection on the sand waves far below. Still, in his mind’s eye, all he could see was the terrible effect of his power, that man, dead against the wall, blood running down his shoulders…
Balthier sucked in a gasp as another ripple of power shook his body. It thrummed in his chest and shivered down his arms, and he felt that electric force playing over the palms of his hands. The scene played out in his mind again and again… In Draklor, down below in the sandsea- that power surged outward, a force eager and able to destroy whatever lay in its path. Balthier clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and pulled in a breath of cold air, trying to collect himself.
Nethicite. He was here for a reason, and that was it. He needed to focus on that, his goal. To fix his mistakes two years before. Balthier needed to know what nethicite was, and more importantly he needed to make sure the Archadian Empire didn’t get a hold of it. They already had two shards, and he needed to keep an eye on this third. He needed to get a look at it and find out what it was, how it worked, and more importantly, how to stop it. That was why he was here with two maniacal resistance members, two Rabanastran orphans, and a Viera who seemed suddenly uninterested in sharing important information with him. Balthier turned from the sandsea to stared over his motley crew. It occurred to him that only Fran among them knew anything about the nethicite; he’d said nothing about his past to anyone else and had no intention to. He felt a little guilty not telling Ashe what she was getting into with that stone, but her only intent was to prove her birthright with it, not use its powers. If she got out of her depth, he’d have to tell her at least the details on nethicite, if not his connection with it. Until then, he was perfectly content to tag along and complete his business without their knowledge or intervention.
I guess Vossler was right, Balthier thought with a wry smile. I do have an ulterior motive after all.
Another shock of power jolted through Balthier’s body, shattering his thoughts. He clenched his fists against the electric feeling dancing over them. This sort of shockwave had always followed such outbursts when he was a kid, and they ceased after a short time. As soon as it was over, a little force of will would shove those hated powers back in their cage, Balthier was sure. But did he want that? His powers could be a great assistance on his mission, if he could just learn to control them. But he’d tried that for years as a kid, with no success. How hard would it be? And how many mistakes would there be along the way? Balthier let his gaze wander to his sleeping companions once more. Knowing what his power could do, could he risk the consequences for them? Even if he didn’t trust them all, even if they didn’t all trust him, he didn’t want to see them hurt. He studied each of their peaceful faces in turn; Fran, Vaan, Penelo, Ashe…
Where was Vossler? His sleeping bag was empty, thrown aside in a heap. Balthier narrowed his eyes. Where could he be?
All else forgotten, Balthier walked over to Vossler’s bag and knelt beside it. It was untidy, yes, but it didn’t look like a struggle had taken place; Balthier banished the image of some stealthy feline creature sneaking into the campsite and slipping out with fresh prey. Vossler’s sword was gone, too, he noted; so the man had gone somewhere of his own free will. But where? And why?
“What are you doing, pirate?” Vossler’s gruff voice interrupted Balthier’s deductions. He looked up to see Vossler approaching from the next rig along, breaking into a jog as he approached the campsite.
“What am I doing?” Balthier said, rising to face Vossler. “What are you doing? Where have you been?”
“I… I thought I heard something,” Vossler replied. “I was just checking. There’re a lot of unfriendly creatures in Jagd Yensa, you know.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Balthier said. It did make sense, but something about the way Vossler said it made him wary.  
“And how about you, pirate?” Vossler asked, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing up?”
“Looking for you,” Balthier replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
“Oh, sure,” Vossler said, rolling his eyes. “And how did you know I was gone?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Balthier said through clenched teeth. “I’m sure even you’ve had a sleepless night sometime in your life.”
“You got plenty of sleep of the battlefield today,” Vossler replied.
Balthier heaved a sigh. This was really starting to get to him. “If I apologize, will you drop it?”
“Are you going to?” Vossler asked.
Balthier thought for a moment. “No.”
Vossler just chuckled. He stooped to straighten out his sleeping bag, then plopped into it. Balthier decided to ignore Vossler and moved back over to his own sleeping bag, careful not to step on any of the other sleepers and slipped into it.
“It is good to know underneath that polished exterior you’re just another kid,” Vossler said, still sitting up in his sleeping bag.
“Excuse me?” Balthier snapped his gaze to Vossler.
“I know you type, pirate,” Vossler continued. “An aimless, self-serving adventure seeker. You stumbled over some grand expedition and decided it was a great idea to get involved, even though you’ve got no clue why you’re really here. I’ve delt with you before, and I’ve never failed yet.”
“That is not true,” Balthier replied.
“So what?” Vossler said. “If you’ve got another reason, give it to me.”
“Well…” Balthier floundered for a moment. This was where he usually whipped out some witty remark and walked away triumphant. But he couldn’t tell Vossler what he really wanted with the nethicite. And honestly, was Vossler that far off? Balthier wanted to fix his failures, but was this the best way to do it? What other way was there?
“That’s what I thought,” Vossler said when Balthier didn’t reply. He crashed down into his sleeping bag without another word. Balthier was too tired to object, so he plopped back into his own, staring up at the starry night sky, battling with those doubts for a long time before finally managing to fall asleep. When he did, his dreams were the same ones that had plagued him for ten years: that night at Draklor, the storm raging outside, and that storm raging inside, waiting to leap out and prove its terrible potential.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Yensa Sandsea
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“Oh! Look!” Penelo broke away from the group, rushing to the rig’s edge. She leaned against the railing, pointing ahead. “Look, land!”
Balthier could see it. Attached to the very rig they stood on was a stairway leading off onto solid ground. Beyond the sandsea, Jagd Yensa was more a rocky wasteland then a rolling desert. Great cliffs and crags covered the landscape, paths of sand lined with cacti weaving between them. He would never have admitted it, but after two days walking over the sandsea, Balthier would be very glad to plant his feet on solid ground. It was nearly noon now; they’d walked for a good many hours and fought off a good deal of vicious wildlife that day, and finally reached dry ground.
“Wait, we’re actually here?” Vaan said, wide-eyed. He joined his sister at the railing, gazing at the ground below them. “You’re right, Penelo! Land!”
“How about instead of just staring at it,” Balthier said with a chuckle, “we actually go walk on that land?”
“I’d second that thought,” Vossler said. He was already at the top of the stairwell. Ashe stood close beside him, silent but with her eyes fixed on the landscape like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Vaan and Penelo left the railing and rushed to join them. Balthier was about to follow, but noticed Fran wasn’t moving.
“Fran? What’s wrong?” he said, walking up to his Viera partner. She stared out into the horizon, face as stony as ever. As he approached, she turned to face him.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. A hot breeze off the sandsea rushed by, pulling back Fran’s tall rabbit ears and lifting her ponytail of long silver hair. She turned her head towards the breeze, though Balthier didn’t miss the sideways glance she cast his direction.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Balthier asked again.
“Mm,” was Fran’s only reply. She turned her gaze to rest on Balthier, her penetrating, searchlight stare. Her brown eyes showed nothing, as cold as stone, though Balthier was certain something hid behind them.
“Balthier,” Fran began, slowly. “I…” There was a long pause. “I think we should join the others.” She started off towards the waiting group. Balthier stood there a moment, frowning, then followed. It’s probably nothing, just like she said, he thought. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. He had enough on his plate without worrying about Fran.

At the bottom of the stairway, the party at last planted their feet on solid ground once more. Balthier didn’t ever think he’d been so glad to do so. He expected the whole group felt the same way, though the two teenagers were the only ones to express it. Vaan and Penelo laughed and jumped, not worried at all about expressing their relief. Once the wonder of terra firma had worn off, Penelo turned to Ashe.
“So, how much farther is Raithwall’s Tomb?” she asked.
“I know it’s somewhere here, beyond the sandsea,” the princess replied. “I’m not entirely sure where, but I know it’s in a valley. They say it’s massive, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss.”
Balthier sighed. “So we don’t even know where we’re going?”
“I’m sure it’s close!” Ashe said. “We just have to keep moving.”
“It’s not like we can turn back now,” Vossler said. “I don’t know about you and your crew, pirate, but we’re here for the Dawn Shard, and we’re not leaving without it. You’re free to leave if you’d like.”
“That is not what I meant,” Balthier replied with a sigh. “I’d just like a little direction is all, rather than stumbling blindly through the dark.”
“We’ll find it,” Vossler said, turned to Ashe. “Don’t worry, princess.”
“I’m not worried,” Ashe replied. She took a few steps forward, eyes fixed on the desert ahead. A gust of wind washed over them, lifting the princess’s golden-blond hair around her solemn face. “It’s close,” she said, brow furrowing as if she struggled to think. “I can... I can feel it.”
“Oh, good for you,” Balthier said, rolling his eyes. “Care to point us in the general direction?”
“Be polite,” Vossler said, casting Balthier a glare. He walked up to stand beside Ashe. “The Shard relics are tuned to those of royal blood,” he continued. “I could be she can sense it.” He set a hand on Ashe’s shoulder, speaking softly to her. “Do you know the way, Highness?”
Ashe’s gaze fell, and she still looked confused. “I…” she said, frowning. “I think it’s…” She took a few slow steps from Vossler, eyes fixed straight ahead. She was silent for a moment, then spoke with resolution.
“This way.”

…

“So, how close did you say Raithwall’s Tomb was again?” Vaan asked.
“I… I’m not sure. But it’s… close,” was Princess’s Ashe’s vague response.
Balthier let out a sigh. They camped in the desert the night before, near the edge of these cliffs. Penelo had jubilantly informed everyone of her new-found magical abilities; they’d be quite useful, Balthier thought, once Fran finished teaching her. They’d walked for a good portion of that day already, following Ashe’s innate sense of direction. She led them into a maze of gullies winding between towering rocky cliffs. Hunks of rock dropped off these cliffs from time to time into the gorge below, large enough to cause serious damage if they struck someone. The massive rock walls on either side provided some shade in the morning hours, but now, with the noonday sun directly overhead, this place was no better than the open desert. Balthier hoped Ashe really could sense the Dawn Shard’s presence and they weren’t going on some pointless wild goose chase.
“You’re sure it’s this way, Highness?” Vossler asked, dropping back from his position at front to walk beside the princess.
“Yes. It’s near, Vossler. I can feel it,” she replied. She hadn’t looked so sure about anything in a while. Vossler nodded slowly.
“You think we’ll reach it soon?” he said.
Ashe nodded. “Yes. Yes, it can’t be far.”
“Good,” Vossler said. “We need to get back to Rabanastre; we’ve been gone far too long already.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Ashe said. “Ours are good, loyal people. They’ll be fine until we get back.”
Vossler let out a bitter chuckle. “Highness…” he began, then shook his head. “No, I’m… sure you’re right.”
“He obviously just doesn’t trust Basch,” Balthier said, inserting himself into the conversation. If the two were going to argue right in front of him, he might as well get involved. “The man is an alleged king slayer, after all.”
“I trust Captain Basch,” Vossler fired back, throwing a glare over his shoulder. “The captain was my personal instructor when I trained with the knights nine years ago; he’s been a good friend of mine for a long time, and I’ve every faith in his abilities and motives. Yes, I had to be cautious at first, but in this business, one must see enemies in every shadow. I know now Basch is for Dalmasca.”
“Then why would you be so worried?” Balthier asked.
Vossler heaved a sigh. “Not everyone there is for Dalmasca.”
“Vossler!” Ashe looked aghast. “How can you say that? I know everyone there! Most have been with us since the beginning! And if there were spies, wouldn’t they have reported us to the Empire by now?”
Vossler sighed again. “Highness…”
“Hey! Guys! Come look at this!” Vaan’s shout cut off Vossler’s next words. He and Penelo had jogged ahead and were staring wide-eyed around a sharp bend in the canyon. Balthier, Vossler, and Ashe all looked up from their discussion.
“What is it, Vaan?” Balthier called.
“I think you’d better come and see!” Vaan called back. He disappeared around the corner, and Penelo, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.
“Well,” Balthier said with a shrug, “why don’t we go see what the kids found?”
The trio, followed by Fran rounded the corner, and waiting for them was a sight most impressive. A massive building made all of black stone, dusted grey by layers of sand, blocking the gorge entirely. The place was borderline a palace; the roof reached all the way up canyon’s lip, the walls ornately carved, though without a window to be seen. A wide stairway climbed up half the structure’s height, through an overhang high enough for an elephant to walk through. From there, the pathway disappeared into shadows, though Balthier imagined the doorway beyond was nothing less than stunning. The six travelers all stood staring up at it, awestruck.
“Impressive,” Balthier said, breaking the stunned silence. “Quite the elaborate place for a dead man.”
“Highness, I assume this is Raithwall’s Tomb?” Vossler asked, turned to the princess.
“I’ve never seen it before,” Ashe replied, “but I assume so.”
“Good,” Balthier said. “In that case, what are we all standing around for?”
The party proceeded up the massive stairway. Balthier felt like an ant crawling up the steps to a cellar door. The sheer width of the stairway, reaching up for more than a hundred feet, was astonishing. An army could have marched up it, rank and file with room to spare. Balthier couldn’t imagine why a living king would need such a massive palace, much less a dead one. Perhaps all this grandeur was just to scare tomb raiders away from the Dawn Shard; if it was nethicite, like the Dusk Shard, that would make sense. In the wrong hands, that stone could wreak havoc. Balthier had seen that firsthand.
“Hey, princess.” Vaan jogged up the steps to catch up with Ashe. “So, who was this Raithwall guy, anyway? And why did he have one of Dalmasca’s treasures?”
“Are you familiar with the legend of the Dynast King?” Ashe asked.
“I’ve heard the name,” Vaan replied. “But I don’t know a lot about it.”
“That Dynast King was Raithwall,” Ashe replied. “He conquered all of Ivalice, uniting it under his sole rule. They say the royal lines of Nabradia and Dalmasca are his descendants.”
“Ah. So the two Shards were his?” Balthier asked. It made sense; one could certainly conquer all of Ivalice with nethicite at their command.
Ashe nodded. “Yes. But there were three Shards in all. Dalmasca guarded the Dusk Shard, and Nabradia held the Midlight Shard, but they say that Shard was lost many years ago.”
“And the Dawn Shard was buried with Raithwall,” Balthier finished for her. Everything fell into place; there were three shards, and three pieces of nethicite Balthier knew off. Apparently, the Midlight Shard didn’t stay lost. “So where did Raithwall get these Shards?” Balthier asked. “What exactly are they?”
“The legends say,” Ashe replied, “the Shards were bestowed upon him by the Occuria.”
“The Occuria?” Balthier said with a scoff. “You mean the fabled weavers of fate? No one’s believed that old myth for centuries. Is there a real reason?”
“That’s what the legend says,” Ashe said. “And that’s all I know.”
Balthier let out a sigh but didn’t say any more. It was obvious Ashe didn’t have the answers he was looking for.
The party finally made it to the top of the staircase. The great overhang provided a deep shade, and though he would never have said it, Balthier was glad to have the harsh sun off his head. Inside the porch-like area the overhang created, the walls were covered with elaborate carving like the tomb’s exterior, but with no door.
“What?” Vaan said, frowning. “Where’s the door? We climbed up all those stairs for nothing?”
“What a moment. Look over there.” Balthier pointed to a raised circular section of the floor with a pole rising out of the center, topped with what looked like an unlit lamp. Runes and symbols decorated the whole thing.
“What is that?” Vossler asked.
“It looks like a warp.” Balthier walked over to the device and began to tinker with some of the dials fixed below the lamp.
“And what is a warp?” Vossler asked.
“It’s a device found in most ancient ruins,” Balthier replied. “They teleport things from one place to another. Nifty little machines. I’d assume this one will bring us inside, though that is only a guess.”
“You mean they can teleport… people?” Vaan asked. “Is that safe?”
“Oh, of course,” Balthier replied, not looking up from the controls. “Assuming it still works properly, and I think it does.” The device finally responded to Balthier’s button pressing and vibrated a little, the lamp on top lighting up. Its golden light bathed the walls, chasing away the shadows of the overhang. Balthier smirked in satisfaction.
“You know how to use these things?” Vossler asked.
“Of course,” Balthier replied.
“How?” Vossler said, narrowing his eyes in that all-too familiar look of distrust.
“Well, Fran and I have been in our fair share of ruins,” Balthier said. Plus, Draklor had a handful of warp devices extracted from ancient ruins that they experimented with. Balthier had handled them since his childhood. Unfortunately, even after many hours spent digging through the things’ guts, he still didn’t know how they worked; something that had frustrated scientists for years. Swallowing exasperation from years before, Balthier press a few more buttons on the device’s controls.
“Alright then, everybody on,” Balthier said, motioning to the warp’s circular base. “And hop to it. Don’t want to get left behind, now do we?”
Vossler, Ashe, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo crowded onto the warp, and Balthier twisted a few more dials. Time to go; they’d traveled far, and it was about time they started on their real purpose for coming. A click echoed from the warp, and a flood of golden light filled the air, blocking Balthier’s view off the walls, the desert beyond, even his companions standing on the platform with him. The light surged, in a moment whisking them all off to who-knows-where.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Tomb of Raithwall
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The golden light vanished all at once, and Balthier blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to his new, dim surroundings. After a few moments, his vision cleared. Balthier and the others stood around another warp identical to the one they’d come from. This warp sat on a balcony in a massive room with a domed ceiling like a cathedral. A few lanterns hung on the walls here and there, but overall, gloom reigned supreme. The walls of the tomb were all covered with carvings just like the outside, but in this darkness, the designs were unclear, their grooved patterns making the walls and roof look like the bony sides of some half-starved creature, all black and dull. A strong smell filled the air, old and stony, tinged with decay. A most unwelcoming place.
“Everybody’s here?” Balthier asked, turning to his group. Ashe, Vossler, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo all stood there, staring at the grand yet eerie sight of Raithwall’s Tomb.
“We’re all here,” Vossler replied. “Now let’s get moving. We’re here for a reason.”
“Right,” Balthier said nodding. “Everyone ready? This won’t be easy. I doubt this place is as friendly as it looks.”
“It doesn’t look very friendly,” Penelo said. She stared out into the dark expanse of Raithwall’s Tomb, brown eyes wide with fear. She gripped her staff so tightly it shook. “Is… Is this really a good idea?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Balthier said. “As long as we stay alert and at the ready, and remember this place is probably falling apart and full of traps.”
“I think the pirate means we should be careful,” Vossler said. “And I’m inclined to agree.” He turned to Ashe. “Highness, stay behind me. We don’t know what’s down there.” The princess nodded.
A staircase wound of each side of the balcony the warp sat on, curving artistically to the floor below. Perhaps in the light of day the design would have been lovely, but here in the shadows it served only to amplify the unnerving atmosphere. Vossler took the lead down one of the stairways; the black stone was old and crumbling, with no railings. From the stairs, Balthier could see the floor below dropped away after about fifty feet, leading to a shadowy abyss. A narrow bridge extended out over the great chasm, leading to a set of double doors on the other side, that was, as everything else, large and set with detailed carvings. There was no other place to go, so they started off down the bridge. The bridge at least had railings, unlike the stairs, with lanterns scattered along them. The small, glass cases ebbed a soft, orange light, each one flickering like it might go out at any moment. Balthier assumed these lights were powered by magicite; there was no way fire would still be burning after a thousand years.
A click sounded through the air, and everyone stopped in their tracks.
“What was that?” Vossler said, spinning around.
“I think I stepped on something,” Vaan said. He glanced down and lifted one foot. The square of stone that had sunk in under his weight rose back up, resuming its place with another click.
Balthier let out a sigh. “That cannot be good.”
The floor beneath them began to shake, loose stones rattling off between the railings and down into the chasm below. Balthier felt the vibrations coming from behind them, and he spun around to face the incoming threat. The far wall underneath the balcony out, rumbling over the ground towards the party. It slipped perfectly between the bridge’s two railings, a massive slab of featureless black stone bearing down on them.
“Ah.” Balthier frowned. “I suggest we pick up the pace. Vossler?”
Vossler wasted no time on words. He grabbed Ashe’s hand and made for the doors at the far end, though the princess needed no encouragement to follow. Balthier, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo sprinted after them. The wall was moving fast, gaining on them with alarming speed. At least they had a head start.
Vossler reach the doors first. He let go of Ashe and yanked on one of the handles, but the door stuck fast.
“No! It’s locked!” Vossler cried.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Balthier said, pushing past Vossler. He pulled out his lock picks and dropped to one knee at the door, sticking the small tools into the keyhole. Balthier forced himself to breath slowly and focus on the task at hand rather than the impending doom behind. Vossler planted himself between the wall and the princess, sword drawn, as if that would do an ounce of good.
“Hurry, Balthier!” Vossler shouted. “It’s getting close!”
Balthier jammed the picks farther into the keyhole, but the thing was old and full of rust, and he doubted it would respond in time.
“Any time now!” Vossler called again. He and the others backed up against the door, the slab of black stone just a few feet away. No! Balthier thought. I refuse to be squished just because I can’t get one measly door open!
The tension behind Balthier’s lock picks suddenly gave way. It let out the faintest click, barely audible above the rumbling of the approaching wall, but Balthier heard it clear as day.
“Ah-ha!” he cried, feeling quite pleased with himself despite the perilous circumstances. Balthier grabbed the door handle and shoved it open. No one wasted a moment before diving through. When the wall crashed into the doorway with a resounding thud, they were all safely on the other side.
The six travelers lay over the floor on the other side, sprawling where they’d landed from the desperate dive through the doorway. This tunnel, lit with the same dim torches as before, ran on a ways before disappearing around a bend.
“Well, that was a little too close a call for my tastes,” Balthier said, pulling himself up to a sitting position.
“That’s one thing you are right on,” Vossler said, sitting up also. He grabbed his sword from the floor and stood. Balthier heaved himself back to his feet as well. Vaan, Penelo, Fran and Ashe were all picking themselves up, having recovered from their near brush with death.
“Well then,” Balthier said. “What don’t we all watch our step from here on, hm?” He said ‘all,’ but let his gaze rest on Vaan in particular. The kid noticed.
“Hey, it was an accident!” he said.
“Accident or no, we all almost got killed,” Balthier said. “And I think we’d all prefer to avoid that in the future.”
“Agreed,” Vossler said. He’d already placed his sword back in its sheath and was helping Ashe to her feet. Balthier couldn’t see that the princess was in any great need of assistance, but she looked grateful anyway. “Now, if we’re all done chatting,” Vossler continued, “let’s get going.” With that he started off, taking the lead down the long, shadowy tunnel. Balthier found himself at the rear, a place he seemed resigned to spend this whole journey. He reminded himself for the hundredth that, as annoying as it was, it didn’t matter. He was here for the nethicite, to keep it away from Archadia, and yes, in a small way, to help Ashe win back Dalmasca’s freedom. After all, if he had done what he could two years ago, they likely would never have been conquered at all.

…

“It’s kinda dark,” Penelo said, glancing around nervously from where she sat in her sleeping bag. A fire crackled in the center of their camp, like it had the past several nights. Only now, instead of a brilliant sunset over the desert, they were surrounded by dim lanterns and eerily carved black walls. Balthier didn’t mind so much, but apparently Penelo did. Ashe didn’t seem her usual self, either, but whether that was due to the unnerving tomb, the Dawn Shard’s nearness, or something else entirely, Balthier couldn’t tell.
“Oh, come on, Penelo,” Vaan sighed from his bedroll. He lay with his hands folded behind his head, rather than sitting up like his jumpy sister. “It’s just as dark as it’s been. And it’s not like there’re ghosts or anything.”
“Ghosts?” Penelo said, eyes widening. She drew the folds of her sleeping bag closer. “You don’t think there might be?”
“You know, I’m not sure,” Vaan said, his voice changing from exasperated to teasing. “Maybe it’s… ancient tomb robbers.” A smile spread over the kid’s face, and he let his voice take on a theatrical tone.  “They died down here centuries ago, and now they’re doomed forever to guard the king whose domain they tried to pillage.”
“Ah, nice, Vaan,” Balthier said. “That’d be a fine ghost story. If it were real.” Balthier crouched by the fire, stoking it as everyone waited for Vossler and Fran’s return. They’d gone to check the surrounding area for traps, just to make sure they didn’t get squashed or something while they slept.
“It’s not real, right?” Penelo squeaked.
“Well,” Balthier replied, “that depends on how real you think Vaan’s imagination is.”
Penelo didn’t reply. She glanced once down the long, shadowy corridor, then let her gaze rest on the crackling fire. Ashe sat, legs folded, on her sleeping bag, staring at something far away. The firelight painted her features, lost in thought, and set her hair to its metallic glimmer. Clearly, she hadn’t heard any of their debate. Balthier decided not to disturb her.
“The good news is, no traps,” Vossler’s voice called out. Everyone, even Ashe, looked up to watch as he and Fran approached from down the shadowy hallway. Vossler held his sword gingerly in one hand; the blade was covered in white slime. Vossler frowned furiously at his weapon, trying to scrap off the gunk with one hand.
“What happened to you?” Balthier asked, arching one eyebrow.
“You don’t want to know.” With that, Vossler plopped down by the fire and continued to try and fail to remove the white ooze from his sword.
“We ran into a monster,” Fran said in her usual calm manner. She sat down on her bedroll.
“You call that thing a monster?” Vossler said with a scoff.
“What kind of… monster?” Penelo asked, wide-eyed. She was alert and attentive, still jumpy from Vaan’s teasing.
“A great glob of jelly,” Vossler said with a huff. “The thing was quite intent on slurping us up. And now it’s all over my sword.”
“Well, maybe it’ll poison the next thing you stab with it,” Balthier said.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Vossler said, rolling his eyes. He stopped scrubbing and let the sword drop to the ground. “Hopefully, the next thing I stab with it won’t just glue itself back together and ooze off, none the wiser.” Vossler accentuated his irritation with flaring hand gestures.
“I said it wouldn’t work,” Fran said. “I was trying to cast magic, but you wouldn’t move.”
“Oh, this is a lost cause,” Vossler sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll fix it in the morning.” He stood, leaving the blade on the ground, then sat down on his sleeping bag.
“Fran, do you think there could be more of those things?” Balthier asked.
Fran nodded. “The myst is incredibly thick down here,” she said. “More so than I imagined. Many unusual creatures are attracted to and breed well in such myst.”
“In that case,” Balthier said, standing, “we’d best keep a watch tonight. I’ll take first.”
No one objected. Even Vossler was too cross after his defeat to worry about being shown up. So while everyone else slept, Balthier kept watch. He did his best to focus on his duties and keep his mind from wandering. With so many various things to worry about, that was a task in and of itself.
After about an hour or so- it was hard to tell in that dark crypt- a rustling attracted his attention from the ring of sleepers around the campfire, which was burning low. Princess Ashe sat up in her sleeping bag. She rubbed her face with her hands, let out a sigh, the stared into the fire’s smoldering remains. Balthier stopped the pacing he’d engaged in the past while and glanced at her; the princess didn’t seem to have noticed him. Everyone else was sound asleep, and she was alone in her own world of deep thought. Ashe had seemed off the evening before, Balthier noted; something was troubling her. What, Balthier could only guess; he had his guesses, but that was all they were. After a few moments, Balthier decided he wasn’t going to just ignore Ashe and walked over to her.
“What’s wrong, princess?” Balthier asked. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Hm?” Ashe glanced up at him. “Oh, uh… a little, I suppose,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, I’m… I’m fine.” There was silence for several moments. Ashe stared into the fire, then down at her sleeping bag. Anxious, unsettled, confused- the princess was a lot easier to read than Fran.
Ashe raised her head suddenly, then turned to look down the hallway that led from their campsite farther into Raithwall’s Tomb. She raised one hand to her heart, sucking in a breath.
“Is it the Dawn Shard?” Balthier asked.
Ashe’s eyes glazed with that distant, confused look she’d born so often since they left the rigs. “I think so,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “It’s… close. Very close.” She stared down the tunnel, and through that glaze of confusion her eyes shone with something else.
“Scared?” Balthier asked. The thought of nethicite certainly didn’t make him feel at ease. But, then again, that was what he was there for.
“I…” Ashe’s gaze fell, and she closed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath. “I can’t afford to be.”
And yet she did look terrified. Some part of Balthier pitied the poor princess, struggling so hard to find the strength she needed. But she’d made it this far, through the two years since the death of her father and husband and the destruction of her kingdom, so she must have succeeded in some way.
“Get some sleep, Ashe,” Balthier said. “Hopefully, we’ll find your Dawn Shard before too long.”
Balthier’s words pulled Ashe from her silent distress. She glanced up at him, her desperation even clearer in her blue-grey eyes. She nodded slowly, cast one last glance into the dying fire, then lay back down in bedroll.
Balthier walked back away from the ring of his sleeping companions and stared off down the tunnel. His watch would be over soon, and he was glad of it. The only thing in his thoughts now was that look of anguish in Ashe’s eyes, and the glaring truth that, if only he hadn’t closed his eyes to the nethicite, to his father’s growing coldness, she would be happily married to Rasler, the princess of a nation prospering from its fresh alliances. If only Ffamran had had the guts to look outside his little world of perfection and fix the things desperately wrong with it. Instead, he’d sat back and ignored it. Now Reina was dead, the Dr. Cid and Archadia he knew and loved were gone, and Ffamran was gone, too. All that remained was that wretched sky pirate, running around playing mercenary, seeing all those grand sights Ffamran had dreamed of. But he couldn’t ignore any more. He had to try and recover what was left. Balthier knew his life was gone, and rightly so; that had all been his fault, anyway. But if finding that nethicite and fighting against Archadia would help people like Ashe and Vaan, people still bleeding from that war he could have stopped, then he’d do it. What else could he do?

…

The next day they continued their journey, past an array of weirdly twisted creatures and vicious traps, but even down into the tomb. Ashe seemed more certain than ever about that they were nearing their prize. Fran was stony as usual, Ashe distant as she’d been. Vossler was tense with impatience; apparently that internal clock of his was going off, saying they’d taken too long. Balthier couldn’t tell if he simply feared Ashe would get hurt in that death-trap of a tomb or if the resistance had some plan that needed to start soon. Penelo did remarkably well in the dark, eerie tomb, fighting off distorted, disgusting creatures and putting her healing magic to good use. She didn’t even seem that nervous; apparently, she’d adjusted since last night.
The long, dimly lit hallways, with their ornately carved walls of black stone, all looked the same, every now and then turning and falling down flights of equally decorated stairs. The only thing to break the monotony were a variety of new and creative traps. Balthier assumed they were far underground by that point; but if the Dawn Shard was underground, he couldn’t help but wonder what the massive tomb on the outside was for. Just more bravado by the ancient king, he guessed.
The party rounded another ninety-degree corner leading to another flight of stairs.
“How deep does this thing go, anyway?” Vaan said with a sigh. “We’ve been going down forever.”
“We’ll go as deep as we have to,” Vossler replied. He walked next to Ashe, a place he’d constantly occupied since they entered the tomb. Vossler let out a sigh. “Though I hope it won’t be much longer.”
“Oh, it can’t be,” Balthier said. “I imagine the workers would’ve revolted if they had to dig any deeper.”
Vaan let out a chuckle at that, though he was the only one.
At the bottom of the stairway, it opened into not another dark passageway, but out onto a balcony suspended over a massive drop. The balcony continued away from the staircase, connecting to a doorway on the opposite wall, but no looked over there. The massive drop spread out as far as the eye could see up and down, disappearing into shadow either way. The opposite side must have been a good hundred feet or more away, but Balthier couldn’t see it. Filling the great void of darkness was a glowing sea of golden mist curled and twisted, a thousand wisps of glittering energy. It warped and faded like an illusion, flowing in tortuous pathways through the air, its golden light illuminating the intricate carvings that covered Raithwall’s Tomb.
“Oh, wow…” Penelo walked out to the balcony’s railing and leaned against them. “What is it?”
“Myst,” Fran answered simply.
“You can see it?” Penelo asked. “With your eyes?”
The faintest flicker of amusement crossed Fran’s lips. “You humans cannot, save where it is thickest,” she said, walking up to join Penelo at the railings. “The myst runs deep in this place.”
“Well, that is quite a sight,” Balthier said. He refrained from voicing the long, scientific analysis of how myst could attain such density that unfolded in his brain.
“Over here!” Ashe cried out, taking everyone from their amazement over the myst. She rushed toward the door at the balcony’s other end. This door, unlike the rest of Raithwall’s Tomb, was carved from white marble, graced with the simply designs of two desert flowers on slender stems, one rising up each door. Ashe ran up the doorway. “I think… I think this is it,” she said, breathless.
“Stand back, Highness,” Vossler said. He walked up to the door and gingerly took its handle. Balthier didn’t blame him for being cautious; most doors they’d opened in that tomb had kept rather nasty surprises up their sleeves. The door didn’t respond to Vossler light touch, so he proceeded to heave his full strength into it, and the heavy stone door slid open. It ground against the floor, filling the otherwise still air with a resounding groan. Shoving through the stubborn door, Vossler led the way, followed closely by Ashe, the others behind.
The room beyond was as unlike the rest of Raithwall’s Tomb as its door. Several magicite torches lined the walls, glowing brightly and bathing the smooth, domed ceiling above with golden light. The greatest source of light in that room came from a pedestal that stood on a dais in the room’s center, before a large coffin carved from a gold-tinged stone. Atop that pedestal rested a small, spherical crystal, radiating an amethyst light that, though soft, somehow reached the farthest corners of the room. The moment they entered, Balthier felt a wave of power rush over him, ancient and cold, and he knew that feeling; if he ever doubted that thing was nethicite, he knew now.
And in its wave of power, some strangled semblance of being deep within its stony depths throbbed with desire. Some twisted perversion of what could have been life reached out in a wave of energy, a shadow of longing just edging on coherent thought. The Dawn Shard’s power bombarded Balthier’s mind, sending a shiver through his limbs and that familiar ache to the back of his head. He struggled not to show this discomfort to everyone else.
Ashe dashed ahead, running up the steps of the dais. The moment she stood before the Shard, its light flared, glowing in shades of chilly white and faintest lilac, like the touch of dawn painting the night sky. With it, its power swelled. Its broken thoughts took on a distorted, hollow voice, singing ‘I know this blood… and I want…’ Balthier sucked in a breath, blocking out its spine-chilling cry of hunger, reminding himself only he could hear it. His father’s nethicite had never acted this way, but then again, it had never met Raithwall’s blood.
“It’s here…” Ashe breathed. “The Dawn Shard.” Her voice sounded like sweetest music after the Dawn Shard’s hungry rasp. Ashe took the stone in both her hands, and its pulse of soft, daybreak light flared, bathing her face in its glow. After a few moments its light fell away, leaving it only an amethyst crystal with the faintest light deep inside.
“We’ve found it!” Ashe said, her cry breaking the spell of silence. “Finally…”
“That we have,” Balthier echoed. With the Dawn Shard’s power retreated, he could finally breath again, and that throb in his head was fading.
“We have what we came for, Highness,” Vossler said, walking up to stand beside Ashe on the dais. “Now let’s hurry back to the surface.”
“Agreed,” Balthier said. “No reason to hang around this place.”
Ashe nodded, closing her hands tightly around the Dawn Shard.
“We have it now, Vossler,” she said, looking up at her guardian with hope in her eyes. “We really have it. We can really fight, now. Think Vossler, we’ll have Dalmasca back! Things will be like they were, before…” That look of pain marred Ashe’s bright face. “Before the war. We’ll put things right.”
Vossler stood silently for a few moments, then, letting out a light chuckle, he put a hand on Ashe’s shoulder.
“Right, Highness,” he said, squeezing. “Now, come on, let’s go.”
Vossler led Ashe down from the dais, towards the door they’d come from. Balthier followed, along with Fran, Vaan, and Penelo. They had their nethicite.

…

“Assume all those traps we set off don’t reset, our journey out should be shorter than our journey in,” Balthier said as the party left the staircase. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we camped out in the desert tonight.”
“Mm. It will be soon,” Vossler said. He let out a sigh, making an effort to look perky. “That’s good. Let’s hurry.”
Balthier frowned a moment, wondering what was wrong with the knight; he’d been all in a hurry until now.
“Yes, hurry,” Balthier said, “but let’s still watch our step, alright? Vaan?”
Vaan scowled. “It was only that once! I could’ve happened to anyone!”
“Be that as it may, try not to set that trap off again on the way out,” Balthier said. “We don’t need-”
Balthier broke off, freezing as he felt the ground sink under his next step. A click echoed off the walls of the narrow passageway. All eyes turned to him.
“Oh dear.”
Balthier was about to suggest ducking, or looking out, or something like that, but it was too late. The intricately carved wall of black stone to his left swung out in an arch, catching him face-first. In a blur of motion, cries of surprise all around, Balthier felt himself swept around, then thrown backwards, finally skidding to a halt on his rear on the rough stone floor. Still a bit dazed from the impact, Balthier spotted Vossler and Ashe picking themselves up, and the section of wall settling perfectly back into place. The others were nowhere to be seen.
“Really?” Balthier said with a sigh. “They really couldn’t come up with anything more original than a spinning wall?”
“That’s the best thing you can complain about?” Vossler said, standing up and glaring at Balthier. “How about you? Don’t practice what you preach, huh?”
“Well, I…” That was a hard one. Very hard. A bit too hard for Balthier’s rhetoric, frustratingly. Shaking his head with a sigh, Balthier pulled himself back to his feet while Vossler helped Ashe up with great care. Balthier walked over the wall and rapped against it.
“Hello?” he called, raising his voice. Hopefully, at least Fran could hear across the wall. “Can anyone hear me?”
“We can,” came Fran’s muffled voice, so quiet Balthier could barely make it out.
“There has to be a way to the exit from over here,” Balthier called. “We’ll all meet there, got it?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then,” Balthier said, turning away from the wall to his two companions. “There’s our plan. Let’s hop to it then, hm?”
“Which way do we go?” Ashe asked. This tunnel ran off in both directions, much like the one they’d left, with another passageway breaking off perpendicularly, leading to a narrow, dimly lit stairway.
“Well, not back down,” Balthier said. “And after all that spinning, I’m not entirely sure which direction we were headed.”
“So we just pick one,” Vossler said. “And if it goes down, we turn around and head the other way.”
“Alright,” Ashe said with a nod. “Let’s go, then.”
She started off down the tunnel, striding with that air of artificial royal pride Balthier found so amusing. After only a few steps, the ground split open under her as a trap door gave way. With a cry, Princess Ashe descended through the hidden opening. Vossler dived for her, failing to catch the princess but managing to catch the trapdoor’s scissor-like jaws before they snapped closed. Balthier rushed over.
“Highness!” Vossler called down, not even looking that strained at keeping the trap door open. “Are you alright? Ashe!”
“I’m fine!” Ashe’s voice drifted back up. It looked like quiet a drop, swathed in shadows so thick Balthier couldn’t see the bottom.
“Ashe, do you think you can climb back out?” Balthier called, kneeling by the door opposite Vossler.
“No, it’s too high,” Ashe called after a few moments. “But I think there’s… there’s a door here. Only I can’t find a way to open it!”
Balthier let out a sigh. “Well, isn’t this wonderful?”
“Just stay there, Highness!” Vossler called down. “I’ll come find you!”
“How?” Balthier said, arching an eyebrow at Vossler. “You gonna dive down there after her?”
“No.” Vossler scowled. “See that?” He nodded towards the small staircase. “I’ll take that. Her Highness says there’s a door, so it must open somewhere. That leads down, where she is.”
“That’s risky at best,” Balthier said.
“You got any better ideas?” Vossler replied. There was a moment’s silent as Balthier thought of a suitable response.
“Vossler?” Ashe’s voice called out of the shadows. “Balthier? Are you still there?”
Balthier was about to respond when Vossler cut him off.
“Don’t worry, Highness. I’ll get you. Just hang in there!” Then he released the trapdoor, and its scissor-like jaws snapped shut.
Balthier stood with a sigh. “Well then, let’s go rescue us a princess, shall we?”
“Not you,” Vossler said. “You go scout ahead, make sure we’re taking the right path when we get back up here.”
“What?” Balthier said. “And what if you run into trouble down there? What if you get caught in some other trap? I wouldn’t think it wise for me to go alone, either. As annoying as it is, we stand a better chance of getting Ashe back if we work together.”
“I’m going to get Ashe back!” Vossler snapped. “Not you. I thought you’d get it by now; stay away from her! Her Highness is a beautiful woman; you aren’t the first who’s tried this, and you won’t be the last. You-”
“I’m not any of them!” Balthier said, cutting Vossler off. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that princess is a lunatic. She’s all yours; you can have her!”
“Oh, well, it’s… not… like that…” Vossler stammered.
Balthier let out a sigh. “Oh, please don’t try and deny it. Ashe is about the only person on Ivalice who can’t tell.”
Vossler let out a bitter chuckle. “Heh. Well… that’s true. I don’t really blame her, though. We met when she was only ten… But you don’t know Princess Ashe! She… She may not have as much to offer as others, but she gives all she possibly can, and she always has. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t need to convince me, Vossler,” Balthier said. “I am fully persuaded of your undying love for the princess. I’m just trying to defend myself. Trust me, I’ve been there, done that. It…” That heartrending image of Reina’s face filled Balthier’s mind once more. “It didn’t end well.”
Vossler smirked. “What, you mean under all that charm you’re really no good?”
Balthier scoffed. “Oh, I wish. Let’s just say… I learned the hard way… that love and war don’t mix.”
“Heh. I’m learning.”
Not a sound echoed off the finely carved walls of Raithwall’s Tomb. In that place of the dead, it was silent as the grave. Balthier couldn’t take it.
“Let’s go, then. Don’t want to keep Ashe waiting.”
“Mm.” Vossler just nodded, then turned silently towards the narrow stairway. Balthier let him lead the way.

…

Darkness. Thick, inky, complete, and all-encompassing. Not a sound, either. It was so dark and silent the only things Ashe could register was the rough stone beneath her, the scent of decay in the air, and the nip of a chill in the air. She crouched in a corner, from what he could tell of the wall behind her. She didn’t even know how large this space was. It was large enough for her to stand, she knew, and she’d felt the crack of a door on one wall. She sat near that spot, awaiting with desperation the arrival of Balthier and Vossler. It felt like an eternity had passed in that dark place. She was so cold and alone, it was all she could do to hold in tears.
I must be strong. For Dalmasca…
But the words didn’t help. Ashe closed her eyes, though it made no difference, and leaned against the wall, trying to think of some happier time, the sort of time she fought to bring back. Her husband, Rasler…
A suddenly flash of light made Ashe gasp. She sat bolt upright, searching wildly for the source of the light. On the floor of her small, dark cell lay the Dawn Shard, radiating a soft, lilac-white brilliance. It must have fallen from her pocket during the fall. Why it had suddenly lit up, she couldn’t tell, but Ashe was glad for the light. She knelt next to the round crystal and reached to grab it.
A surge of light, stronger than its gentle radiance, filled the air about the Dawn Shard. Ashe drew her hand back with a gasp. As the rush of white light died away, in its place stood something impossible: a wavering, ghostly image of…
“Rasler!” Ashe cried aloud. She sprang to her feet to face the ethereal image. It was Rasler, decked in white armor like the day he rode out to Nalbina Fortress, like the last time Ashe had seen him, still and cold in his casket, ringed by galbana lilies, slain by an Archadian arrow.
“Rasler? But… what?” Ashe said, confusion whirling in her tired mind. The ghostly figure of her late husband shook its head, then turn its back and walked toward the far wall of the shadowy prison.
“No, wait!” Ashe shouted. She tried to grab his arm, but her fingers passed right through. He continued on, passing through the wall and leaving her all alone again.
Ashe stood there, staring after him, wondering if she had really seen that or not. Was she dreaming, or had she just imagined it? The Dawn Shard’s soft light still illuminated her dismal surroundings, but that ghostly image of Rasler was gone without a trace.
“Rasler…”
Then a creaking filled the air, and orange torchlight, brilliant after so long in the dark, spilled into her dark tomb.

Vossler heaved open the small doorway they’d found on the level below. Balthier let him and his brute force do the heavy lifting; besides, he figured Vossler would want to greet the princess first. This door was halfway up the wall, a good four feet from the floor; perfect to access a trapdoor from the floor above.
The door swung open revealing a dark, unlit room, small and compact. Ashe stood, her back to the door, staring wide-eyed at the wall.
“Highness!” Vossler called. “Are you alright?”
Ashe turned slowly to face him, frowning in confusion.
“There was…” she stammered. “I… I thought…”
“Highness?” Worry overtook Vossler’ face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I…” Ashe glanced back at the wall, then shook her head. “No, I’m fine, Vossler.” She moved over to the doorway.
“I’ll catch you,” Vossler said. He did, quite happily, Balthier imagined. Vossler set Ashe down, and Balthier spotted her tucking the Dawn Shard away in her pocket.
“We should head back up, right?” Ashe said. “We should hurry.”
“Right, princess,” Balthier said. He nodded back the way he and Vossler came. “Right this way.”
Ashe nodded and started off. That air of dazed confusion had left her, but Balthier still wondered what it was all about. He turned to follow her, and Vossler came up beside him.
“Balthier,” he said slowly, staring after Ashe, “you know I’d do anything for Princess Ashe, right?”
“Well, sure,” Balthier said after a few moments. “But… what are you talking about?”
Vossler let out a bitter chuckle then a heavy sigh, then followed Ashe without another word.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Tomb of Raithwall
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

After several hours’ wanderings, Balthier, Vossler, and Ashe found their way back to the others. They’d traveled for a long time that day, and though they were very near the exit, they camped for the night in the tomb. That next day, after only a short time of walking, they made their way to the entry room. They managed not to set off the squishing wall-mechanism again and made it back up the stairs to the warp.
“Here we are,” Balthier said, in generally a good mood. They had the Dawn Shard and were on their way back; what could go wrong now? “We ready to see sunlight again?”
“Oh, yeah,” Vaan said with a chuckle. “I’ve had enough of this place.”
“It’s time, isn’t it?” Vossler said, surprisingly dismal.
“This thing won’t send us straight back to Rabanastre, you know,” Balthier said, ignoring Vossler’s gloominess. “We still have to walk across all of Jagd Yensa again.”
“Oh. Yes, we will,” Vossler replied.
“Oh, think, Vossler!” Ashe said, smiling. “We’re so close! We’ll have our Dalmasca back!”
Vossler didn’t respond to her. “Come on,” he said, nodding towards the controls. “Let’s get going.”
Still confused by Vossler’s attitude, Balthier proceeded to activate the warp. Its golden light swathed around them all for a moment, then they stood in the daylight again. The sun was blinding at first. Balthier gazed up into the wide blue sky, absent for so long, with a smile, but what he saw erased it entirely.
A fleet filled the sky. Impossible, since airships couldn’t fly in jagd skies, but there it was. A dreadnaught surrounded by a massive fleet filled the sky over Raithwall’s Tomb. Three smaller transports were parked in the valley surrounding the tomb, soldiers in Archadian armor all around. Six knights standing around the warp drew their swords, instantly surrounding the newly-arrived party of travelers. One knight grabbed Balthier’s arm, holding his sword out in front of him. Balthier froze, partly from shock and partly because the knight shouted, “don’t move!” The knight pulled Balthier’s rifle from its holster and tossed it away. The rest of the knights held the others in similar fashion, stripping their weapons and keeping them in place with threatening blades.
Up the steps of Raithwall’s Tomb approached a Judge in full armor. Each Archadian Judge had their own specially crafted armor, and Balthier recognized this one; Judge Ghis, commander of the dreadnaught Leviathan and Archadia’s eighth fleet. Apparently, his bout with Penelo’s nethicite hadn’t finished him off.
Ghis clapped as he ascended the steps, each strike resounding through the otherwise silent air.
“Captain Vossler Azelas!” Ghis called as he crested the steps. “Congratulations! I admit I was skeptical of our little deal, but you’ve kept it to the letter! Well done!”
All eyes turned to Vossler. He stood, sword secularly in its sheath on his back, untouched by the guards. Balthier got a terrible sinking feeling.
“Vossler?” Ashe said, eyes wide and voice shaking. “Vossler, what’s going on?”
Vossler let out a sigh. He bore that tired look of his Balthier had never understood before.
“I’m sorry, Highness.”
“Captain Azelas has graciously agreed to aid Archadia in our goals, a choice I greatly respect,” Ghis said.
“What?” Ashe stared at Vossler, eyes wide with horror. She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Vossler looked away, not meeting her gaze.
“Bring them,” Ghis said, turning to walk down the stairway. “We can continue this in the comfort of my flagship.”
The knights shoved the party forward to follow Judge Ghis. Ashe’s eyes were wide and blank with shock, and she stumbled forward limply at the knight’s push. Vossler followed at the rear, head held high but conflict warring in his eyes. Balthier wasn’t sure what to think; should he have seen this coming? But after everything Vossler had said, everything he’d done… How? Amid a simmering sea of indignation, that was the one question Balthier could raise. How? How could Vossler bear to do this to Ashe?

One of the transports brought Ghis, his captives, and several knights as guards back up to the Leviathan. In the hanger, the knights clapped handcuffs on every member of their party, save Vossler, who was speaking with Ghis out of Balthier’s hearing range. Neither man seemed very happy. One knight secured large, blocky handcuffs around Balthier’s wrists, and was also smart enough to search him and remove all his hidden lockpicks. As they marched through the hallways towards the Leviathan’s bridge, Balthier noticed Penelo fumble Larsa’s piece of manufactured nethicite from her pocket and cradle it in her bound hands. A good-luck charm, he’d said… It’d take an awful lot of good luck to get them out of this, and besides, those stones had only ever been bad news.
“Welcome to my dreadnaught Leviathan!” Ghis called, raising his hands in gesture to their surrounding as they entered the bridge. Pilots and technicians worked all around at controls and stations to keep the grand ship running. Through the massive windshield, airships thronged the sky. “Thanks to the joint work of Archadia’s finest minds,” Ghis continued, “she, and my whole eighth fleet, are equipped with shielding that allows us safe passage through jagd skies. Impressive, isn’t it?”
Ghis’s face was entirely hidden by his helmet, but Balthier imagined he looked very smug underneath, like a cat toying with his prey before devouring it.
“I assume you didn’t bring us up here just to brag about your fleet,” Balthier said. “Can we please get to the point?”
“Very well,” Ghis said, growing instantly serious. “Give me the nethicite.”
“Wait… nethicite?” Penelo looked down at the small, blue crystal she held.
“Not that!” Ghis snapped. “That is merely a base imitation! Archadia’s a hundred more like it! I want the real nethicite. Princess, hand it over, or I shall be forced to take drastic measures.” Ghis’s hand played along the hilt of his sword.
“I… I don’t know what you mean!” Ashe said. “I don’t have any nethicite! I don’t even know what that is!”
“Captain Azelas?” Ghis said, turning to Vossler with that catlike pleasure. “Perhaps you would like to tell her?”
Vossler set Ghis with a smoldering glare but made no move or objection. Guilt, warring with frustration and helplessness tore across his face. Good, Balthier thought. Serves him right.
“He means the Dawn Shard, Highness,” Vossler said at last. “That’s the nethicite. That’s what Archadia wants.”
“What?” Ashe said, eyes wide.
“Now, hand it over quick, dear,” Ghis said. In a single, fluid motion he drew his sword, the long, ornate blade flashing in the morning sun. “Or else, your friends’ heads will roll one by one. What will it be, princess?”
“I… I…” Ashe stammered. Her gaze danced from Ghis’s sword to her companions, torn.
“I think perhaps we’ll start with… him.” Ghis swung his sword around to place its edge against Balthier’s neck.
“Ashe, don’t,” Balthier said, though Ghis’s blade pressed harder. He had to keep that nethicite out of Archadia’s hands. If he let them have it, it would make this entire journey pointless. It would mean he failed again.
“But… but I can’t… I can’t just…” After a few helpless moments, Ashe reached into the folds of her clothing, fumbling to pull out the Dawn Shard with her hands bound. The stone rested in her hands, a quiet, inner light flickering in its depths. Balthier managed to catch Vossler’s gaze and send him a glare; Vossler looked away.
“Very good, now hand it over,” Ghis said as Ashe hesitated. He held out one hand to receive the stone, with the other pressing his sword harder against Balthier’s neck, cutting into his flesh with an icy sting. He cringed.
Ashe held out the stone, and, after several moments, dropped it into Ghis’s open palm. No, not again. Not again.
Ghis withdrew his sword, and Balthier felt warm blood trickling down his collarbone. Ghis held the Dawn Shard tightly in one hand. A sickening laugh echoed from his helmet.
“Very good, princess. I knew you could do it. One more piece of nethicite to add to Lord Vayne’s stash.”
“Vayne’s nethicite?” Balthier said, frowning. “Whatever happened to Emperor Gramis? What about the imperial council?” Or Dr. Cid? Didn’t Balthier’s father have the nethicite?
“Emperor Gramis is a sickly old fool,” Ghis snapped. “And the imperial council is a mass of bumbling buffoons. Vayne is the hope of Archadia’s future.”
“Then where is he?” Balthier asked dryly. “Cowering in Archades’ heights while his henchmen do his dirty work?”
“Say what you like,” Ghis replied, “but Archadia’s full power will soon belong to Vayne. Or whoever holds this nethicite…”
Ghis held the stone closer to his face, its soft rays illuminating the shadows behind his visor.
“You.” Ghis signaled to one of the nearby knights. He held out the Dawn Shard. “Take this down to the engine room and have our engineers test it. I want to know how much power this thing can truly put out.”
“But… sir,” the knight stammered. “Aren’t we to take the stone directly to Lord Vayne?”
“I wouldn’t dare return to our master with a stone yet unproven,” Ghis replied. The knight nodded, took the nethicite, then disappeared through the door. Ghis turned to the rest of his squad. “Take these prisoners to the detention block. And Captain Azelas?” Ghis turned to Vossler. “You shall accompany them. Show me the depths of your loyalty to Archadia.”
Vossler fixed that burning glare on Ghis, then turned and strode towards the door.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

The group of armed guards, along with Vossler, led Balthier, Fran, Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe down the corridors of the Leviathan. They marched them single file, guards on either side of the train of bound prisoners. Vossler took the lead, and Balthier found himself walking just behind the traitorous knight. Balthier couldn’t believe they’d lost the Dawn Shard, the one thing he’d been trying to prevent. He couldn’t believe they’d been captured by the Empire, and most of all, he couldn’t believe Vossler would turn his sword on Princess Ashe, the woman he claimed to love. Of this sea of frustration and resentment, he really only had one target to vent it at.
“Well done, Vossler,” Balthier said, spitting venom at Vossler’s turned back. “Not even I saw that one coming. So much for doing anything for Princess Ashe.”
“This is for her, can’t you see?” Vossler said, looking over his shoulder at Balthier. His face was a storm of pain. “This war, this struggle… it was doomed from the start. Ashe… When the Empire captured her, I realized…” Vossler sigh, shaking his head, jaw clenched. “I rushed off blindly to rescue her. It worked, but… She’s in danger. We’re all in danger. We cannot beat Archadia. I’ve fought this battle for years, and I know that. I’ve tried to keep Ashe as safe as I can, but it won’t work. And Ashe… all she talks about is revenge. This war is killing her in more ways than one, and I can’t just watch! I love Dalmasca, but if this is what it takes to save Ashe, I don’t care what it costs! My country, my honor…”
“Everyone else’s lives,” Balthier picked up. Vossler glared at him, but his gaze was fraught with guilt.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, shaking his head. “I only wanted…” Vossler closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Argh! I don’t… I just… I can’t let her get hurt!”
“And you think the Empire will let her live?” Balthier said. “What’s stopping them from killing her now?”
“That was our deal,” Vossler replied. “I give them their precious nethicite, and Princess Ashe is instated as ruler of the Dalmascan province, under Archadia.”
“And what makes you think they’ll keep it?” Balthier scoffed. “Vayne Solidor hardly strikes me as an honest man.”
“It’s not that simple,” Vossler replied. “They were following us, Balthier. I wasn’t going to let Ashe go, but…” He closed his eyes in bitter recollection. “Members of the resistance approached me. Spies. They’d gotten wind of her plan, to retrieve the Dawn Shard. I don’t know how they knew, about that or the Shard, but they did. They said… they were worried they couldn’t get into Raithwall’s tomb without someone of royal blood, but they weren’t afraid to try, either. It was go and bring the Dawn Shard out or they killed her there and then. They had soldiers following us secretly all the way up to the tomb. There was nothing I could do!”
“Then what’s stopping you now?” Balthier said. “You have your sword. Why not get us all out of here?
“Because I can’t go back to that!” Vossler all but shouted. “I can’t… I can’t let Ashe live in constant danger. I can’t risk this happening again!”
“Then don’t go back to the resistance,” Balthier said. “Do something else, but not this. Have you seen Ashe? Do you know what you’re doing to her?”
Both men glanced back at Ashe who took up the back of the line, stumbling along, staring listlessly at the ground.
“I… I have to do this,” Vossler said, hesitation hardening into stony resolve. “I can’t go back now. Ashe will come along; she’ll understand! And then maybe, finally…”
“Captain Azelas!” An Archadian knight ran from down the corridor up to Vossler. “Judge Ghis wishes to speak with you. He’s down in the engine room. You are to go at once.”
Vossler let out a tired sigh. “Can’t he make up his mind?” he mumbled, then turned to the knight. “I’m coming, don’t worry.”
Vossler started off down the corridor in the direction the knight had come from, and the knight assumed his position at the front of the line.
“Come on then!” the knight called to his fellows. “Let’s get moving!”
As they continued on their way, Balthier watched Vossler disappear around the bend behind them. He wasn’t sure what to think. If Vossler wouldn’t help them, he’d just have to come up with some plan on his own.

…

“Ah! Azelas! Good to see you!” Ghis said, turning to meet Vossler as he entered the room. Vossler was in no mood for the Judge’s games.
“What is it, Ghis?” he said. “You wanted to see me?”
“That’s Judge Ghis to you,” Ghis replied. “And yes, I did. I’m impressed; you didn’t help your friends escape. Well, now that you’ve proven your loyalty, I want you to see this.”
Beckoning with one hand, Ghis walked farther into the mass of wires, pipes, and thrumming machinery that composed the Leviathan’s engine room. A handful of scientists crowded around the largest mass of metal and wires, fiddling with instruments and tools that were far beyond Vossler’s understanding.
“What is this?” Vossler asked.
“The engines,” Ghis replied. “We’re testing the stone against the input of myst from the Leviathan’s skystone. From here, we’ll be able to gage how much destructive force this stone truly holds.”
“Why do you care? Can’t Vayne do that?” Vossler asked. “And why am I here?”
“Ah, well, I don’t trust you that much,” Ghis replied. “You didn’t release your friends first thing, and that bolsters my trust, but I’d still prefer to have you where I can see you.”
The metal device the scientists tinkered with suddenly let out a high-pitched hum, purplish, daybreak light pouring from a small glass window.
“Is it working?” Ghis asked, marching up to the window.
“Something’s wrong,” one of the scientists said. “The power output’s beyond anything we imagined. It’s growing at a far quicker pace than we initially thought; I’m not sure if we can contain it.”
“Oh, you’re smart; you’ll get it under control,” Ghis said, peering eagerly into the glass.
“Don’t you think we should stop?” the scientist asked.
“No, no, carry on,” Ghis said, waving a hand dismissively. He pulled away from the glass and marched back towards the exit.
“But… this is far too dangerous. At least, in my opinion,” the scientist said, clearly nervous. “I’ll follow your orders, sir, but I strongly suggest calling this off.”
Ghis sighed. “I said carry on. Don’t contradict me again.”
“Well, yes, of course, but I’ll sound the alarm if things get out of hand!” the scientist called as Ghis walked away. “If that happens, evacuate everyone, alright?”
“Nonsense,” Ghis said as he walked away. “There will be no need. Come, now, Azelas; there are matters we must discuss.” Vossler let out a sigh; he didn’t have much choice but to follow.

…

“Something’s… wrong,” Fran’s voice pulled Balthier from deep thought. She walked just behind him in their train, and he could hear her breathing heavily.
“Fran, what is it?” Balthier said, glancing over his shoulder at her. What more can go wrong?
“The myst... something is happening…” Fran frowned, closing her eyes. “It’s sparking. Gathering… The stone… I remember… from before, with the Red Fangs. This isn’t good. It’s waking.”
“Ghis said something about testing it,” Balthier said, thinking hard over what he knew of nethicite. “He hardly struck me as a scientist; I didn’t think he’d get any results. But if they have gotten the nethicite active…” The image of Nabudis, ruined and soaked in seething myst, flashed in Balthier’s mind.
“This is greater than… anything I’ve seen from it,” Fran said between labored breaths. “We must leave this place.”
“Easier said than done,” Balthier replied with a scoff. He quickly assessed their situation; the prisoners all walked in a line, one guard at the front and one in the back, two along each side. They were all handcuffed with no weapons, and Balthier didn’t even have his lockpicks. An escape would be difficult at best.
“We… have to… try.” Fran was breathing harder now. She broke off with a whimper, hanging her head and raising her bound hands to press against her temples.
“What’s wrong with her?” one of the guards said.
“I don’t know,” Balthier replied. “Can we stop and rest a moment?”
“Nice try,” the guards said with a scoff. He jabbed a figure at Fran. “Keep her moving.”
“It’s… burning…” Fran let out a gasp and dropped to her knees, stopping the whole procession.
“Fran?” Balthier knelt beside her. She buried her face in her hands, gasping in breaths. He’d never seen her like this.
“Get up!” the guard shouted. Everyone had stopped. Balthier noticed another Archadian knight marching down the corridor, but many such had passed them, so he paid it no mind.
“What’s the problem?” the guard at front called. “We have to hurry. I don’t have time for delays.”
“I don’t know,” the other guard replied. “But don’t worry, I’ve got her.”
As the guard reached to grab her, Fran’s whimpered groaning exploded into a cry of pain. She jerked her hands, snapping the handcuffs in a sudden fit of feral strength. With a wild scream, she flung a kick, hitting the guard square in the face. He flew backward, helmet sailing off and striking the far wall. Fran collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.
“Fran!” Balthier reached a hand towards her, but she recoiled, holding her head in her hands and mumbling incoherently.
“Hold her down!” the leading guard shouted. Two more of their six guards moved in to replace the one Fran had incapacitated. They bent to reach for her, hesitantly. The knight Balthier had spotted earlier came up behind the two of them.
“Do you need help?” he asked. His voice sounded familiar…
Not waiting for a response, the knight grabbed the two guards’ heads and smashed them together, their helmets striking with a resounding clang. The lead guard let out some rather colorful exclamations of surprise, then, drawing his sword, charged the newcomer. Balthier had no idea what was going on, but this man seemed to be working in their favor. Balthier stuck out one leg, tripping the guard as he raced by. He stumbled, tumbling forward where the mysterious knight’s fist met his face with immense force. One of the remaining guards rushed the knight, striking with his blade. The knight drew his sword, blocking the blow and swinging back around for a precise kill strike. The other guard got too close to Fran, and she, still in a frenzy, lashed out again. Another powerful kick sent the guard flying, unconscious, into the wall. Fran collapsed back to the ground breathing hard.
“Fran, are you alright?” Balthier said, kneeling at her side. She nodded slowly.
“I…” She sucked in a breath, eyes closed, sweat collecting around her face. “It grows hotter still…”
The immediate danger was over, but they still had to deal with this mysterious newcomer. Reluctantly leaving Fran, still clearly in pain, Balthier rose to face the knight.
“Look, I’m terribly grateful for your help,” Balthier said, “but-”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t make my entrance sooner,” the knight said, cutting him off. He reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing a face Balthier did recognize.
“Captain Basch!” Ashe cried, letting out a gasp.
“Basch?” Balthier frowned in confusion. “What on Ivalice are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be leading the resistance?”
Basch let out a heavy sigh. “The resistance is no more.”
“What…? What do you mean?” Ashe asked, that all-too familiar look of horror filling her eyes.
“Not a day after you left, an army of imperial knights flooded our main base. They had spies in our ranks, and knew everywhere we hid. Many were killed. Some of us escaped through the tunnels, and made our way to Bhujerba, to Ondore. He has agreed to help us begin again, but… It will take time and effort.”
“What about Hasta?” Ashe asked after a few moments of shocked silence. “Is she alright?”
“She led the imperials to us,” was Basch’s simple reply. Ashe was completely silent.
“During the raid on our base,” Basch continued, oblivious to the princess’s shock, “they boasted of how they would soon have you and the Dawn Shard, Highness. I came and infiltrated their ranks that I might rescue you.”
“In Rabanastre, too?” Ashe whispered, face still blank with shock. “I can’t believe it. And Vossler…”
Basch let out a sigh. “I trained Vossler myself, Highness. That he would do this… But he always was too passionate, too reckless. I warned him not to let it interfere with his judgement, but…”
“We have to leave,” Balthier said, eyeing Fran. “You know the way to the hanger, captain?”
“A docking port for their military fighters is near here,” Basch replied, nodding. “We should move before they realize we’ve escaped.”
Basch knelt beside one of the fallen guards and rose again with a key. He unlocked Balthier’s handcuffs, then moved down the line releasing them one by one. Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe all shed their bonds.
“Here are your weapons,” Basch said, crouching down beside another fallen guard. He tossed Balthier’s rifle at him, then handed out the others’ weapons.
“Fran,” Balthier said, standing over his Viera partner. “Are you alright? Can you walk?”
One hand against the wall, Fran pulled herself up to sit, then stand.
“I… I am… well enough,” she said between labored breaths. “We have to… hurry…”
“Do you need help?” Balthier asked, moving in to support her. Fran shrunk back, shaking her head.
“No. I’m… I can walk,” she wheezed.
“Alright,” Balthier sighed. He turned to the others. “Let’s go then. No use hanging around. Ashe? You alright?”
Ashe nodded slowly, the blank horror in her eyes hardening to resolve. She held her sword out, clenching it in her fist.
“Yes. Let’s go.”

…

“It’s just through here,” Basch said, shoving open a door at the end of the passageway. They’d come down several hallways, and Balthier was surprised they hadn’t run into any guards yet; no doubt they were right behind them. Fran was still stumbling along, saying nothing and breathing hard, letting out a whimper every now and then
“This leads to a central axis,” Basch said, advancing through the door. “From there, it branches off to all parts of the ship. The largest passage leads to the hanger. We must-”
Basch broke off at the sight that awaited, and everyone stopped short.
“Oh, no,” Balthier breathed. He stepped out in front of Basch to face the sight head on.
There, in a massive, round room, stood Vossler, backed by a legion of imperial knights. Vossler stepped out to the front to face the party of six, his eyes fixed solely on Ashe.
“Highness!” Vossler called, his hard, resolute face painted with desperation. “Please, listen to me! This is the only way. I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret here, so please, come with me now. Just-”
“No!” Ashe shouted back, hold her sword like a shield between herself and Vossler. “I can’t help Archadia! How could you even think that?”
“Just listen to me! Ashe! Things won’t be like they were before, no, but they’ll be better than now! By ruling under Vayne, you can make life better for the people of Dalmasca! You… We, Ashe! We can help! We’ll make this work. Please, Ashe, come with me! This is the only way! I’m begging you! Please!”
Ashe shook her head, tears glittering in her blue eyes. “No! Never! I’ll never help the Empire! And I’ll never help you! Forget it, Vossler!”
The pain marking Ashe’s face was unbearable, but nothing like agony that streaked, silent and stony, across Vossler’s face, betrayed only by the faintest twitch of the eye. He stood there silent for several moments, then reached back, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“If that’s how you feel…” he said, drawing the blade, “then this ends right here. Right now.” He signaled to the gathered troops with one hand. “Try not to kill them. But if you have to… Don’t hesitate.”
“Vossler…” Balthier could barely believe what he was hearing. “You’re not really going to do this, are you?”
Vossler’s face was hard as stone. “Watch me.”
…

Vossler and his army were on them in a moment. The flood of knights surrounded the small party like a tidal wave, cutting them off from each other as well as any escape routes. Balthier managed to say with Vaan and Penelo, but lost sight of Ashe, Basch, and Fran. From somewhere in the battlefield, Balthier heard a feral scream that sounded like Fran, followed by shouts from several soldiers; apparently, the myst finally got to her. Balthier spotted Basch once, but, still dressed in his imperial armor as a disguise, the captain soon blended into the background. Balthier couldn’t see Ashe, or Vossler, a fact that disturbed him greatly. But there was no time to worry about that.
This wasn’t really the territory for fighting with a rifle, so Balthier used his mostly as a pole, firing shots as targets presented themselves. He tried his best to stay with Vaan and Penelo, but it wasn’t easy.
“Watch out!” Vaan shouted. By his warning Balthier leapt aside just as a knight brought down his sword in an overhead blow. Balthier swung his rifle around, hitting the knight square in the face and sending his stumbling away. He’d have offered Vaan thanks, but now was not the time. Vaan twisted around, blocking a strike from another knight with his sword. Penelo came up behind the man and, using her staff, whisked his feet out from under him. Vaan jumped back before the man could find his feet, passed Balthier. Penelo stood over the man moment, then looked up at Vaan. Her eyes widened with horror.
“Vaan! Look out!” she screamed, but too late. A massive, familiar sword, blade wide and shining, swept downward in an overhead strike, sinking its steel edge deep into Vaan’s collarbone from behind. Vaan let out a yelp, and, eyes bulging, and Penelo shrieked.
“Vaan!” Balthier rushed his side, but too late. The sword wrenched back, barely leaving Vaan’s arm attached. Vaan toppled forward, and Penelo rushed to catch him. She helped lower him to the ground, then, tears in her eyes and fighting sobs, she held her hands over the terrible wound and let her healing magic flow. The white light barely made a dent amid the mass of blood and gore. Balthier turned to face the inflictor of that deadly blow. He had very little pity left for the man.
Vossler didn’t wait for a moment. He brought his massive blade, now soaked in Vaan’s blood, down in a similar strike aimed at Balthier. Balthier leapt backward, just barely dodging it. As the battle closed around them, Balthier lost sight of Vaan and Penelo; he could only hope for their survival, now.
“How can you do this?” Balthier said, dodging another of Vossler’s strikes.
“What else can I do?!” Vossler swung his blade at Balthier, and he barely managed to block it with his rifle. The force behind the blow surprised him. Balthier knew he was no match for Vossler’s sheer strength.
“What about Ashe? You said you loved her!” Balthier blocked another vicious blow, and he felt the familiar pain of his bad arm. This was not good.
“What does it matter now?” Vossler said, bringing several strikes down on Balthier’s raised rifle. “You heard her! It’s all over!” The last blow, fueled by frustration and despair, struck with such force that it broke Balthier’s rifle in two and threw him to the ground. Vossler raised his sword, flipped it, and plunged point down for a final, decisive blow. Balthier grabbed the sword of some fallen knight lying just within reach and swung it around, barely managing to block the death blow. His bad arm screamed in protest, but Balthier couldn’t let go. Come on, you’ve got to hold!  
But it wouldn’t much longer. Knowing this, Balthier took a chance and rolled away. Vossler’s stab grazed his arm, but luckily, missed his heart. Balthier scrambled back to his feet just in time to block another of Vossler’s relentless blows.
“Stop this!” Balthier shouted. “Think of what you’re doing!”
“Stop?!” Vossler laughed, halting his assault for a moment. “I can’t go back now! This is it. One way or another, it all ends here!” Vossler thrust with his sword, and Balthier barely deflected it. Under a dozen more of Vossler’s strikes, Balthier had no choice but to keep dodging, keep retreating, keep giving Vossler ground. Vossler drove him farther out of the main battle, fury fueling his every strike.
“Vossler, don’t do this!” Balthier shouted, dodging another blow. “I don’t want to fight you!”
“A little late for that now, isn’t it?” Vossler said, striking again. “I’ve started down this road, and there’s no going back. It’s too late for anything!”
“You can’t just run away!” Balthier said, blocking the blow with his sword. “There’s no point in this! All this… It’s not too late! Just stop!”
“What, and you think Ashe will forgive me?” Vossler laughed bitterly. “There is no trying, there is no going back. I know where I am now, Balthier, and I know where she is! There’s nothing left!”
With a ferocious blow, Vossler pinned Balthier against the far wall. His sword pressed against Balthier’s with immense force, and Balthier felt his bad arm about to give.
“Just give up already, won’t you?” Vossler shouted. “You know this is it! You don’t stand a chance!”
Balthier didn’t say anything. Teeth clenched, sword about to give way, he could hardly argue. Knowing he had only a few moments left, Balthier let his eyes wander from his opponent. Across the room, apart from the main fighting and just in front of a large, open doorway, Balthier spotted five knights battling against a single opponent: a woman in a white dress, blue eyes flashing. From the doorway came Judge Ghis, charging into the fray, straight towards Princess Ashe.
And then he felt it. Deep, deep inside, stirring. Balthier felt his power, waking up. Could that be just the edge he needed? Or would it just knock him out again, like with those fish? Could he risk it? Did he have the time to debate that?
“Oh, fine!” Balthier shouted aloud, leaning into that power he’d fought for so long. He felt the energy surge through his chest and arms. Light flashed around his hands and sword. Balthier shoved back on Vossler, and, with in a blast of energy, he flew backward. Sword raised to block the surge, he planted his feet, skidding to a halt a few yards away. It actually worked, and he was still conscious! Balthier let out a laugh, delirious with relief even as he felt dark forces roiling deep inside him.  
“W-What the…?” Vossler stared at Balthier with a mixture of confusion and surprise that Balthier found very satisfying at that moment. He could feel his lungs constricting but decided to ignore it.
“There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me, Vossler.”
Balthier flew towards Vossler, sword ready. That light, filled with crackling energy, wreathed his blade as he brought it down on Vossler in an overhead strike, which he barely managed to block. The blow shoved Vossler back again. Yes, this was more like it.
“What…? What are you?” Vossler said, eyes wide as he blocked another blow. Balthier let out a bitter chuckle at that.
“I wonder.”
Balthier brought his sword around in a slash. Vossler blocked it with his blade, but it did little good. A surge of power blasted out, almost against Balthier’s will. The rush of energy sent Vossler flying across the room. He landed on his back a few yards away from the cluster around Ashe, his sword far away. Vossler lay there, still a few moments. Then he pushed himself up, clearly in a lot of pain, and watched in horror as Judge Ghis shoved though his subordinates, sword drawn. Balthier charged towards Ashe, intent on helping her.
“Apologies, my dear,” Ghis shouted as he came face-to-face with Ashe, “but there will be no prisoners today. Archadia requires you no longer!” In one swift motion, he swung his sword, whipping Ashe’s from her hands. She let out a scream as Ghis pulled back his blade and thrust at the defenseless princess. Balthier was so close, just a few more steps…
And then he felt it. No longer being poured out in a desperate fight, his power frothed inside him, closing his lungs and constricting his muscles. He tried to fight it, tried so hard to push through that unstoppable force, but he could feel his steps slowing. He wouldn’t make it in time. The image of that letter formed in his mind, reading the terrible news that had ruined everything. He hadn’t been there. He wasn’t there now. Never, never, never there!
“NO!” Balthier shouted with what little breath he had left, and another voice echoed his. Pain still etched over his face, Vossler scrambled to his feet and ran. He had no weapon, no sword, nothing but his own body to through between Ashe and Ghis’s sword.
Ghis’s blade buried itself deep in Vossler’s abdomen, coming out on the other side soaked in bright blood, just inches from Ashe’s heart.
“Oh, you fool…” Ghis said wrenching his blade out. Vossler dropped to his knees, eyes bulging, hands over the fatal wound. A piercing alarm split the air, and Ghis looked up with a start.
“Oh, no,” he sighed. He glanced down at Vossler once more, then turned and rushed into the hanger.
“Vossler!” Ashe dropped to her knees at Vossler’s side, staring in shock at her fallen guardian. He lay on his back gasping for breath while blood pooled underneath him.
“No. No!” Balthier hissed through shattered breaths as he finally reached them. The aftershock of his power was fading, but it was nothing compared to what he felt then. He dropped to his knees by Vossler’s side opposite Ashe, because he simply couldn’t find the strength to stand. Why couldn't he get there just a moment sooner?
“Ashe…” Vossler gasped between ragged breaths. “I’m… sorry…” He pulled one hand, soaked in his own blood, away from the wound and rested it against Ashe’s cheek, looking up at her face through a haze of pain. “Did I… every say…? I… love you…”
Ashe said nothing. She reached up and took his hand from her face, holding it in her own as watched his dying face with dull shock. Vossler stared at her a moment longer, then, with great effort, turned his face to Balthier.
“Balthier…” he said, barely more than a whisper. “Take care of her… won’t you? You… pirate…”
“I… I will.” Balthier barely heard his own voice. It sounded a million miles away.
With a sigh of relief, Vossler let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He eased out a final long, pained breath, then lay still.
“Vossler?” Ashe’s eyes widened as his hand went limp in hers. Her mouth hung open in silent shock, tears pooling in her eyes and streaking down her cheeks.
“Is he…? Oh, no.”
That was Basch’s voice. Balthier tore his gaze away from Vossler’s still form to look up at the captain. Basch held Fran in his arms; she didn’t look injured, but cradled her head in her hands, whimpering and mumbling, shaking all over. By Basch stood Vaan and Penelo, Vaan leaning on his sister for support. He was so soaked with blood Balthier couldn’t see how bad his wound was. His face was pale and clearing in pain, but evidently he was well enough for Penelo to drag him along. Penelo’s eyes widened as she saw Vossler.
“Oh, no! Is he…? Can I…?”
“Too late,” Balthier said, shaking his head and rising to his feet. Too late. He’d been too late.
“Too late…” Fran whimpered. “It’s… too late. It’s coming! The myst… the stone… no!” She let out a scream, digging her fingers into her hair.
“We must leave now,” Basch said, still staring at Vossler’s body.
“Right,” Balthier said, nodding. He couldn’t… couldn’t think about his now. They had to get off this ship, before the nethicite went ballistic. He couldn’t let it sink in. Not yet. If he could help it, not ever.
“Ashe,” Balthier called. The princess still crouched over Vossler’s body, his hand in hers, staring at his still, pale face. “We have to go. Come on.”
Ashe didn’t respond. Balthier let out a sigh.
“Basch, take the others to the hanger. We’ll follow.”
Basch nodded, then started towards the doorway, Vaan and Penelo following. From the hanger came the sounds of ships’ engines starting up as Archadian knights fled from the coming doom; hopefully, they’d be too concerned about getting away to stop the escaped prisoners. Balthier knelt down beside Ashe.
“Come on, Ashe, we have to go.” She didn’t seem to hear him. Balthier grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. “Ashe! We have to leave, now!”
Ashe turned her head slowly to look at him, lifelessly blank. She blinked a few times, clarity returning a little. She turned back to Vossler, seeming to see him for the first time.
“He… Oh, no!” Ashe dropped his hand and raised hers to her face, mouth open in shock, tears overflowing again. The alarms blared all around. They couldn’t wait for this. Standing, Balthier grabbed Ashe’s arm, jerking her to her feet as well.
“Come on, Ashe!” he said. “We’re leaving. We have to go!”
Tearing her gaze from Vossler’s body, Ashe nodded. Together, they sprinted towards the hanger.

The hanger was thrumming with activity. Ships took off all around as Archadian knights fled the incoming disaster. Balthier spotted the Basch, Fran, Vaan, and Penelo by a small fighter jet, one of the only remaining in the hanger. Vaan sat, leaning against the fighter’s side, Penelo working on him again with her healing magic. Balthier raced towards them, still holding onto Ashe’s arm, mostly because he couldn’t risk her lagging behind.
“We can’t get it open!” Penelo cried when they arrived.
“It needs a code, and we don’t have it,” Basch said gravely. “I imagine it’s the same for all these ships.”
“Let me see it,” Balthier said, letting go of Ashe and rushing up to the fighter’s keypad. This was one of those rare moments he was thankful for his abilities.
“What’s your code?” he asked, reaching out to the fighter jet.
“3-3-8-6,” the fighter replied. “Why? Who is this, anyway?”
“You normally ask those questions before you give an answer,” Balthier said, jabbing in the code.
“You’re those prisoners! I won’t help you! I’ll never betray the great Archadian Empire!”
Balthier let out a sigh. This was why he hated fighter jets. “Sorry, but you’re an airship. You don’t have much choice.”
The door swung open with a click.
“How did you do that?” Basch asked with a frown.
“No time for that! Everyone, get in!” Balthier said, rushing through the door. Penelo helped Vaan to his feet and followed, along with Basch, Fran, and Ashe.
Up in the cockpit, Basch set Fran down against the wall. She let out another cry, curling into a ball. Hands pressed against her temples, she shook her head, sweat and tears mixing on her face in a swirl of pain.
“Fran…” Balthier stopped short at the sight of her agony. He crouched down reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Hang in there. We’re getting out, alright?”
“No! Stay away!” Fran screamed, recoiling from his touch. Balthier jerked his hand away as she curled tighter, mumbling all the while, though less randomly than before. “The... The places where it warps and twists… the pathways of the… shattered myst… will speak of… ancient foes reborn…” she broke off with a whimper, pressing her hands harder against her head.
“Fran?” Balthier said, stunned by her response.
“Balthier! I can’t fly this ship!” Basch shouted, shattering Balthier’s confusion.
“Right.” Balthier stood, nodding. The only seats on this small fighter were the pilot’s and copilot’s, neither claimed yet. Balthier plopped in the pilot’s seat, punching buttons and yanking levers until the fighter lifted from the ground. Taking the controls, he guided it out of the hanger into open skies.
Balthier felt it before he saw it. He knew that feeling by now. Nethicite surging, releasing its great power, the same as that day at Nabudis. A great rumbling sounded behind them, from somewhere in the Leviathan’s depths. Within the fighter’s cockpit, Fran let out a scream and the sky around their little craft filled with golden light. Balthier couldn’t risk looking back, but the heard, and felt, the immense explosion tearing the Leviathan apart behind them; they had just barely gotten out. Balthier pushed their fighter’s engines to its limit to stay ahead of the wave of energy that consumed every ship in the sky behind, all the while fighting through the haze its power brought to his mind.
“W-Wait!” Vaan shouted, wincing in pain. He struggled to raise his uninjured arm and point out the window. “Look! O-Over there!”
Sailing through the sky ahead of them was something tiny and round, glowing bright as the sun.
“It’s the Dawn Shard!” Ashe cried. “We… We have to get it!”
“Easier said than done,” Balthier said. “We can’t slow for a moment or we’ll be caught in that explosion. There are usually roof hatches in ships like these, so I suppose I could steer us underneath it.” He let out a sigh. “But catching it would be a dangerous job, and if whoever it is misses, we can’t go back.”
“I’ll go,” Basch said.
“Alright then,” Balthier said. “We’re almost there. Hurry, captain!”
Basch left the cockpit without another word, and Balthier focused on steering. He could see the Dawn Shard, and guided the fighter right under it. He could only hope Basch had caught it, and not gotten blown off in the process. Just a few moments later, Basch walked back into the cockpit, holding the Dawn Shard. It pulsed with brilliant light, the air around it rippling. Balthier felt its presence instantly. His head pulsed with pain, and he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. The stone thrummed with power unimaginably, just like at Nabudis; at least this time there was no mysterious creature waiting to leap out at him.
“It… it really is it!” Ashe rushed over to Basch, and he handed her the stone. She took the bright, glowing crystal and held it against her heart, breathing slowly.
“Good,” Balthier said, still fighting off pain from the nethicite. “I think we’re almost out.” He risked a glance out the side to assess how close the raging myst-flames were. To his relief, they’d left the surge of power behind. “Actually, I think we are.”
“It is… cooling…” came Fran’s tired voice. She sat in her corner, leaning her head wearily against her knees.
“You mean we… made it?” Vaan said, still panting, face twisted in pain as Penelo worked on his arm.
“We did,” Balthier said. “I can’t say the same for Archadia’s eighth fleet.” Behind them, a roiling mass of myst encompassed the area over Raithwall’s Tomb, where the great Archadian fleet had once hovered. They were all gone now. Destroyed by nethicite’s terrible power.
“Take us to Rabanastre,” Basch said. “The Archadians have just made a clean sweep of the city and won’t think to look for resistance there. The princess will be safest there.”
Balthier nodded. “Alright.” He made a few adjustments to set their course east, back across the Yensa Sandsea, towards the city they departed from.

End Part Two, Act Two: Burn

Chapter Text

Part Two, Act Three: Smolder
Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Royal City of Rabanastre
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“So… What now?”
That was the question no one wanted to ask. Except Vaan, apparently. He always asked the hard questions, probably because it never fell to him to answer them. Balthier let out a long sigh; what now, indeed?
The flight across the sandsea had been a silent one. About two hours passed on that ride, though it felt like far longer. In that vacuum of silence, it was all Balthier could do to block out the repeating image of Vossler’s last moments, the sting of that final battle, and the haunting echo of his last words. That, along with the torturing presence of active nethicite and the lingering aftershock of his powers, made the flight a miserable one indeed. Now, after those two hours of torment, they were safely docked in Rabanastre’s aerodrome. During the ride, Penelo had worked tirelessly on Vaan’s wounds, and Fran came to help her, though she still looked weak. Vaan seemed alright, now; well enough to ask difficult questions, apparently.
“What now?” Ashe echoed Vaan’s question, looking at him as if he were a million miles away. After Basch handed her the Dawn Shard, Ashe had dropped against the wall and sat there, cradling the stone, silent and glassy-eyed. This confused echo was the first she’d spoken since. “I… don’t know,” Ashe continued. “What do we do?”
“Well, for starters, we can’t stay here,” Balthier said, standing out of the pilot’s seat. “This is an Archadian military vessel, and it just docked unannounced in in Rabanastre’s hanger. Someone’s bound to come investigate eventually, and we can’t be around when that happens. Basch, are there any old resistance hideouts? Somewhere safe we can take Ashe?”
“The Empire will have them all under close surveillance,” Basch replied, shaking his head.
“Right,” Balthier said, frowning in thought. “I suppose we could go the inconspicuous route and just stay at the inn. The guards probably won’t know our faces, but still, it is a risk. It may also be our only option.”
“If we check in soon, with no fuss, they likely won’t connect us to this ship’s arrival,” Basch said. “We should go now.”
Balthier nodded. “Well, you all heard him. Let’s get going.”
Vaan managed to get to his feet without help from Penelo. He still looked a bit pale, but apparently a steady bombardment of healing magic from Penelo and Fran had done undone most of the damage. Fran stood with difficulty, using the wall for support. She was pale, too, no longer gasping for breath but incredibly weary. Ashe didn’t move at all.
“Ashe,” Balthier said with a sigh. “Snap out of it. We have to get moving.” Honestly, he didn’t blame her for being so dazed; if he thought too long of what had just happened, it’d probably overwhelm him, too. Balthier, however, had poured his every effort into not to thinking about it.
Ashe stood, still cradling the Dawn Shard in her hands. The stone’s surge of power had faded away, and now, rather than the pale lilac color it had before, the crystal was all a dull grey. Ashe stared down at the stone for a few moments, then looked up to meet Balthier’s gaze. Beneath that glassy haze, her eyes held life still. She sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly.
“You’re right. Let’s go.”

…

At the inn, Balthier went to the front desk alone to pay for two small rooms made for three each. The whole group slipped in as discreetly as possible after, and, in the safety of a private room, sat down to discuss their plans. The room was cramped, but at least it was out of the Dalmascan sun and, more importantly, away from the listening ears.
“Now, for your question, Vaan,” Balthier said. “What now?”
“We keep going,” Ashe said. She held her head high, that distant, glassy gaze replaced with hardened resolve. “We can’t give up. Not now. After everything Archadia’s done, everything they’ve taken, twisted, broken…” She breathed hard, closing her eyes. “Rasler… Father… Vossler…” Her eyes flung open. “We can’t give up now. Basch, you said… most of the resistance has gone to Ondore?”
“All that’s left, Highness,” Basch replied. “A couple agents are here in Rabanastre, waiting for word of your rescue. The plan was you would go to Bhujerba, to stay with Ondore.”
“And we’ll start all over?” Ashe said, eyes wide and desperate. “I suppose there’s no other way.”
“And you think you’ll succeed?” Balthier said. “You saw what the Dawn Shard did to Archadia’s eighth fleet, and that was by accident. Vayne has the Dusk Shard, and I’ll bet he’s not afraid to use it. Besides, can’t they manufacture nethicite now? How do you think your little band of rebels will fare against that?”
“Then…” Staring down, Ashe’s gaze fell on the crystal she held. She raised the Dawn Shard, holding the dull grey crystal up in the light falling from the window. “We’ll use this! We’ll fight them with this nethicite!”
The Dawn Shard’s inner light was gone, the crystal all a dull, lifeless grey. Balthier hadn’t felt its power since they left the Leviathan; its mind-numbing presence, its torturing whispers were all gone. Balthier was glad of it, but that didn’t seem to serve the princess’s purposes.
“That stone doesn’t look like it’s blowing up anything anytime soon,” Balthier said. “Even if it could, would you know how to activate it?”
Ashe’s gaze fell again. “I-”
“The Garif may know,” Fran said. She sat on one of the beds, keeping her head up with some effort.
“The Garif?” Ashe echoed.
“They live far to the south, in Jahara,” Fran continued. “Past the Ozmone Plain, on the edge of Jagd Difor. Magicite lore is a part of their culture. They tell legends of a gift from the Occuria, a relic whose power outmatched all. It may be they speak of this nethicite. Perhaps they know how to use it.”
“I have to go there, then!” Ashe said.
“But will they tell you?” Balthier said. “The Garif are hardly part of the world at large; you see them around even less than Viera.”
“They keep their distance, yes,” Fran said, “but I do not believe they would turn us away, merely for being outsiders.”
“Then it’s settled,” Ashe said. “I’ll go to Jahara.” She stared down at the Dawn Shard for a few moments, then looked up. “None of you have to come with me. I-”
“Highness, you will not go alone,” Basch said. “I could not protect my homeland or my family, I could not save King Raminas or Lord Rasler. I could not even teach my own student to guard his honor. I will protect you, Highness, for Dalmasca. My sword is yours; I will guard you with my life.”
“We’re coming, too!” Vaan said.
“Yeah!” Penelo added. “We’ll help you, princess!”
“Thank you, everyone,” Ashe said with a sigh of relief.
“Very good,” Balthier said. “Well then, Jahara’s a long ways away; we’ll need an airship to get that far, and mine’s out in the desert right now. Fran and I’ll pop out and bring her back, and by then, we’ll probably have to wait ’til tomorrow to leave.”
“You’re coming with us?” Ashe said, eyes wide.
“I’m a bit too deep in all this to just fly off now, don’t you think?” Balthier said, ignoring several reasons he both needed and wanted to go with them. “Come on, then, Fran; the sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.”
“I’m… coming,” Fran said, standing with great effort.
“Oh, right,” Balthier said as Fran struggled to keep her feet. “Uh, Fran, you stay here and… rest up, and I’ll just go myself.”
“Hey, I’ll come with you!” Vaan spoke up. Balthier let out a sigh.
“Don’t you need to rest, too?”
“Don’t worry, Penelo did a great job fixing me up,” Vaan said. He did seem his old self again, though his shirt was still torn and thoroughly soaked with blood.
Balthier sighed. “Vaan…”
“You want to go out into the desert alone?” Vaan said. “That’s kinda dangerous, isn’t it?”
Balthier held back a biting comment of ‘and you’ll help, how?’ Vaan had proven himself a useful ally on their journey.
“Oh, fine,” Balthier said with a sigh. “Get changed and meet me outside, and hurry up about it. We don’t have all day.”
Balthier turned and marched out the door, then stopped halfway and swung back around.
“And nobody go anywhere, alright?” he said. “The last thing we need is someone getting caught and dragged off by the guards.”
Not waiting for a response, he continued out the doorway. Balthier made it across the hallway, down the stairs, through the main door, and into the sunlit Rabanastran street. Then it struck him. His rifle had met its demise under Vossler’s blade, back on the dreadnaught Levithan. The sword Balthier picked up midway through the fight, even if he had been capable of using it properly, he'd dropped somewhere between Vossler’s body and their escape craft. Even with Vaan as backup, going into the Dalmascan Westersand weaponless was not a good idea. If he looked hard enough, Balthier could probably find something like his old rifle in the marketplace, if not quite as good.
“I’m ready!” Vaan declared, emerging from the door behind Balthier.
“Ah, Vaan, good,” Balthier said. “I’m afraid to say there’s a little detour we need to make before we can leave.”
“Detour? Where?” Vaan asked.
“Well, just a little something I need to pick up at the marketplace.”

…

The Westersand was as calm as the Westersand gets. Brutal sun, packs of wolves ever on the prowl, whipping winds, but luckily no sandstorm. Balthier and Vaan traveled onward for a few hours, dealing with the problems weather and wildlife when they presented themselves. Balthier was terribly dissatisfied with his new rifle. His old one had gone through years of customization, and had been a better model from the start. Every time he used it, Balthier came up with a thousand new modifications he could make to make this shabby piece of workmanship run better. When he’d have time to implement such changes, however, he had no idea.
Things were mostly silent between him and Vaan. They spoke when necessary, but Balthier wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation. Vaan tried to start such chats, but Balthier drowned each new attempt as it arose. He just wanted to focus on the mission at hand. Finally, with the sun sinking low in the sky, Balthier spotted Strahl hovering over the horizon, just as he’d left her, the grand airship glittering in the afternoon light, with no notion of what had transpired that morning. Balthier envied her.
“There she is,” Balthier said. “Come on, Vaan, let’s hurry; we want to get back before night, right?”
“Well, um, first…” Vaan stammered. “Can I ask something?” Balthier let out a sigh.
“What is it, Vaan?”
“What exactly happened up there, anyway?” Vaan said. “On the Leviathan?”
Balthier glanced over his shoulder at Vaan. “What, you couldn’t see?”
“I was kinda… well, you know,” Vaan said. “I don’t remember a lot.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Balthier replied.
“So, Vossler… what happened to-”
“He’s dead,” Balthier replied, cutting off Vaan.
“Oh.” Vaan stopped in his tracks, genuinely shocked. I guess he really didn’t see much, Balthier thought. He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop seeing those final moments.
“He’s dead?” Vaan echoed. “What happened?”
“He…” Balthier paused as the events of that morning rushed over him again. He felt suddenly tired, the ache in his bad arm reminding him all too clearly of every stroke he laid with that blade, of every blow he'd blocked from a man he once counted as a friend. The clinging hint of static deep inside brought again the image of that flashing light, and the look of horror in Vossler’s eyes. All culminated in one terrible moment, when Vossler lay dying on the floor. “He saved Ashe,” Balthier said finally. “And… paid the price.”
“What?” Vaan’s eyes widened. “After all that? He handed us over to the imperials in the first place! Everything that happened was his fault! He made it obvious he didn’t care! Why would he do that?”
“There was a lot more to it than that, Vaan,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“What else matters?” Vaan fumed. “He helped the Empire! He betrayed Dalmasca! He-”
“He loved Ashe,” Balthier said, cutting off Vaan’s rant. “He didn’t want her dying in a hopeless war.”
“But he helped Archadia!” Vaan said. “How could he do that?”
“You’ve obviously never been in love before, Vaan,” Balthier said. “It makes things a thousand times more complicated.”
“So what? You forgive him?”
“What would you have done in his place?”
“I… I… Argh!” Vaan vented his frustration by launching a kick at the nearest rock poking up out of the sand. “I wish none of this had ever happened! If only those blasted Archadians hadn’t invaded, then… then… I hate them!”
“I can tell,” Balthier said. “So you still hold that all Archadians are lying, backstabbing, murdering scoundrels?”
“You don’t get it!” Vaan said. “What they did to Reks… After the king died and everything, we heard they were holding him up in Nalbina. Penelo and I hitched a ride with a caravan to get up there, but when we got to the cells, the guards said no visitors, that they were busy ‘questioning’ him. You could hear, even out there, all the… screaming.” Vaan looked away, collecting himself for a moment. “When they finally let us see him, he just… sat there in his chair and stared at the floor. Didn’t say anything. He was like that until he died… about a year ago.” Vaan balled his fists till the shook with anger. “Do you know what that’s like?!”
“Not exactly,” Balthier replied, his own bitter memories bubbling up. “But I’d be shocked if there was anyone left in this world without some idea.”
Silence ensued, the kind Balthier hated, the kind he’d endured far too often lately. He refused to sit there and wallow in his pain when he had something else he needed to be doing.
“Come on, Vaan, let’s get going,” Balthier said, turning back towards Strahl on the horizon. “We’re almost there; no reason to dawdle.”
“Oh, right,” Vaan said. “Yeah, let’s go.”

…

Up on Strahl’s bridge, surrounded by the thrum of machinery and the smell of oil, the sky stretching before him bathed in the glow of the sinking sun, Balthier felt almost at home again. Almost.
“Balthier! You’re back!” Strahl’s voice sounded in his mind, completing the familiar surroundings. “Where’s everyone else? Oh no… Something bad happened?”
Balthier scoffed. “You can say that again.”
“I… I won’t pry. But if you need someone to listen, I’m all ears, okay? Though I know how much you love spilling your guts.”
“Heh.” Balthier managed a bit of a chuckle. He didn’t say anything else.
Sitting down in his captain’s seat, Balthier reached out and gripped the steering controls, the now-worn leather familiar under his hands. To think the last time he flew the biggest worry on his mind was how to handle traveling with Vossler.
“Find a seat, Vaan,” Balthier said. The kid, apparently still not over his awe of airships, was still standing.
“Oh, right,” Vaan said, plopping down in the nearest seat, just behind the copilot’s.
“I haven’t flown solo in years,” Balthier commented as he pulled levers and such. Strahl’s engines rumbled to life beneath his feet, a familiar thrum of energy as glossair rings turned.
“Hey, I could help!” Vaan said, peering around the seat in front of him at the controls. “You know, if you’d… teach me?” He fixed Balthier with an imploring look.
Balthier let out a tired sigh. After everything else he’d found himself doing that day… “Why not?”
Vaan’s face lit up. He practically jumped out of his chair and plopped down in the copilot’s seat.
“So, what do I do?”
“Listen closely, because I have no intention of repeating myself,” Balthier said. “First…”

…

They arrived back in Rabanastre just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Balthier could barely believe that day had begun in the tomb of Raithwall, springing with high hopes. How different it was now, as the sun set. Vaan turned out to be a fast learner, especially when it came to something he loved as much as airships. He copiloted nearly as well as Fran by the time they got back. Balthier even let Vaan take the driver’s seat for the final stretch. For nothing in the world would Balthier have admitted he found their lesson enjoyable.
Arriving at the inn, Balthier and Vaan went straight upstairs. Balthier hoped everybody would be waiting for them and hadn’t gotten captured by imperials or something catastrophic like that. Upstairs, the door to the room where they’d done their planning that afternoon stood ajar, spilling light into the dimly lit hallway.
“Hello?” Vaan leaned through the doorway, peering inside.
“Vaan!” Penelo came flying out of the room and threw her arms around her brother’s neck. “There you are!”
“Penelo!” Vaan said. He peeked past her into the room. “Is everything alright? Where is everyone?”
“Oh, everything’s fine. You’ve just been gone so long, I was worried.”
“But where’s everyone else?” Balthier said.
“Basch was out for a while, talking with the resistance members and telling them our plans. He got back a bit ago and went straight to bed.” Penelo nodded at the door across the hallway, the second room they’d rented. “Fran slept most of the afternoon. Right after Basch got back, she said she needed some fresh air and went outside. I’m not sure where Princess Ashe is.”
Balthier let out a sigh. “So much for staying put. Vaan, you go get some sleep, and I’ll look for our wandering ladies.”
Vaan nodded, and Balthier left him and Penelo without another word.

…

 Up on the roof, fiery dusk light filled the sky, which seemed so close, here, above the city. After speaking with the attendant, Balthier learned Ashe was up here, on the roof. No word on Fran, but he’d deal with her afterwards.
Sure enough, there stood Ashe, out at the roof’s edge, staring over the city; she hadn’t heard Balthier’s arrival at all. Smirking at her obliviousness, Balthier walked up beside her.
“So here’s where you ran off to.”
“Oh!” Ashe let out a gasp. “Balthier! You’re back. Everything’s alright?”
“Aside from you disappearing, yes.”
“I didn’t leave the inn,” Ashe said.
“Well, I suppose not,” Balthier replied.
Then there was silence, save the din of the last rush of traffic far below, faint and with no power over the peace up there, in the gentle evening breeze. Sunset light painted the buildings and streets with a smoldering, fiery hue, streaking across the barren desert from the horizon, where the sun sank away in a dazzling display of flames, beautiful in its dying moments. Balthier’s gaze wandered from the sight far below to Ashe’s face. Her eyes reflected the burning sunset, glittering with light from both outside and within. It was that same look they’d held on the Leviathan, when Balthier had met her as the princess for the first time: desperate, fading, doused a thousand times over, yet somehow still burning, still smoldering on, a single stubborn spark that refused to give out.
“It’s a nice view,” Balthier said, turning back towards the horizon. And he meant the sunset. Really.
“Mm.” Ashe nodded. “I think it’s going to rain soon. See?” Faint, wispy clouds gathered around the descending sun, glowing like embers so close to its light.
“It doesn’t do that much around here, does it?” Balthier said. Ashe shook her head.
“Hardly ever. I always loved to watch it when it did. The water just pouring out of the sky, pooling on the dry ground… I’d sneak out of the palace all alone to see it, whatever time of day or night. Or sometimes it just to see the stars, or walk in the gardens and pretend I was someone normal. I guess I did that a lot.” A smile lifted her face in happy memories. “When I was ten, Father assigned me a personal guardian of one his knight’s squires to keep me out of trouble. He…” She trailed off, the lightness vanishing all in an instant.
“Vossler?” Balthier asked.
Ashe nodded with a heavy sigh. “I remember… the first time we met. I was out in the gardens; Father had told me to wait there until they arrived. I wasn’t very happy that he thought I needed a bodyguard. I spotted Captain Basch and Vossler coming around the corner. I didn’t see the captain very often back then, but I knew he was Father’s friend. Vossler was only about Vaan’s age. I could hear them arguing from all that way off; Vossler was saying how much he hated the idea of having to babysit me. And Basch just calmly said that he’d still have time for training, and that maybe playing nanny would finally teach him to control his temper.” That smile started to return to Ashe’s lips but died before it could manifest. She raised one hand to her face, resting it on her cheek where Vossler had touched in his final moments. “He said…” Her eyes glistened as she summoned the painful memory. “He said he… Oh, it was never like that!” Her desperate gaze met Balthier’s for the first time that evening. “The thought never once crossed my mind before, but now, looking back, I… Oh, Balthier, I don’t know how I missed it! He was my friend! My big brother! My protector! I never thought… But if… if I’d notice, then maybe… maybe-”
“Ashe!” Balthier cut her off as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “It was his place to say. Every choice Vossler made was his own; you can’t blame yourself.” But maybe if I’d gotten there a little sooner, he wouldn’t have had to die…
 Ashe sucked in a deep breath and nodded slowly. She turned back to the brilliant sunset, now fading away as the clouds grew thicker.
“But… Vossler always handled everything. I don’t know if I can do this without him. I… I…”
“Just give it your all, princess,” Balthier replied. “That’s all any of us can do.”
“I… guess,” Ashe said. Midnight black, creeping up from the eastern horizon, covered more and more of the sky, drawing closer to that single fiery point where the sun breathed its last.
“You are coming with us, aren’t you, Balthier?” Ashe said, turning to him suddenly.
“Yes, I believe I said that,” Balthier replied.
“But… But… There wasn’t anything in Raithwall’s Tomb like I’d hoped,” Ashe said. “And I certainly can’t pay you anything this time. Why-”
“I don’t care about payment,” Balthier said, rolling his eyes. “Do you not want me to come, Ashe?”
“Oh, no!” Ashe shook her head violently. “I just… I… Thank you.”
Balthier let out a chuckle. “Don’t get your hopes up, princess. I’m no hero.”
Ashe didn’t reply, but the desperation in her blue eyes faded somewhat. Vossler last words rang again in Balthier’s mind; keep her safe, won’t you? I will, he’d replied. Balthier couldn’t remember making the choice to say those words. They’d come from some other man in a much more coherent state of mind, with enough control of his faculties to make such a vow to a dying man. But the relief on Vossler’s face, a tiny drop of peace in an ocean of pain and guilt… Balthier couldn’t imagine he’d have said anything different.
“Did you happen to see where Fran went, Ashe?” Balthier asked, pulling out of the memory.
“Just outside,” Ashe replied. “She said she wanted to clear her head.”
Balthier nodded. “Right. Well then, I’ll go look for her. Come in soon, princess.”
Ashe nodded, and Balthier, turning, left her there at the edge and walked back towards the door that led inside.
“Balthier, wait!” Balthier stopped as Ashe called after him. Ashe half opened her mouth, but hesitated.
“What is it?” Balthier said, now thoroughly curious.
“Well, I just…” Ashe stammered. “I thought… While you were fighting… Vossler, well, I saw… I don’t what I saw.”
“I need a little more to go on than that, princess,” Balthier said, but he knew exactly what she was talking about. The tides turning suddenly? A flash of unexplainable light? A surging, uncontrollable force, blowing back the enemy, that even Balthier couldn’t explain? At the mere thought, that clinging static that had irritated him all day erupted into that same churning energy. It took all of Balthier’s willpower to keep the pain of it off his face, and keep that power crushed down inside him. Still? It’s still going off?
“I guess it was probably nothing,” Ashe continued. “There was-” she broke off, frowning. “Are you alright, Balthier?”
“Of course, I’m just fine,” Balthier replied, maybe too quickly. He just wanted to get out of there. “Uh… goodnight, Ashe.”
He turned and walked through the door before she could say another word, shutting it behind him. As soon as it was closed, Balthier leaned back against the door, breathing hard. He clenched one hand against his chest as the cold, twisting forces there slinked slowly away.
“And stay there!” he hissed through clenched teeth. Talking to it seemed absurd on some levels, but in a way, that power really did feel alive, like some creature, restless after a long sleep, growing more and more so every time he let it taste freedom. It had never been this bad before; nothing had even happened that time, and that power still reared its ugly head. If he could learn to master it, it would be very useful, but Balthier would settle for it just disappearing like it had for so many years.
Balthier shook his head, banishing these pointless speculations. The surge was receding now, hiding back away in its dark cave. Besides, he had a wandering Viera to find.

…

It was dark as Balthier walked from the inn’s front door into the streets of Rabanastre. The beautiful sunset was nothing more than a dusky line on the horizon now, vanishing as the darkness engulfed it. Rainclouds blotted out every star that would have shown its face in the dense blackness above. Balthier supposed such a storm must be a joyous occasion for the desert city of Rabanastre, but there was something distinctly ominous about the brooding rainclouds overhead, waiting to let loose their heavy load. The flickering lamps along the now quiet roads did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.
“Fran?” Balthier called as he walked down the roadside. He figured Fran couldn’t have gone too far, and yet, there was no reply but the echo of his own voice.
“Fran!” he called again. Again, his voice echoed back at him. Balthier sighed; apparently, he did have a ways to walk.    
“Balthier?” The voice took Balthier so by surprise, he nearly jumped. He spun to face it; there stood Fran, in the alleyway beside the inn, half hidden by the dense shadows.
“Fran? What are you doing out here?” Balthier asked.
“I just… needed to think,” Fran replied. She seemed very flustered, as far as Fran went.
“About what?” Balthier asked.
“It’s… nothing,” Fran said, shaking her head.
“So you can come back to the inn, now?” Balthier said.
Fran let out a sigh, breaking her usual expressionlessness. “No. Balthier… I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” Balthier asked. He didn’t like how somber she sounded.
“In here.” Fran retreated farther into the shadowy alleyway, and Balthier followed. It was even darker in there than out in the street.
“So?” Balthier said. “What is it?”
“I… Oh,” Fran shook her head. “No, this… this is a bad idea.”
“Fran!” Balthier said with an exasperated sigh. “This has gone on long enough. Can I even trust you anymore?” Silence. “Fran? I’m waiting.”
Fran sighed, then began. It was a poem, or something. Whatever it was, it confused Balthier greatly.
“The places where it warps and twists, the pathways of the shattered myst, will speak of ancient foes reborn.
“The evil shall be reborn yet, though ages pass and time forgets, it lurks beneath the surface still.
“Erase the evil, they may try, but such a darkness cannot die, for it shall rise to reign again.
“The darkness hides within its slaves, beware even the lightest shade, where lies this sign, the shattered myst.”
“Okay,” Balthier said when she’d finished, thoroughly baffled. “It’s… poetry, I guess. It’s what you said up on the Leviathan, at least, the first part is. I still don’t get what you’re trying to tell me.”
“It’s a warning,” Fran said. “An ancient song passed down by the Viera people. It tells us to watch for an ancient force of evil that will return to scourge all Ivalice. And the sign by which it is known… Myst flows ever on. Our magic and magicite only divert it. To see myst strike an object or person and break, shatter, would be… hard to miss.”
“Alright. So it’s folklore,” Balthier said with a shrug. “Certainly sounds eerie, but it’s hardly relevant. And what does it have to do with… me…? Oh…”
Balthier trailed off as the meaning behind Fran’s words slowly came to him. He hoped desperately that he was wrong.
“The shattered myst…” Fran fixed her gaze on Balthier. “I see it.”
Denial was something Balthier had grown very good at over the years. A thousand excuses erupted immediately in his mind about how Fran had to be wrong, but something in the resounding echo of those verses, and something echoing with unnatural glee deep inside him, told Balthier there was no denying this.
“Can I… trust you?” Fran said. In her eyes was that look she’d born a thousand times, though Balthier had never recognized it. No, he’d known all along, just never wanted to admit it. It was terror, plain and simple.
“I-I…” Balthier tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. He could feel that power awaken again at the mere thought of it, its dark flames licking upward towards freedom. Fran’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, tensed to run. If Balthier needed any more proof of what it was Fran saw, or what that song spoke of, he had it.
“No! Fran, wait! I… I-I…” The words wouldn’t come. What was he even trying to say? The poem that had so confused him before echoed in Balthier’s mind, each line with a terrifying familiarity. The darkness hides within its slaves, beware even the lightest shade… for such an evil cannot die… ancient foes reborn…
Balthier felt more tired and more defeated than he ever had. One more voice joined the cacophony of that ancient rhyme, words Balthier had been trying to forget since he heard them. What are you?
Then strength to stand left him, and Balthier found himself on his knees on the cold ground.
“Oh, I… I always knew it’d be something like that,” Balthier mumbled, half to himself. “How I ever convinced myself… it wasn’t that bad…”
A crack of thunder cut off his feverish mumbling. Balthier felt a drop of cold water on his face, then the heavens opened. The clatter of rain drowned out the still silence of Rabanastre’s night. Water pooled on the ground, turning the dust beneath him to mud. Balthier felt the water running down his face, but its chill was nothing compared to the icy flames that burned within.
Fran knelt in front of Balthier, also drenched from the sudden downpour. The terror in her eyes was gone. There was fear, trepidation, but not that fight-or-flight terror. She said nothing, but that she simply hadn’t ran away was better medicine than any word.
“Fran, that song…” Balthier said, the whisper he could manage barely audible about the rain. “There was… more?”
“You want to hear it?” Fran asked.
“No,” Balthier replied. “But I have to.”
So Fran began a long refrain that would ring in his ears for years to come.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Imperial Capital, Archades
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The window in his study afforded Vayne an excellent view of the grand city far below. Archades was built in ascending levels, the slums at ground level, sloping upward to the grand imperial palace in the center, hundreds of feet above. From the top of that palace, Vayne could see the whole city, and the rolling plains beyond, all the way to the dense forests that divided Archadia from Nabradia. But they divided them no longer, he thought with a smile, for all Nabradia belonged to Archadia. All Dalmasca, as well. Only Rozarria stood against the great Archadian Empire now.
A rhythmic rapping sounded on the door, shattering Vayne’s thoughts. He recognized the pattern well.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, its hinges huffing the faintest creak. In strolled Dr. Cid, shutting the door behind him. One look at his face told Vayne he didn’t have good news.
“What’s wrong, Cid?” he asked. “Is all well at Draklor?”
“Oh, things are fine at the laboratory,” Cid replied. “But I hear the imperial council isn’t too pleased with your actions regarding the eighth fleet. That wind of it even reached my ears means they really are making a fuss.”
“I am well aware of how the council feels,” Vayne replied. “It does not bother me. And what of my father?”
“Emperor Gramis is too busy coughing to make his opinions known,” Dr. Cid replied.
“I had thought this illness would claim him,” Vayne said, “but it seems to be taking longer than I hoped. Our plans cannot begin in earnest until I hold the throne.”
“If you’re that impatient, why not just poison him or something?” Cid said, rolling his eyes. “Then you can take your throne with no trouble.”
“Murder my own father?” A smile wormed its way over Vayne’s lips. “Why, what an excellent idea.”
Vayne let out a chuckle, and Cid laughed along.
“And how go things at Draklor?” Vayne asked. “The manufacture of nethicite? And how about your newest project?”
“Well, that isn’t going as well as I’d hoped,” Cid replied. “Those half-starved peasants you ship me from the slums are so weak they die before I can make any real progress. I don’t see why you won’t let me experiment on your Judges. I’m sure they’d survive the procedure.”
“The imperial Judges are strong, loyal men and valuable assets,” Vayne replied. “I can’t afford to have them dying on your operating table, Dr. Cid. Show me success, then we’ll see.” 
Dr. Cid let out a sigh. “Yes, yes, yes, I know.”
“And what of the nethicite? Have you made any more?”
“The output is slow,” Cid replied. “I can’t figure why the stones don’t all hold together. It’d be quite useful to have all three of the Shard here. I can’t help but notice, Vayne, that even after all that hubbub in the sandsea, we still don’t have the Dawn Shard.”
“I think you forget, Cid,” a new voice rasped, “the nethicite is not our main objective.”
A shadowy form materialized, floating in the air, a ghostly figure all pale grey, face swathed in thickest shadows.
“Ah! Venat!” Dr. Cid said. “I was wondering when you’d show yourself. You have been quiet of late. And yes, I do know what it is we really need. But the nethicite is a useful aid!”
“Indeed it is,” Venat replied. “But it is not enough for our new dawn. Not enough to put the reins of history in our hands. Remember that, Cid.”
Dr. Cid let out a sigh. “Trust me, friend, the knowledge is never far from me.”
“Cheer up, Cid,” Vayne said. “Our dreams will be reality, soon. With the Dalmascan resistance crushed, there is little to stand in our way.”
“They say the princess escaped that little incident, you know,” Cid said.
“They say many things,” Vayne replied. “But if that is so, we will be ready. She never caused much trouble before, after all.”
Dr. Cid let out a chuckle. “True that. Nothing will stop us. We’ll hold history, yet!”
“Indeed,” Venat rattled. “We shall create a new Ivalice, a better Ivalice!”
“Under our benevolent rule,” Vayne added with a smile.
“Yes!” Venat said. “A new dynasty, and a new dynast king. Vayne, that shall be you. We entrust our world to your abilities.”
“All hail the future ruler of Ivalice!” Dr. Cid said, dipping in a slight bow.
“And his faithful advisors,” Vayne replied, returning it.

…

Balthier didn’t sleep very well that night. Every time he closed his eyes, a jumble of images invaded his mind; that night ten years ago, the terror on Fran’s face, the horror in Vossler’s eyes. And that song rang in his ears until it drove him mad. Balthier tried to approach it all from a scientific viewpoint and glean what information he could, but the verses were all frustratingly vague. They only seemed to repeat that this great evil would come again, and to recognize it by the shattered myst. It said come ‘again,’ but hardly said anything about what this evil did the first time, or what it was, or how it worked. From just the song, you couldn’t tell if it talked about person, and stone, or something else entirely. The one good thing Balthier hoped from this whole revelation was that it would give him some of the answers he'd craved all his life, but when the first dawn light trickled through the windows, he found only more questions.
Basch and Vaan were both still sound asleep, exhausted from the chaotic day before. Balthier did his best not to wake them as he got ready and exited the room. They had every right to sleep in, but he couldn’t survive another minute alone with his thoughts.
Balthier wasn’t really sure where he was going when he walked down the staircase into the inn’s main foyer, where a few early risers were enjoying a hearty breakfast before headed on their way. He’d probably just go outside, where he could get some fresh air and evaluate this revelation in the light of day. Thinking about it was honestly the last thing Balthier wanted to do, but he knew ignoring it would be beyond foolish.
“Balthier?” A voice called out as Balthier crossed the room towards the door. He turned to see Fran sitting alone at a table in the corner.
“Fran.” Balthier stopped. “What are you doing up already?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Fran replied. “Where are you going?”
“I just need to clear my head,” he replied. “Fran, when everyone else gets up, head out to the aerodrome; I’ll meet you there.”
“You’re not even going to eat?” Fran asked, cocking her head.
Balthier sighed. “Don’t worry about me, Fran. I just… need a moment.”
Not waiting for Fran to voice her concern again, Balthier started off towards the door.
Outside, cold dawn light bathed the city of Rabanastre. Lingering puddles along the road, soon to dry up in the desert sun, gave hint of the downpour last night. Only a few people walked the streets this early, one or two chocobo-drawn carriages rattling down the road. Balthier set off in the direction of the aerodrome, trying to collect his thoughts.

…

The aerodrome was busy for so early in the morning. Balthier hung around outside, remembering when he’d sat there with Ashe and Fran, waiting for the rest of their party to arrive so they could leave for Raithwall’s Tomb. He’d been so confused then by Fran’s behavior; he could never have guessed what the truth really was.
A force of evil from ancient days, return to cause havoc like it had back then, however that was; that was about all Balthier could wring from the ancient rhyme. But that song wasn’t the only source of information he had.
Balthier reached into his pocket and pulled out the little silver wrench. He hadn’t thought of it in so long. His name, that ancient name he’d left behind, gleamed back at him, flashing in the Dalmascan sun.
Ffamran Bunansa
It was one of those things Ffamran had drilled into him for as long he could remember. His father had always said what an honor it was to one of the Bunansa family, that he was the heir to a great legacy.
“A great legacy…” Balthier breathed aloud, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, right.”
Balthier could feel it rushing through every vein, thrumming in every breath, something as familiar as his own heartbeat, so constant he didn’t know what life would feel like without it. Still, silent, sleeping, cold as stone, so faint he could just ignore it if he wanted to, but it was there. The fulfillment of an ancient prophecy, an evil to ravage all Ivalice… Even in all his speculations, Balthier had never imagined that. But what did it mean, really? Was it even true? This would be much easier if only he knew that.
“Balthier?” Strahl’s voice pulled at his mind, forcing her way through a shroud of despair. Balthier didn’t reply.
“Balthier, what’s wrong?” Strahl said again.
“Oh, why don’t you just pull it out of my mind?” Balthier said with a sigh. “You can do that, can’t you?”
“I can, I just think it’s rude.”
Balthier sighed. “Strahl, just leave me alone, alright? I just need some… time to think.”
“Balthier…” Strahl let out a sigh. A few moments passed, then she gasped. “Oh… Balthier…” Then she trailed off. Balthier could sense her floundering for words. He chuckled; there was one thing that could render even Strahl speechless.
“Couldn’t resist taking a peek, hm?” Balthier said. “See now? See what I am?” Balthier tightened his grip around the wrench, as if squeezing the metal rob until it snapped would make him feel better. “There’s no excuse for this one. I thought I could control it. Enough time and effort and maybe one day it’d work out… But it only gets harder. I could… I could hurt someone. I have hurt people. I…” Balthier trailed off, unable, even in his mind, to set to words the confusion tumbling through his head, unable to admit the fear he felt so strongly.  
“No choice…” Strahl said after a long silence. “After the battle at Lemahl, that’s what you said. You hated not having a choice. I’m still trapped, but you… you’re not! You can’t choose what you are, but choose what you do with it. Balthier, you have willpower! That means you can look in one direction, put one foot in front of the other, and move in the direction you choose. To live without that will… it’s not living at all! Trust me, I know. But Balthier, you are alive! And Ivalice needs you to be! You wanted to fix things, right? Maybe this makes things harder, sure; you gotta take a chance. I won’t pretend I know what that’s like, but I wish I did! You’ve never given up, before, Balthier! Why start now?”
“Oh, I have given up before, Strahl,” Balthier replied.
“And you want to fix it, right?” Strahl said, her voice rising to a fervent plea. “So don’t stop again!”
 Balthier couldn’t think of a reply. He couldn’t say her words cleared his confusion any, though maybe there was a small drop of light in the clouds of darkness. Strahl’s words stirred up another memory that sang out from a sea of despair; Zecht’s parting words: You and I, we have a duty to live, and make this world better. Had he forgotten that conversation so easily?
“So, are you… okay now?” Strahl asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Everybody’s kinda waiting for you over here in the aerodrome. They’re getting worried, actually.”
“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Balthier asked with a sigh.
“You had a lot you needed to hear,” she replied. “But now, since we’re all done with that, I suggest you point yourself in the direction of hanger sixteen and start putting one foot in front of the other.”
Balthier sighed. “Don’t worry; I’ll be right there.”

…

Bright sunlight trickled through the open roof as Balthier entered the hanger. Through the door, down a few steps, and up to the waiting group of his waiting compatriots. Ashe, Fran, Vaan, Penelo, and Basch all stood near Strahl’s doorway, chatting amongst themselves. The topic, Balthier couldn’t determine, because once he got close enough to hear, they all spun to greet him.
“Balthier!” Vaan said. “Where have you been?”
Basch cut Balthier off before he could answer. “We should leave; we’ve lost a lot of time, already.”
“The captain’s right. Let’s be off,” Balthier said.
“Balthier.” Fran’s voice stopped him as he started towards the door. “We need to talk,” she said, slowly. “A lot more than we did.”
“Ah.” That didn’t sound very fun, though if Fran had any more information, Balthier would be glad to learn it. “Yes, we will, but… As soon as it’s convenient.” Balthier cast a quick glance over the assembled travelers. This wasn’t exactly something he wanted to discuss in front of them.
“What are we talking about?” Vaan asked, glancing between Balthier and Fran.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Balthier replied, shaking his head. “Now come on, let’s get going already. Jahara’s a long ways away, I hear.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty

The Ozmone Plain
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The grand plains of rolling green grass, disrupted here and there by rocky outcroppings and rising cliffs, stretched away to the horizon in every direction. The sun overhead was brilliant, but not oppressive like in the desert; it painted the whole bright scene with boundless life, every breath of breeze sending ripples of energy through the tall, green grass. The flight from Rabanastre to the Ozmone Plain took about two hours, filled with pleasant conversation. Vaan had started them off with the rather mundane topic of the weather and the recent rain shower, which the resident Dalmascans considered exotic indeed. Everyone joined in, even Fran and Basch with comments here and there. Balthier recognized what the talk really was: a callback to simpler days with an everyday topic, taking all their minds off the weighty events of the past several days, and the weighty mission they were about to embark on.
Fran had called them to a stop here, saying they were close enough to Jahara to walk, and that the Garif wouldn’t appreciate them landing right on top of them. Now the whole party stood below Strahl, ready to depart.
“So, Fran, you seem to know where we’re headed,” Balthier said to his Viera partner. “Where now?”
“This way.” Fran turned and nodded. “We’re not far.” One direction looked much like another on this vast, green plain, though this way were more rocks and ledges, building up to cliff that rose and fell from the green expanse.
“You’ve been to Jahara before?” Basch asked. Fran nodded.
“Golmore Jungle lies south of here, in Jagd Difor.” Fran cast a misty glance towards the southern horizon. “There are many Viera there. They used to trade with the Garif, about seventy years ago.”
“Seventy years ago?” Vaan’s eyes went wide. “So how come you know how to get there?”
“I was there,” Fran replied simply.
“You… wait… What?” Vaan frowned as he struggled to understand. Balthier sighed.
“Come on, everyone, let’s be off. Maybe we can be on our way back before sundown.”
Everyone murmured their agreement, and they started off through the tall grass, Fran taking the lead. Vaan fell into step beside Balthier.
“Fran said-” he began.
“Yes, I did hear,” Balthier cut him off. “Viera live a lot longer than humans do, Vaan.”
“How much longer?” Vaan asked. “How old is she?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never asked,” Balthier replied.
“Why not?”
“Because that would be terribly rude.”
“Oh.” Vaan glanced ahead at Fran again, and Balthier let out a sigh.
“It’s a good thing you’ve never been to the courts of Archades, Vaan; I don’t think your manners would’ve held up very well.”
“What, you have?” Vaan said, eyes wide in horror like this was a capital offence.
Balthier let out a sigh, annoyed both at Vaan’s prejudice and his own slip-up.
“Would it matter either way?” Not waiting for a response, Balthier took a few strides to put distance between himself and the kid. That wasn’t something he wanted to explain right now.

…

They journeyed over the Ozmone Plain, following Fran’s direction. The plain was bursting with life of all kinds, from harmless hares to giant birds to vicious behemoths. The wildlife gave them some trouble, and occasionally Fran or Penelo’s talents were called upon after a confrontation, but such battles were all won without much difficulty. As Fran led them on, the cliffs and rises became more prevalent, until the party traveled through a series of gorges and valleys, all thickly grassed like the cliffs above. The Ozmone plain rose and fell in jagged cuts, but the same at any height in its lush vegetation and plentiful sunlight.
“It’s just in here,” Fran said, rounding the corner of a particularly narrow ravine. Everyone followed her. Beyond, the ground was worn by a thousand footsteps, the packed soil bare of grass. A bridge of red-tinted wood spanned a brook tumbling down from the arching hills beyond. There, painted over the hills and cliffs of the Ozmone Plains, lay a massive village. Huts and pens stretched over the plain, long since trodden to earthen paths. Before the bridge stood a Garif man, a tall, thickly muscled humanoid, garnished with red-brown scales over his arms and back. His face was covered with an ornate mask, carved from bone, sporting antler-like horns and a bird-like beak. His eyes peeped out from small holes, narrowing as he spotted the visitors.
“Halt,” he said, raising the spear he held at his side. “Outsiders are not welcomed here.”
“Calm down,” Balthier said. “We won’t be long. Just have a little errand we need to attend to.”
“You are not welcome here,” the Garif repeated. “Outsiders cannot be trusted. I think you’d best be on your way.”
“But we have to get in!” Ashe said, walking up to the man. “Please, it’s urgent; we can’t go anywhere else!”
The Garif tightened his grip on his spear. “Human, I told you to leave. Don’t ask again.”
“Let’s just talk about this, and not do anything hasty, alright?” Balthier said, hurrying up to them. He hoped Ashe got his message about not getting hasty as much as the guard did.
“Ramus, stand down,” a new voice called. Balthier turned to see another Garif approaching down the path they’d just taken, sporting his own spear, red scales, and heavy, ornate mask.
“War-Chief!” The guard bowed hastily. “You were out on your own again?”
The war-chief didn’t answer the guard’s question. “Let these people pass, Ramus,” he said. “I saw them crossing the plains; they’re mighty warriors, or so they proved against the plain’s beasts. And the Viera is known to me. I don’t think they’ll cause trouble.”
Fran turned the newcomer, frowning in thought.
“Supinelu?” she said at last.
“Outsider!” the guard snapped. “Address the war-chief by his title!”
“Ramus, stand down,” Supinelu said. “Last time we met, I was but an apprentice. And I do not care what she calls me.” Supinelu walked up to Fran. “Fran! It has been a long time since we saw each other! Seventy years, was it?”
Vaan let out a sigh. “So Garif live a really long time, too?”
Supinelu let a hearty laugh, despite the rudeness of Vaan’s comment. “Oh, it’s not we who live so long, but you humans whose lives are so fleeting.”
Fran actually laughed at that- a subdued giggle, barely noticeable, but more than Balthier had ever heard from her. He didn’t even think it was that funny.
“So, Fran!” Supinelu turned back to Fran. “What brings you here? Have you come from Golmore?”
Fran shook her head. “No. I left the wood… some time ago.”
“I see,” Supinelu replied, growing serious. “I might have told from your choice of company.”
“Pardon me,” Balthier interrupted, “but us fleeting, lesser beings have a reason to be here, too.”
“Yes, I apologize,” Supinelu said. “I meant no disrespect. You humans probably live more in the few years you spend in your cities than we ever do in our centuries in the forests and plains. But yes, tell me; why are you here?”
“We need to know about nethicite,” Ashe replied.
“Nethicite?” Supinelu raised a hand to his chin. “I’ve heard of it, but I’m no master of the ancient legends. How did you come by word of that?”
“I am a descendant of Raithwall,” Ashe replied. “The Shard relics-”
“The Dynast King himself?” Supinelu started, then marched up to Ashe, staring at her intently through his heavy mask. Ashe tried and failed to hold his gaze, and it seemed it was all she could do not to shrink away.
“Hm.” Supinelu raised his hand back to his chin. “Surely a daughter of the Dynast King would carry herself with more dignity. But no; I see in your eyes you speak the truth. If it’s knowledge of the stones you seek, I’m certain our great-chief knows something. I’ll see if I can’t arrange you an audience.”
“Thank you,” Ashe said, struggling to hide her offence.  
“War-chief! I must protest!” the guard, Ramus, said. “We cannot bring these outsiders into the village! And to the great-chief?”
“Fran? Can we trust these people?” Supinelu asked. She nodded. “There? See?”
“But… Just on the Viera’s word?” Ramus stammered. “We broke off trade with her kind for a reason!”
“Because our leaders saw fit to quarrel,” Supinelu replied, growing impatient. “I am the war-chief and I say these people may pass. Stand aside, Ramus.”
Ramus mumbled something under his breath, then reluctantly stepped aside.
“Come, now,” Supinelu said, striding out onto the bridge. “It’s just this way.”

…

 War-Chief Supinelu led the party through the pathways of Jahara. It was a very rustic village, though by no means small. The village clung tight the land’s natural ups and downs, the two long since inseparable. Bridges and stairways climbed up the steeper ledges, connecting every layer of the ever-rising village. As the party walked along, Garif of all ages watched them with rapt interest, and Balthier didn’t like all those eyes on them; he figured that must be what Fran felt every time she walked through a crowded city center. At the very peak of the hill, huts and tents sprinkled down the sides all around, stood a massive tent, smoke puffing out a small hole at the top. Supinelu left them in front of its massive flaps and went inside, saying he would speak with the great-chief. They all waited outside until he emerged.  
“You may all come in, now,” Supinelu called as he pushed out from under the great tent’s flaps.
“Good,” Basch said. He turned to Ashe. “Highness, are you ready?”
“Of course,” Ashe replied. “And thank you,” she said to Supinelu. “We’re in your debt.”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” he replied. “Now come on; let’s not keep the great-chief waiting.”
The great Garif held the heavy hide of the tent’s flap open and allowed the five humans and one Viera to pass through. Inside, the thick shadows swathed from the high ceiling to the floor, where the dusky glow of a crackling bonfire chased them back into the corners. Several Garif sat around the fire, one figure standing out: his mask was painted with stripes of red and gold, adorned heavily with fanning feathers and ornaments of all kinds. He turned his head as the visitors entered, deep eyes peering from his mask, studying with intensity each of them in turn.
“Great-chief,” Supinelu said, dipping in a bow. “These are the outsiders.”
“So I see,” the great-chief said. His ancient voice, weighed with the wisdom of centuries, echoed from within his mask. “Supinelu, you may leave us.” Supinelu nodded and turned to leave. The great-chief fixed his gaze on Ashe. “You are a descendant of the Dynast King, I am told. Is this true?”
Ashe nodded, trying to hold her head high. “Yes, it is.”
“And you come seeking knowledge of his stones?”
Ashe nodded again. “Yes.”
“To what end?”
Ashe hesitated on that answer. “I… I need to know how to weld it. The nethicite,” she said at last.
“Then you have the shards?” the great-chief asked.
“One,” Ashe replied. She fumbled a moment in the folds of her dress, then pulled out the Dawn Shard. The fire’s glow had no power to color its dull, grey surface.
“Let me see it,” the great-chief said, holding out one hand. Ashe walked up to him and placed the shard in his open palm. Even sitting, old and bent as he was, the Garif great-chief was nearly as tall as the princess. He held the stone close to his mask, turning it in one great clawed hand.
“This is indeed nethicite,” he said after a few moments. “I have never seen it myself, but it is… unmistakable.” The great-chief raised his head, sweeping his penetrating gaze over the whole group of outsiders. He held the stone out just above the licking flames. “These stones were given to Lord Raithwall more than a thousand years ago. The legends say he was called to the holy city, Giruvegan, where the Occuria bestowed on him a special purpose; they set him and his descendants as their scribes, to write the history they pleased, and they gave him these stones to be his pen. This done, the Occuria of old left the writing of history with the Dynast King and his descendants, claimed as their servants ‘til time’s end. They say in Raithwall’s children can yet hear the Occuria’s call, that their blood rings with it.” He set his gaze on Ashe. “Though whether the long centuries have rendered them deaf, I know not.” Ashe hung her head, unable to meet his gaze.
“But can we use this nethicite?” Basch said, bringing things back to the topic at hand. The great-chief let out a sigh, examining the stone again.
“This stone has already been used,” he said. “Deployed carelessly, drained dry. It holds no power now, only a terrible thirst.” He held the stone out, and Ashe took it. “Careful, daughter of Raithwall,” he said. “It is those who desire the stone’s power who the nethicite itself desires.”
Those words rang all-too true to Balthier’s ears.
“Great-Chief.” Supinelu’s voice called. Balthier turned and saw him standing just within the tent, holding open the flap. “Our other guest is here. He wishes to speak with the princess.”
“Other guest?” Balthier echoed, frowning.
“Yes,” the great-chief said. “Your coming was foretold, you see. Our earlier visitor said the princess of Dalmasca would come here. He’s waited for you some hours.”
“But… who?” Ashe asked.
“Hello, Lady Ashe.”
Everyone turned to see the newcomer as he pushed his way through the tent flap. There in the firelight, dressed in all the garish attire of an Archadian noble, stood young Lord Larsa, fourth-born son of Emperor Gramis, prince of the Archadian Empire.
“Larsa?” Penelo said with a gasp.
“Penelo?” Larsa snapped his gaze from the Ashe to Penelo, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with the princess,” Penelo replied.
“Why are you here?” Ashe asked.
“Don’t worry, princess,” Balthier said. “I’m sure if the Empire wanted to dispose of us, they’d send more than a little boy, assuming he is here alone.”
If Larsa took offense at Balthier’s comment, he didn’t show it. He certainly acted far more mature than he looked.
“He’s right; I’m not here to fight, and I have come alone,” Larsa said, calm and suave the whole way. “I want to speak with you, Lady Ashe, on matters of importance to both our countries.”
“Alright,” Ashe said, trying to sound like a diplomat. “What is it?”
“I know very little of what went on in the sandsea,” Larsa said, “but from what I gathered in Archades and what I heard just now, you have the Dawn Shard, and will use it to aid Ondore’s resistance, correct?”
“Yes,” Ashe said after some hesitation.
Larsa sighed. “Lady Ashe, you see, Archadia and Rozarria have had tense relations for a very long time. We have struggled to keep the peace for many years. If you and Ondore begin your rebellion now, Rozarria will have the perfect pretense to declare war. They come to help you, then sweep through to attack Archadia. Lady Ashe, do you see what I’m saying?”
Balthier certainly did. That wouldn’t be pretty.
“Archadia destroyed Dalmasca!” Ashe replied. “They put us through that pain! Why should I help keep them from war?”
“Because Dalmasca would be the battlefield!” Larsa replied. “Lady Ashe, the war would be fought on your lands, among your people!”
“And what about nethicite?” Balthier joined in. “Archadia took a big blow when their eighth fleet went down. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were forced to pull out the big guns. They have the Dusk Shard and the manufactured nethicite. Do you want Rabanastre to end up looking like the eighth fleet, Ashe?”
Ashe’s angry resolve wavered, and she stared at the ground.
“My father would never do that!” Larsa said.
“And what about your brother?” Balthier asked. “You think Vayne would hesitate?”
“My father rules Archadia,” Larsa replied. “Even so, my brother wouldn’t…” Larsa trailed off, doubt crossing his face for the first time Balthier had seen. “Maybe he would. He’s more obsessed with those stones every day. He’s… changed. Maybe he would use them.”
“It’s been done before,” Balthier said, bitter memories streaking through his mind. “How do you think all this madness started? There was nethicite at Nabudis, when it went up in flames. That should never happen again.”
“The stones do hold power to corrupt,” the great-chief said, joining the debate. “Maybe it is not my place to say, but… If it is they that caused this problem, then perhaps by destroying them, you could cure it.”
“Well, that sounds nice,” Balthier said. “If only it were possible. If the nethicite can survive the kind of destruction it causes, I doubt much could break it.”
“I’ve heard stories of an ancient relic of Raithwall’s,” the great-chief said. “The Sword of Kings. A blade given him of the Occuria, with which they carved the three Shards. It may be that could shatter the stones.”
“Well, is it real?” Balthier asked. “And if it is, do you know where it is?” Something inside him tingled at the thought of watching those stones fall to pieces; they’d enough lives, and to put a stop to it once and for all…
“It is as real as the Shards,” the great-chief replied. “I’ve heard it lies in a shrine to the south, in Jagd Difor.”
“That’s not a lot of direction,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“I know.” The great-chief thought for a moment. “I heard the legend first from the Grand Kiltias. Do you know of the kiltias?”
“I’ve heard of them,” Balthier replied. “Some sort of cult hiding in some remote region of Jagd Difor.”
“The kiltias order dedicates themselves to preserving ancient lore and arts,” the great-chief said. “If anyone knows where this shrine lies, the Grand Kiltias will. They live south of here, on Mount Bur-Omisace, past Golmore Jungle and the Paramina Rift. Not an easy journey.”
“But by finding this sword,” Basch said, “we could destroy the nethicite, cripple the Empire, and stop a disastrous war.”
“And then, Lady Ashe,” Larsa walked straight up to her, looking up to meet her eyes, “it is my hope you would be willing to negotiate with my father. I must confess…” Larsa sighed. “Before all this began, my brother, Vayne, he spoke with my father about relics of great power that rested in Dalmasca. I never realized before, but as I thought about it… We invaded because he wanted the nethicite. I don’t want to believe Vayne would do such things, or that my father would listen, but… Princess, if all the nethicite is gone, so will be the means and the desire for any hold over your kingdom. There could be a treaty, and then-”
“No!” Ashe cut him off. “If Rozarria would help us, then maybe we could win! Archadia took so much from us… Basch, you know!” Tears glittered in her eyes as Ashe turned to the knight. “They destroyed your home, killed your family! And Rasler… You can’t tell me… I should just let them get away with it! How can that be right?”
“Lady Ashe.” Larsa pulled her attention back to him. “Yes, I am asking you to choose between justice and peace. And the choice is yours.”
“But…” Ashe shook her head, struggling for words. “I… I…” She looked away, unable to hold Larsa’s gaze as this little boy held his composure better than her.
“Princess Ashe,” Basch said. “You know very well what horrors war can bring. So many know that pain now. If we could stop it, save but one person from those horrors, from enduring the struggle we have…”
“But what about Rasler? And Father?” Ashe said. “What about Vossler? What about everyone who’s died fighting Archadia? How can we let them all down?”
“You’re hardly letting them down by bringing peace,” Balthier said. “Ashe, if my opinion matters to you at all, I think… this is it. No more chasing our tails. End it all, finally.”
“But… But…”
“Ashe…” Balthier didn’t want to get rough, but… “There’s a lot more at stake here than you or your kingdom. This is everyone, everywhere, a thousand other people who can die and hurt just as easily as you or I.” Reina’s face flashed in his mind, a final smile… She hadn’t known they’d never see each other again. “No more indecision. This time I won’t…” Balthier trailed off, forcing himself back to the present and locking gazes with Ashe. “You can save or take a lot of lives with your next actions, Ashe. What’ll it be?”
“I… I…” Ashe stammered. “I don’t know!” She hung her head.
“Princess, take time and think about it,” Basch said, walking up to Ashe and resting a hand on her shoulder. He looked up to address the great-chief. “Can we stay the night in the village?”
“Certainly,” the great-chief replied. “We haven’t had guests in a great many years. Our accommodations are few, but you’re all welcome to stay the night. In fact…” he signaled to Supinelu, who’d watched the whole debate silently. “We’ll have a celebration in honor of our visitors. War-chief, have preparations made, won’t you?”
Supinelu bowed slightly. “As you wish.” He turned to the group of visitors. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can stay.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Larsa said, bowing to the great-chief, then to Supinelu. The great-chief nodded, and Supinelu started out the tent. Basch led Ashe after him, Vaan, Penelo, Fran, Larsa, and Balthier following after.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-One

Jahara, Land of the Garif
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The moon shone overhead, just a sliver short of full. Penelo figured they must’ve missed the full moon last night, during the rain shower. Still, surrounded by a thousand icy stars in the clear sky above the Ozmone Plain, the sight was beautiful to behold.
The Garif displayed incredible hospitality for a seclusive race that never interacted with the world outside. They provided an excellent meal, though it was obvious Ashe’s mind was elsewhere; no one could blame her. Penelo tried her best to enjoy the meal and not let the unstable future deter her. The Garif were excellent hosts, and the conversion was lively. After a good meal and much talk, Penelo went for a walk, taking in the sights of Jahara. It was night now, but most of the Garif were still up and about, talking around roaring fires. Apparently having visitors was a rare event indeed.
Penelo walked up to the edge of one of the many cliffs that marked the rise and fall of Jahara’s levels. This one dropped only about ten feet to the plateau below, which stretched on, covered in huts and firepits and Garif, only to drop away again. The land flowed out into open plains, away to the horizon, where stars scattered their light down to the earth. Penelo smiled at the view. A lot had happened worthy of thought, but Penelo didn’t want to think right now. She wanted to dance.
Penelo pulled out her staff, the rod of old, worn metal reflecting the moonlight above and the firelight below. She stood near the cliff’s edge, between a Garif hut and a pen of short, round, flightless birds, where no one would see her. It wasn’t that she’d mind if someone watched; it was her dream that someday people would. She just didn’t want to be in the way. Penelo began her routine of spinning and twisting, guiding the staff along with her all the way. The metal rod really helped her keep her balance, but, if used right, it could be woven into an integral part of the display. If only she could do up on stage like she’d dreamed two years ago…
Penelo let both feet rest back flat on the ground, bobbing in a final curtsy to an imaginary audience that marked the end of the routine. Dancing was the easiest thing in the world to her, far easier than walking miles, battling monsters, or using healing magic, though she was getting better at all those things. Still, Penelo would’ve loved nothing more than to be back home in Rabanastre, in that theater where she’d spent so many hours dreaming.
“Amazing!” The voice made Penelo jump, spinning around with a gasp. There opposite her, several Garif stood crowded around a firepit. One of them, older, scales tinged with grey, stood out at the front.
“Why, the birds of the skies do not move with such grace!” the Garif elder continued. “Why do you hide the shadows, hume-child? Come into the light and let us see!”
“Oh, really?” Penelo felt her cheeks grow warm as her eyes widened. “You really mean that?”  
“Of course,” the Garif elder said. “If you’d be willing.”
“Then… sure!”
Penelo stepped out of the building’s safe shadows, into the crackling firelight. She held out her staff, and, breathing deep, reminded herself that this was what she’d dreamed of for as long as she could remember. And it probably wasn’t a dream, though if it was one, it wasn’t a bad one.
Then Penelo had a marvelous idea, and all anxiety melted into excitement.
Swinging her staff wide, she began.

…

“Vaan!”
Vaan was on his was on his way to the tent to turn in when the voice called him back. Two empty tents stood side by side, the ones Supinelu had shown them that morning, one for the three girls and one for the rest of them. Vaan didn’t feel all that tired, but he figured it was pretty late. When he heard the voice calling his name, he spun around to see Larsa jogging down the path behind him, trying to catch up.
“Oh, Larsa,” Vaan said. “What’s up?” Vaan really wasn’t sure what to make of the kid. He couldn’t possibly have been more than thirteen, yet spoke had more political savvy than Vaan had ever heard, and more maturity than most adults. And he was an imperial, another thing that made Vaan skeptical.
“Have you seen Lady Ashe around?” Larsa asked, coming to a halt. “I’d like to talk to her once more before I turn in.”
“Hey, I’m no expert,” Vaan replied, “but maybe you should let her… I dunno, think a bit? She seemed kinda, well…”
“I suppose so.” Larsa sighed and turned to stare down the stepping-stool slopes of Jahara. After a few moments, he frowned, then pointed. “Look, down there! What’s that?”
Following his finger, Vaan spotted a crowd of Garif circled around something a few layers down. From the center of the crowd flashes of light drifted up in spiraling patterns, though Vaan couldn’t see what made it.
“I dunno,” Vaan said with a shrug. “Wanna go see?”
Larsa stared up at him for a few moments, as if his overly serious nature couldn’t comprehend doing something so trivial just for curiosity’s sake.
“Alright,” Larsa said at last, nodding.
Vaan led the way down a serious of bridges and slopes, and soon he and Larsa had reached the outskirts of the Garif crowd. Their scaly bodies towered over the two human boys, blocking all view from the outside. After a few of Larsa’s polite requests, the crowd parted, and they slipped in. Vaan’s eyes widened when he saw what they were all watching.
There in the middle, given a wide berth by the gathered audience, was Penelo, dancing. Soft, white light, tinged with warm, milky hues, spilled around her hands and staff, leaving ethereal trails in the air as she twisted and twirled. It was a familiar light, that Vaan had seen numerous times, bathing and erasing the worst of wounds.
“Oh, she’s using her magic, I think,” Vaan whispered to Larsa. “That’s cool.”
“It’s beautiful,” Larsa replied, staring in rapt attention at the display.
“Yeah, she’s good at this, huh? Larsa?” When Larsa didn’t reply, Vaan decided not to bother him. Instead, he just watched the show.

…

Ashe knelt in the grass on the hillside overlooking the village of Jahara. Up here, near the great-chief’s tent, pathways were few and huts nonexistent, just a green hillside far, far above the busy village, with its bonfires, houses and people. Here, the sky was so close, and though she could see both clearly, Ashe felt more a part of that great starry expanse than the bustle far below. Alone and peaceful, here, she could think.
Settled in the soft green grass, cool in the nighttime air, Ashe cradled the Dawn Shard in her hands, staring down at it as she thought. She tried to weigh her options logically, but her mind kept wandering. She let her gaze drift down the hillside, following its steep curve until it mellowed out. A bridge at the bottom arched a gently flowing brook, connecting this peaceful hill with the village below. Ashe thought she could see figures standing on it, but they were too far away to make out. Letting out a sigh, she leaned backward, falling into the thick, soft grass, staring up at the starry heavens above. Not a cloud marred the beautiful display of moon and stars, strewn over a clean black canvas. Try as she might, the only thing Ashe could think of was Rasler. The final moments before he left for Nalbina, the horror and anger on his face as Captain Basch brought the news of Nabudis’s fall, and subsequently the death of Rasler’s whole family… Gazing into the night sky, the Dawn Shard resting in her hands, Ashe drifted in those memories, wondering what Rasler would have wanted. War sounded horrible, unthinkable, but… Hadn’t Rasler said…?
A flare of light caught Ashe’s attention. She sat up suddenly, letting out a gasp as she saw the pillar of soft white light, like a mass of glowing cobwebs, slowly knitting into a from. Her eyes widened, and she held the Dawn Shard to her heart. The stone felt suddenly hot, but somehow, she couldn’t let go of it. The flare of light died away, and standing in its place was a ghostly, translucent figure, one she knew very well.
“Rasler!”
Ashe scrambled to her feet, holding the Dawn Shard tight the whole time. Weary from the long day, tired and confused, it barely crossed her mind that this was impossible. Ashe rushed up the ghostly figure, reaching out a hand to touch his familiar face. Her fingers passed straight through, though she felt an electric thrill in the air. She’d seen this before, in Raithwall’s tomb. Ashe wanted to say something but didn’t know what.
Rasler smiled, then turned and walked away down the hillside, silent footsteps carrying his ghostly form swiftly over the grass. Ashe stood stunned for a few moments, then broke into a run following him. Her feet caught in the grass on the downward slope, and she fell. Ashe landed face-first in the grass, managing not to tumble head-over-heels down the steep hill. She felt the Dawn Shard slip from her grasp, and a painful jolt rushed up her arm. Ignoring every other pain from her fall, Ashe pushed herself up to sit, reaching out into the grass for the Dawn Shard. Her fingers found its warm surface, and she pulled it in, holding it tight. But Rasler!
Scrambling back to her feet, Ashe looked around for her husband’s ghost. She spotted him farther down the hillside, still walking away, headed for the bridge at the bottom.
“Rasler, wait!” Ashe shouted, taking off again. She didn’t know if this was real, if maybe she was asleep or just seeing things, but she had to reach him. She just had to.
Ashe rushed out onto the bridge at the hill’s bottom. There stood Rasler, hands resting on the railing, staring out over the brook’s gentle flowing waters. Ashe was blind to everything save that wavering figure, blue-shaded and crystal-like, arrayed in that same suit of armor he’d worn when he left for Nalbina, ghostly face so clear in the moonlight. Ashe reached a hand for his shoulder and felt with joy it contact something solid.
“Rasler!”

…

Balthier stood on the bridge, one of those spanning over the brook that flowed all through the village, springing atop the hill and flowing down the cliffs and hill all around. The water rippled gently by underneath his feet, and down the hillside beyond, all Jahara stretched, huts and pens, bonfires and Garif, small as dot in the distance. This bridge was up near the great-chief’s tent, away from the main thoroughfare and any listening ears. That was why Balthier had brought Fran up here, so they could talk, without a chance of being overheard.
“So,” Balthier said to Fran, who stood next to him on the bridge. “You said we needed to talk? More than we did?”
Fran nodded slowly. “Mm.”
Balthier should’ve expected he’d have to be the one to start this conversation. As he tried to find the right questions, Balthier realized one thing; he really didn’t want to talk about this. He’d love nothing more than to just forget about the song and the prophecy and the ancient evil altogether. But he knew from experience that wasn’t a good idea. If Fran knew any more, he had to hear it.
“So… was there more?” Balthier asked. “Something other than just that song?”
“More?” Fran thought a few moments. “Not much. I heard… a few stories, when I was young, though I don’t know if there’s any truth to them.”
“I’d take just about anything at this point,” Balthier replied.
Fran was silent for a while. She leaned against the bridge’s railing, staring into the starlit waters below as she grasped in her memory. “They said something about… a war,” she said at last, “and the seven races living in hiding. I don’t remember them well. I never cared much for the ancient tales. I didn’t believe the prophecy… until I met you.”
“Well, that must’ve been quite the surprise,” Balthier said.
“I didn’t know what to think when they threw you into that cell,” Fran said, letting her gaze drift to face him. “Once I felt the myst… I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t be sure what I’d see.”
“And then I up and offered to help you escape.” Balthier let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I always wondered why you were so hostile then.” Balthier paused, listening to the water’s murmuring as he pondered those events. “Why did you agree to come with me after that? I’d think you’d have been keen to get away.”
“I couldn’t… forget,” Fran replied. “All Viera are taught the prophecy; it is a deep part of our culture. She closed her eyes, as if reciting something she’d been taught. “‘It is the Viera’s duty to remember what time has forgot, and never let it repeat.’ When I met you, I…”
“…saw it as your sacred duty to thwart me and my evil plans?” Balthier finished. Fran sighed again, nodding.
“But as time wore on, I realized… you didn’t know. You weren’t… intending anything. You weren’t evil. At least, I hoped not.”  
“It took you two years to figure that out?”
“I had to be sure,” Fran said, looking him full in the face. “But you did know… something, didn’t you?”
“Hm?” Balthier frowned. “Of course not. I don’t see what you’re getting at, Fran.”
“When I told you,” Fran said, “you were surprised, but not… confused. You knew what I meant. You must have known something before then. Or not known, but you knew you were… You’re… You’re not…”
“Oh. Normal?” Balthier turned away from Fran’s gaze as the answer to that question rushed through his mind, instead staring into the starry waters below. He half expected his powers to surge up, that cold energy twisting inside. It didn’t, but the memory was as painfully strong as ever. “No,” Balthier forced out at last. “No, I suppose I’m not.”
Fran nodded slowly. “I thought I saw… You used it in the sandsea, didn’t you?”
“If you saw that,” Balthier said, “then you knew as much as I do.”
Fran nodded, and there was silence. Balthier felt like he should say something more, but couldn’t think of anything. The last thing he wanted was to keep talking about this.
Balthier’s thoughts were shattered as he felt a touch on his shoulder, a hand reaching up and grasping firm. Accompanying the sudden contact came a voice ringing through the air.
“Rasler!”
Balthier spun around, badly startled, to face an ecstatic Princess Ashe.
“Not Rasler,” Balthier said, holding his hands up defensively. He wasn’t sure what else to say; he wasn’t even sure where Ashe came from. Fran looked equally surprised.
Ashe jumped back, the joy on her face melting into confusion. She blinked a few times, glanced around, then brought her gaze back to rest on Balthier.
“Oh, I…” she stammered. “I… Sorry! I just… I thought…”
“Thought what?” Balthier said, surprise fading to irritation. “Your dead husband decided to go for a walk?”
“No!” Ashe said. “But he was… I saw…”
“What, ghosts, then?” Balthier asked.
“Yes!” Ashe replied.
Balthier rolled his eyes. “Should I be worried about you, princess?”
“I’ve seen it before!” Ashe replied, emphatically.
“Now I’m really worried.”
“But I did!”
Balthier sighed. The last thing he wanted to deal with now was a hallucinating princess.
“Some help, Fran?”
The faintest smile crossed Fran’s face. “I’ll… let you two talk.” Then she turned, her footsteps echoing off the wooden bridge as she walked away.
“Fran! Oh…” Balthier sighed. Thanks a lot. He turned back to the princess, who was still waiting for… something, apparently. Whether she was crazy or not, there was something he’d been wanting to ask her.
“So, all phantoms aside,” Balthier said, “have you decided what you’re doing next, princess?”
Ashe let out a long sigh. She walked up to the bridge’s edge, leaning her arms on the railings. Starlight showered down from the clear heavens above, glancing off the water’s surface and lighting her uncertain face.
“Not quite yet,” she said.
Balthier sighed. “Really? You can’t decide? You of all people want to fight a cataclysmic war? I don’t claim to know you that well, princess, but that doesn’t sound like you. ‘Death to Archadia, whatever the cost?’”
“No, but…” Ashe let out a sigh, glancing down at something she held. Balthier noticed for the first time she held the Dawn Shard in her hands. “When Rasler rode off to Nalbina that day, to lead the defense, he said…” Ashe closed her eyes, breathing hard at the memory. “He swore by his honor and his father’s spilt blood that he’d make Archadia rue the day she raised her sword against house Nabradia. I’d never seen him so angry. Really, it… scared me. But… he’d want this! I knew Rasler; he would never rest until he and all his family were avenged.”
“Well, it’s your choice,” Balthier said. “But if I were you, I know what I’d do.”
Ashe looked up at Balthier, staring into his face for a long moment.
“Oh, I… I couldn’t do it! I never could!” she said at last. “I… Oh, Rasler…” Ashe held the Dawn against her chest. “I’m sorry…”
“Ashe.” Balthier couldn’t believe what he was listening to. “You’ll save thousands of lives instead of taking them. Isn’t that the right thing?”
Ashe sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I… You’re right. I have to try. Somehow.”
“You’re not alone, princess,” Balthier said. “None of us want this to continue. We’ll end all this war and death, right at the source.”
Ashe stared into his face for a few seconds, then down into the starlit waters.
“Not alone.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, a tiny smile playing over her lips. “That sounds nice. When Vossler…” Her smile melted, but she continued. “When he… Oh, up on the Leviathan, right then, all I could think was… This is it. It’s all over. I’m all alone. I can’t go on, can’t take another step. I think I gave up. I wanted to.”
“I know the feeling,” Balthier said. “When the one person you can cling to is gone, you wonder, ‘why hold on anymore?’” Ashe looked up at Balthier, frowning in confusion. Balthier was aware of how much he was spilling, but continued anyway. “But there’s one difference between you and me, Ashe: you’re still fighting.”
“Well… You’re here,” she said. “Thanks. For helping me.”
Balthier let out a chuckle. “Well, Ashe, while I’d love to say this is all gallantry and good will, I have my own quarrels against the nethicite, and my own reasons to be here. If this was all just about some damsel in distress, then I’d probably have flown off a long time ago.”
“Well, then… I know you’ll stick around.” A smile danced over Ashe’s lips, timid, almost nervous, but somehow gentle and elegant at the same time.
“You don’t do that very often, you know,” Balthier said.
“What?” Ashe asked.
“Smile.”
“Oh.” A blush touched Ashe’s cheeks, the red hue contrasting with the silver starlight showering down around her face. Balthier chuckled, thinking that was a bit overkill for his offhanded remark.
Then the pain came, flooding in as the image of Reina’s face invaded Balthier’s mind, cheeks rosy under crystal green eyes, far over-the-top for whatever he’d said this time. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the sight of the princess’s face anymore.
“I… I think I’ll turn in now,” Balthier said, tearing his gaze away from Ashe. “Goodnight, princess.”
“Oh. Goodnight, Balthier.” She sounded confused, of course, but Balthier didn’t stick around to see or hear any more. He walked off the bridge, taking the downward path towards the main town and the guest tent where they’d be staying. Ashe’s face was gone, but Reina’s wasn’t. Still there, a ghostly image in his mind he longed was real enough to touch. Somehow, she looked so disappointed…

…

Balthier headed back to the guest tents. The tents weren’t that large, just big enough to hold a row of four beds. Balthier figured everyone else was still out with the Garif, which was just what he wanted; a little time alone to collect his thoughts and dismiss them.
Ducking inside the tent, Balthier saw with disappointment Captain Basch sitting on one of the beds, absorbed in the task of swabbing his sword with an old, well-worn rag. He glanced up as Balthier entered, then back to his task without a word. Balthier claimed a bed on the far side of the tent, sitting down on the low mattress and staring at the far wall. The tent was made of a thick, heavy hide, very large. Probably from some vicious beast they were lucky enough to avoid on their journey through the plains. Hopefully not one they’d encounter on the way back. Balthier let out a sigh. Oh, this is pointless. If he couldn’t have the solitude he desired, Balthier decided, he might as well start a conversation.
“So,” he said, turning to face Basch, “not much a fan of festivities, hmm, Captain?”
“You’re here, too,” Basch said, not looking up from his blade.
“True enough,” Balthier replied. Apparently, Basch wasn’t quite as interested in talking. There was awkward silence as Balthier contemplated going back outside. Then Basch spoke up.
“You were quite adamant we destroy the nethicite today, Balthier,” Basch said, setting his sword on the bed beside him. “You know a lot about it?”
That certainly wasn’t what Balthier expected. “As much as you do,” he replied.
“And more?” Basch persisted.
Balthier let out a sigh. “And just what makes you so sure, Captain?” Of course, he did know lots about nethicite, but not something he was keen to share.
“You mentioned Nabudis,” Basch said. “No one knows what happened there. That Archadia used nethicite there seems a good assumption, but you were sure. How is that?”
“Oh, well…” Balthier scrambled for some sort of excuse. Annoyance blossomed up at a great number of things: that he’d let that slip earlier, that he couldn’t think of anything to say now, that he’d started his whole conversation in the first place.
“You want the nethicite gone, that I can tell,” Basch said when Balthier didn’t say anything. “But what you know might be important. Just who are you? And why are you so interested in the stones? What reason do you have not to say?”
Balthier let out a sigh. What reason did he have not to say now? Only that most of their party didn’t carry much fondness for Archadians, and such a revelation was sure to cause a disturbance. Plus he didn’t want to go through the hassle of explaining it all.
“Look, Captain,” Balthier said, “It’s my problem and not yours. I can handle it, alright?”
Basch sighed and shook his head. “Stubborn, close-minded, over-confident, unteachable, a lost cause beyond all others.”
“What?” Balthier frowned in confusion.
“How Vossler’s old instructor described him the day he was transferred to me,” Basch said. “It seems to fit you.”
For the second time that night, Balthier was rendered speechless by the man who never talked.
Balthier was rescued from having to find an answer as Vaan and Larsa pushed their way into the tent.
“Hey!” Vaan said, grinning wide. “Did you guys see that?”
“See what?” Balthier asked. If the kid was kind enough to save him from that awkward situation, he might as well indulge him.
“Penelo! She was dancing- practically the whole village was out there watching her!” Vaan said. “She was using her magic, too, to make lights and stuff while she danced. It was awesome!”
“It was incredible,” Larsa said with a faraway look. “Like something out of a dream. I haven’t seen anything so beautiful in all my days.”
“Well, I’m sure it was wonderful,” Balthier said. rolling his eyes. “Now, we have a long ways to go tomorrow. We should probably start settling in.”
“We still don’t know if the princess will accept my offer,” Larsa said with a frown. “I think there’s a good chance she won’t.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Balthier said, a smile creeping over his face. “A little birdy told she will.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jahara, Land of the Garif
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“So, did you decided what to tell Larsa, Ashe?” Penelo asked as she fussed with her hair, tying it back in her signature twin braids. Sunlight sparkled through the half-open tent flap, painting the whole interior with warm, morning light. Ashe smiled at that question from where she sat on her bed; she did know, finally.
“Let’s wait,” Fran said, coming up beside Penelo. “She’ll tell everyone soon enough.” Fran had her quiver of arrows and her bow slung over one shoulder, ready to leave as soon as everyone else was. She’d been like this when Ashe woke, already tidied up, everything packed. She claimed she’d already eaten, too, and politely waited while Ashe and Penelo readied for the day.
“The others will be waiting at the village’s entrance,” Fran said. “We agreed to meet there, in case the princess needed to sleep in.”
“It’s not that late, is it?” Ashe asked, to which Fran’s only response was a touch of a smile. Ashe had slept wonderfully the night before night, despite the confusion racing through her mind. She didn’t know why she’d seen Rasler’s ghost or why it vanished like it had. She didn’t know why Balthier suddenly had to leave in the middle of their conversation. But she did know what she’d say to Larsa, and whether she’d choose peace or war, and that had been enough to put her mind at rest for a moment, at least. However, she didn’t think she’d slept that late, or that she’d seemed so stressed out yesterday the others thought she needed it.
“Alright! I’m ready to go,” Penelo said, dropping the two stubby braids she’d just finished. She bent over to grab a staff leaning against her bed. It wasn’t her old one, Ashe noticed, the metal pool she’d picked up in the sandsea. This staff was carved of dark wood, longer, engraved with intricate symbols all down its length.
“Is that new?” Ashe asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Penelo replied. “One of the Garif elders gave it to me last night. It’s way better than my old one.”
Fran cocked her head, looking closer at the staff. “These are runes,” she said, tracing a finger over one of the markings. “They’ll help with your magic. I’ll show you how to use it later.”
“Oh, really? Sure,” Penelo said. “Thanks.”
“Come on, then,” Fran said, turning to the tent flap. “Let’s go.”
Ashe stood from her bed with a sigh, nodding. While the questions of Rasler’s appearance and Balthier’s odd behavior hadn’t troubled her the night before, they returned to plague her now. She’d hoped to ask Fran about it; she figured her however-many years of experience might find an answer, or at least get closer than Ashe’s measly nineteen. Ashe walked up to joined Fran and Penelo just as Penelo ducked out the tent flap.
“Wait, Fran,” Ashe said. “Can I ask you something?”
Fran cocked her head. “If you’d like. Penelo.” Fran raised the tent flap and spoke to Penelo. “Go on without us. We’ll catch up.”
“Oh. Alright,” Penelo nodded, and Fran let the tent flap fall. She turned back to Ashe.
“What is it?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Ashe asked. She’d meant to be more tactful than that, but there was no taking it back now.
“I believe there are many things I have never seen,” Fran replied. “But ghosts… I can’t say.”
Ashe let out a sigh. “Alright.”
“Is it Rasler?” Fran asked. Ashe sighed and nodded.
“Yes. And I am sorry about that. Last night, I mean. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Fran said. “I wasn’t getting anywhere, anyway.”
“What were you two talking about, anyway?” Ashe asked, just out of curiosity.
“I shouldn’t say,” Fran replied. “I don’t think he’d appreciate it.”
Ashe sighed and nodded, thinking of her own conversation with the man in question. “I always thought he was just an average sky pirate- Balthier, I mean,” she said. “He was… handy, charismatic, a little mysterious, traveling from place to place, doing whatever there is to be done. But there’s more to him than that, isn’t there?”
“Everyone has a story,” Fran replied. “His I know in part, if not in whole.”
Ashe let out a sigh. “And then there’s… Oh, I’m so confused. I did see Rasler last night, Fran! I’m sure! But does that mean…? Should I…?”
“Did it say anything?” Fran asked.
“Well, no,” Ashe replied. “But I wasn’t just seeing things!” Ashe closed her eyes, letting the memories of last night rush over her. Rasler’s ghostly form, rippling with blue light, somehow never meeting her eyes… “He was there! I know it!”
“Ghost or no,” Fran said, “Rasler died two years ago, did he not?”
Ashe paused, mouth open mid-reply. For two long years, she’d fought on, trying to move past that fact. Whatever she saw now didn’t change it. Rasler rode off to Nalbina two years ago, smoldering with anger towards Archadia, and he returned only in a casket, however painful that fact was. And, thinking back, Ashe couldn’t deny there was something off in the vision she’d seen, something different in his eyes, something strange she couldn’t put her finger on.
“You’re right,” Ashe said finally with a painful sigh. “You’re right, Fran.”
Fran smiled slightly and patted a hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Come on, then; you shouldn’t keep Larsa waiting.”
Ashe nodded. “Yes. And… thanks.”

…

Balthier slept soundly that night. For the past several nights, there had been some revelation or earth-shattering event that kept him awake, tossing and turning while his mind reeled with questions. It was that lack of sleep more than peace mind of mind that drew Balthier into a deep sleep that night.
Balthier slept soundly, but not peacefully. His dreams were a chaotic jumble of memories, recounting his life in Archades in the most distorted manor. Every fragmented memory seemed to loop around and end with Reina’s face, smiling that last time he’d seen her, her fading lips asking one unidentifiable question, vanishing before he could hear her voice again. In her place stood a letter, reading off the terrible news. Short and thoughtless, it relayed plainly the cold, hard facts: an accident at Draklor, a single casualty, one Reina Florss. Curiously, Balthier had never wondered exactly what happened; the terrible fact that Reina was gone was bad enough. Before he could ask or anyone could answer, Ffamran was outside under the stars, tears on his face, then suddenly back in Archades to start it all over again. His thoughts about Reina were always that way, he realized. Circular, full of pain and guilt, never simple happy remembrance. Balthier wanted to move on, but it was his fault Reina was gone in the first place; did he have that right? Or was that just another way of running from the truth that Reina was gone, and nothing he did would bring her back?
With the sun risen and the new day begun, bright sunlight washing over Jahara, Balthier banished his uncertainties to that troubled night. There was a lot to be done that day; they’d start down the long road to Mount Bur-Omisace, where they’d find the Sword of Kings the great-chief talked about. At least, he hoped so.
At Jahara’s entrance, Balthier, Basch, Vaan, and Larsa all waited for the girls to arrive.
“I hope Lady Ashe has decided,” Larsa said. He paced back and forth in front of the bridge that marked the village’s beginning.
“I’d imagine she has,” Balthier said. “Quite worrying.” Of course, Balthier knew exactly what she’d say; however, he’d decided to hold his peace until the big reveal. It was Ashe’s place to say, after all.
“Hey! Good morning!” Penelo pranced over the bridge, in quite high spirits. Balthier spotted Fran and Ashe following from a distance.
“Ah. Good morning, Penelo,” Larsa said, stopping his pacing. “I saw your performance last night. It was amazing.”
“Oh, really? You really think so?” Penelo asked, cheeks flushing.
“Sure thing!” Vaan said, joining the conversation. “You were awesome, sis!”
“Spectacular,” Larsa added.
Fran and Ashe came plodding over the bridge, and all attention turned to them. Ashe seemed well-rested: tidy, with her sword tied at her belt, actually smiling for once.
“Lady Ashe.” Larsa pulled his attention away from Penelo and bent at the waist, bowing neatly to Ashe. “Have you made your decision, princess?”
“Yes,” Ashe replied. “Yes, I have.” She let out a long breath, as if saying those words lifted a great weight from her shoulders. “We’ll head to Mount Bur-Omisace to find the Sword of Kings. And then… Then we’ll do our best to make peace between Dalmasca and the Empire.”
Larsa let out a sigh of relief. “Lady Ashe, I am delighted to hear that. I’m very glad you’ve had a change of heart.”
“I am, too,” Ashe said, nodding. Balthier didn’t miss the glance she threw his direction.
“Very well then. That decided, might I… accompany you, Lady Ashe?” Larsa asked.
“Hold on a moment,” Balthier cut in. “Exactly why does an Archadian prince want to accompany us on a perilous quest into the wilderness?”
“Well, we seek the Sword of Kings, to destroy the nethicite and restore peace to Ivalice,” Larsa replied. “Something I desire as much as you. I’d like to help, if I can. Besides,” Larsa’s air of unflappable confidence wavered for an instant. “I’m not greatly needed in Archades at the moment, nor does it seem I’m needed here. I can think of no greater place to lend my aid then to your party.”
“What do you mean here?” Balthier asked. “Come to think of it, what were you doing on the Ozmone Plain before you heard we were here?”
“My brother sent me to oversee a mining operation nearby,” Larsa replied. “But that’s of no matter. I merely wish to offer what assistance I can, and witness your success with my own eyes.”
Balthier sighed. “Fine, come along. Just know this won’t be pretty. And you can dispense with the formalities; there’s a time and a place for that, and it’s not here and now.”
“Oh. Well, I…” Larsa stammered.
“Well then, now that we all know where we’re going and who’s coming,” Balthier said, ignoring the prince, “shouldn’t we be off?”
“Before you go, I’d like to wish you all good luck.” Everybody turned as Supinelu came over the bridge. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to the rest, then turned to Fran. “Take care in Golmore, old friend,” he said. “I’m sure the Viera won’t take kindly to your return.”
Fran nodded slowly. “I’ve considered it. I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“For these humans?” Supinelu cast a glance over the others. “Well, that’s your choice, Fran. Be careful, nonetheless.”
Fran nodded.
“Shall we leave?” she said, turning to the others.
“Are you sure about this, Fran?” Balthier asked. “I’ll admit I don’t know a lot about Viera culture, but it sounds like a homecoming won’t be particularly safe for you.”
“My kind won’t take kindly to outsiders passing through the wood, either,” Fran replied. “You’ll need my help. There will be danger for all of us, but we must go anyway. You honestly expect me to stay here?”
Balthier sighed. “No, not really.”
“Then let’s go,” Fran said. “The land ripples as we near Jagd Difor, thus cliffs stand between us and Golmore Jungle. There is an entrance not far from here, to the southeast. We should leave quickly. It would be best to spend as little time as possible in the wood.”
“Then let’s go,” Balthier said, turning to address the whole group. “Everybody ready?” He eyed the newest addition to their group. “Larsa?”  
“Certainly,” Larsa said, patting the rapier at his side. It struck Balthier what a comical contrast the kid made; there he stood with his air of confidence and royal pride, attired in the pompous outfit of an Archadian noble, yet with a sword tied to his belt, backed by the untamed expanse of the Ozmone plain, ready to embark on a perilous quest into the wilderness. The fact that he barely looked twelve years old argued against both those things.
“Are you sure you know how to use that thing?” Balthier asked, nodding to the prince’s sword.
“Of course,” Larsa replied, not fazed at all by Balthier’s doubt. “I’ve been trained by the finest sword masters Archadia has to offer.”
Balthier chuckled, withholding a comment about the difference between the dense jungles of Jagd Difor and an Archades training room. “Come on, everybody,” Balthier said. “We’ve got a long road ahead, so we might as well get started.”
The group murmured their agreement.
“Farewell, then,” Supinelu said. He nodded to Fran. “Fates will, we meet again.”
She nodded back, then turned to leave. Balthier took the lead as the group headed out of the sheltered slopes of Jahara towards the rolling Ozmone Plain.

…

The jagged cliffs of the Ozmone Plain created a barrier between the party and their path south, just as Fran predicted. She led them across the plain to a place where the cliff walls split open into a pathway of narrow ravines like the trail that led to Jahara. The ravine grew narrower and the cliffs shallower, until the stone walls ran right up into a tangled mass of trees. The great trees towered far overhead, their dark leave tangling together at the top, making it dark as night within. The narrow mouth of the ravine funneled into the forest, making it seem like the mouth of some great, ancient beast, long since buried and overgrown.
“This the place, I assume?” Balthier said.
Fran nodded. “Golmore Jungle. We can enter here.” She walked closer to the entrance, looking up into the dark treetops, until the shadows of the great, towering trees fell over her face. Her face was unreadable, but Balthier thought he heard the faintest sigh. Not that he’d ever experienced such a homecoming himself, but Balthier imagined it was hard. What would it be like to step back into the sprawl of Archades after all those years?
“It’s so big!” Vaan said, staring up at the massive trees.
“Jagd Difor starts here,” Fran said, breaking from her solemn trance. “The myst is much thicker beyond.”
“So the plants grow bigger and faster,” Balthier finished. “I imagine the animals do, too.”
Everyone followed Fran, walking in under the shadow of the ancient trees. Just within the forest’s shadow, a pathway curved out of the earth, arching onward into the forest. All around the strange metal walkway, dense undergrowth blanketed the ground.
“Oh, wow,” Penelo said. “Did the Viera build that?”
“The Viera do not build,” Fran replied. “Not like this. These ruins have been here since before the wood. But they are useful paths, and the Viera use them.” Fran walked out onto metal path. “Follow me,” she said, not looking back. “These will take us to the other side. The open forest is not somewhere we want to be.”

They traveled through the winding paths of Golmore Jungle for about two hours, Balthier estimated. The sun was probably directly overhead, yet it was distant and invisible behind the dense tree cover; their way was lit by ancient, flickering magicite lamps, part of the ruins beneath the jungle. The wood was hardly silent; the distant noises of insects buzzing and creatures moving through the undergrowth mixed with the sound of footfalls on the ancient metal path.
“So, Fran, you actually lived here?” Vaan asked. “It’s kinda dreary, isn’t it?”
Balthier withheld a sigh at Vaan’s tactlessness; the kid would never learn. Fran didn’t seem particularly fazed by it, though.
“I did,” she replied simply. Fran had hardly talked at all through their journey so far. Not that she was usually chatty, but there was something cold in her silence now, as she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, a hard but pained determination showing through her usually stony eyes. Balthier couldn’t help but feel guilty that his mission had brought her back here; he knew very well the pain of something left irretrievably behind.
“Must’ve been tough,” Vaan continued. “I mean, all these weird monsters everywhere- And you can’t even see the sky! Is it always this dark?”
“Our villages are guarded,” Fran replied. “The monsters are not much trouble.” She let her gaze drift upward with the faintest sigh but made no reply to the second part of Vaan’s question. Vaan opened his mouth to ask more, but Balthier caught his eye and shook his head. Vaan seemed to get the point and fell silent.
“Wait.” Ashe’s voice caught everyone’s attention. The princess had stopped walking, staring into the brush beyond the pathway. “Look over there.” She pointed. “Did anyone just see that?”
“See what?” Balthier asked. Basch drew his sword; probably a little overkill, but many surprise attacks from creatures in the undergrowth had made them all wary. Vaan and Larsa whipped out their blades, too, and even Balthier, though determined not to overreact, reached back and rested one hand on his rifle’s handle.
“There was something there,” Ashe said, stepping back into the main group, hand on her sword hilt. “Something bigger. I’m not sure what.”
Balthier slid out his rifle. There had been far more encounters with foul beasts over this trip than he’d prefer, but there wasn’t much to do about it. Curling one figure around the trigger, Balthier readied to aim at whatever monstrous creature emerged from the woodland this time.
Then Balthier spotted a shape dashing between two tree trunks, too quickly to be identified but undeniably real. Balthier whipped up his rifle, ready to fire at whatever it was the moment it stepped into the light. Then something small sped through the air, and he felt a sharp pain in his neck. The last thing Balthier remembered was the world growing blurry as forest around him spun and disappeared.

Something shot out of the shadows, so fast and sudden Ashe nearly jumped. The shape whizzed by her face, so close she felt its feathers tickle her cheek. For a split second, Ashe wondered if she’d really made all that fuss over some tiny bird. Then she heard Balthier gasp, and the clatter as his rifle hit the ground. Ashe spun around to see him sprawled on the ground completely still, hands at his throat where a small feather dart protruded. Some instinct brought Ashe to her knees by his side.
“Balthier!” she cried. Ashe shook him by the shoulder, but there was no response. He was still breathing, but clearly unconscious. Her panic barely had time to take form when a voice called from the woods, thick with a foreign accent like Fran’s.
“Do not move, hume-creatures.”
Everyone froze at that command. Ashe tore her gaze from Balthier’s unconscious form as about a dozen men and women with bows and spears slipped from the shadows. Every one of the hunters sported tall Viera ears, eyes narrowed in distain at the unwelcome visitors in their wood. Kneeling on the ground, Ashe watched as the Viera surrounded their group in an instant. She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to keep fear off her face. She would have risen, but, aiming their bows and spears at the group of travelers, the Viera seemed ready to enforce their command of ‘don’t move.’ Basch, Vaan, and Larsa held their swords out but remained still; no one wanted a fight if it could be avoided.
From the Viera’s ranks, one man stepped out to face the group; he moved with authority and seemed to be their leader. Spear clenched firmly in one hand, he came face to face with Fran.
“Fran,” he said, scowling fiercely. “You think to come back here? And to bring humans with you?” The way he spat the word ‘humans’ and cast a searing glance over their group sent a chill down Ashe’s spine. That utter hatred was far more than she’d expected. Fran stared back into the Viera man’s face; pain showed through her stony front, but she pushed it aside.
“We need only to pass through,” she replied calmly. “We will be as quick as we can.”
“The wood will not tolerate their feet to walk these paths,” the Viera replied, glaring again over the group of humans, then resting his burning gaze on Fran. “Nor yours, traitor.”
Fran did not reply, but her gaze fell, unable to meet his eyes.
Another Viera man, younger, pushed through the group of humans and stood over Balthier’s fallen form. He stared down at him a few moments, then looked back up to the Viera leader.
“I think you were right, Zhiel,” he said. Zhiel kept his gaze fixed on Fran.
“You have much explaining to do, Fran,” he said, then turned to walk away. “We bring them back to the village,” Zhiel said to his hunting party. “If they resist, use force.”
The Viera hunters began to strip the party of their weapons. One barked at Ashe to stand, and she did, reluctantly. Two of them hoisted up Balthier’s unconscious form, and they led the group of humans away down the forest paths.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Three

Eruyt, the Viera Village, in Golmore Jungle
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Not fast enough. Ghis’s blade plunged through the air, straight for Ashe’s heart. Balthier wasn’t fast enough. Not there. Vossler was there. He was there every time. It had bugged Balthier to no end. But he always messed up. Vossler didn’t. He saved Ashe. It cost him everything, but he wasn’t afraid to do it. Balthier could only imagine doing something like that. Just another kid, Vossler had said. Maybe he was right.
“Shouldn’t we try and get out of here?” That was Vaan’s voice, but whether it was real, or just part of the convoluted dreamscape Balthier had been trapped in, he couldn’t tell.
“Don’t be hasty,” came Basch’s voice. “I doubt we’d make it far.”
“Yes, why don’t we try talking with them?” Larsa’s voice joined the conversation. “I’m sure they’ll listen if we’re calm and sensible.”
“They won’t,” said Fran. “They won’t listen to you. I doubt they’d listen to me.”
“But we have to do something, don’t we?” said Ashe. Her voice sounded very close.
“Something, yes,” Basch said, “but nothing hasty.”
“But what are they going to do with us?” Penelo said. She sounded very scared.
“If they wanted to kill us, you’d think they’d have done it already,” Larsa said. “Don’t worry, Penelo; we’ll be fine.”
By this time, Balthier was aware he was no longer dreaming. His whole body felt stiff, and his head ached horribly. A groan escaped his lips as Balthier tried and failed to force his eyes open.
“Oh!” Ashe let out a gasp. “I think he’s waking up. Balthier?”
As Balthier’s eyes opened, the first thing he saw was Ashe’s face, blurry but distinctive, backed by rich, golden light. He wondered where the light came from, because the last thing he remembered, they were walking through the dark paths of Golmore Jungle.
“Balthier! Are you alright?” Ashe asked, her concerned face coming into focus at last.
“I’m… fine,” Balthier said, more out of instinct that any real appraisal of his condition. He sat up, holding one hand against his pounding forehead. Everyone was there, apparently unharmed, kneeling on the wooden floor. The roof of whatever room or cell they were in wasn’t high enough to stand. The walls and roof of the small, domed, almost igloo-like structure were woven of branches, with green leaves sticking out in places. Warm light shone in through the cracks in the branches, and through a doorway, outside of which stood three Viera welding spears, glaring through the opening at the prisoners. Balthier decided they were definitely prisoners, and this cramped space was definitely a cell. How they’d gotten there, however, and where all those Viera came from, he had no idea.
“You’re awake,” Basch said, as if this wasn’t obvious. He sat one side of the doorway, on the opposite side of their cell from Balthier. Along that wall sat Vaan, Penelo, and Larsa. Fran knelt by the doorway’s other side, and Ashe sat with Balthier where he’d been lying unconscious for who knew how long.
“Where are we?” Balthier asked, still rubbing his head.
“Those Viera dragged us off,” Vaan replied. He sat leaning against the wall. He looked almost nonchalant compared to Penelo, who knelt beside him, eyes wide, glancing constantly out the door at their guards. “This is their village, Fran said,” Vaan continued. “Penelo thinks they’re going to roast us on kebobs or something.”
“No, I don’t!” Penelo said. “They won’t!” She cast a questioning look at Fran. “Right?”
Balthier sighed. “Does anyone know what’s actually going on?”
“The hunters who brought us here are speaking with the high priest,” Fran replied. “He’ll decide what to do with us.”
“And who is this ‘high priest?’” Balthier asked.
“The wood priests weave the myst,” Fran replied, keeping one eye on their guards outside. “They control the trees’ growth to create the village, use myst to light it, and create barriers to keep monsters away. They create our village and rule it. The most skilled of the priests is the high priest, who also leads us all.”
“And now he holds our fates in his hands?” Balthier said, nodding, though the action brought a fresh throb to his head.
Fran nodded. Her gaze held a real fear Balthier had only seen a few times.
“I doubt they’ll actually execute us, right, Fran?” Balthier asked.
“They…” Fran shook her head, sighing. She scooted closer to Balthier, hissing low so no one else could hear. “They see it.”
“See what?” Balthier said, confused. He was still too groggy to deal with riddles. “Fran, what are you talking about?”
Fran just sighed. Balthier frowned a few moments more, then it struck him. Of course, the Viera all knew the song. Fran had said she didn’t care for ancient tales, and even she knew of it. And if they all felt the same way she did when they first met…
“Oh,” he said. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Fran nodded.
“What’s bad?” Ashe asked, frowning. Balthier sighed; he’d forgotten she was close enough to hear.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it, princess,” Balthier said, hoping she wouldn’t make a fuss. She seemed about to say more, but a call from outside cut her off.
“Fran! You’re to come with us.”
One Viera guard stuck his head into the doorway, holding a spear in one hand. He pointed a finger at Balthier. “Bring that thing along.”
“‘That thing?’” Balthier sighed. “I’ve been reduced to ‘that thing?’”
“Silence, creature,” the Viera snapped. “Come. Quickly.” He drew back out the doorway, leaving them alone again.
Balthier let out a sigh. “Not much choice, then, I suppose. Come on, Fran; let’s go.”
Fran stared at him a few moments, then down at the floor. She really did look scared. At last, she nodded and slipped out the door. Still aching all over from whatever crude sedative they’d used to knock him out, Balthier pulled himself to his feet. The cell must’ve been designed to be torturingly restrictive, more like a dog crate than a room, very cramped with six people inside; the roof was so low it kept Balthier in an awkward crouching position, but at it was so small it took only a few graceless steps to get him out the doorway and into open air.
The sight of the village outside astonished him. Balthier now understood what Fran meant by the priests ‘controlling the trees’ growth to make the village.’ The town was high in the trees, streets made of branches as fat as roads, houses carved from living tree trunks. High above, a cloud of myst showered gentle light down on the village. A row of cells woven from living branches lined this road, far above the central mass of the village.
Then the band of a dozen Viera, armed and frowning furiously, attracted Balthier’s attention.
“Come on,” said the one who’d called Balthier and Fran from the cell. “The ceremony is prepared. The high priest awaits.”

The band of Viera led Balthier and Fran through the winding tree-branch pathways, down into the center of the Viera village.
“You know what they’re going to do with us?” Balthier asked Fran, who walked beside him. He kept his voice down to avoid being shouted at by the guards surrounding them.
Fran was about to reply, but the company halted before she could. They stood on a large central plaza; a great number of Viera gathered there, all watching from a safe distance.
“High Priest Jote!” called one of the guards, who seemed to be in charge. “We’ve brought the prisoners! The traitor and… it.”
Fran brought her head up suddenly. “Jote?” she said, frowning.
“Step forward!” The guard grabbed Fran’s arm, jerking her up in front of the procession. He didn’t grab Balthier, just stepped aside to let him go through. Sighing, Balthier did so.
In the center of the plaza stood a Viera woman, silver hair flowing loose around her shoulders, face set in a fierce frown. Fran gasped.
“Jote! Sister, you are high priest?”
“No outsider is a sister of mine!” Jote snapped, marching up to Fran. “Viera who abandon the wood are Viera no longer. You knew that when you left.”
“I knew my path lay elsewhere,” Fran replied.
“Then why have you returned?” Jote asked. She continued before Fran could reply. “But that is not why you have been brought here. I merely wanted you to watch, traitor, as the evil you side with meets its fate.” Not waiting for a reply, Jote walked past Fran to come face to face with Balthier. She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “How fitting that our fated foe wears the likeness of those wretched hume-creatures. Are you prepared to face death, evil?” she all but snarled.
Balthier heaved a sigh. “I am not evil incarnate, alright? Can we discuss this before you start dragging out your gallows?”
“We do not discuss with evil,” Jote replied. “The myst shatters. The prophecy is fulfilled. The ancient evil will die.”
Balthier sighed; holding back just didn’t seem to be an option anymore. “I didn’t choose to be like this, you know,” he began, holding Jote’s smoldering gaze. “I’d never even heard of prophecies or ancient evils until Fran told me. I’ve only ever wanted to live a normal life. Yes, I always knew I was… different, and there are things I can do, and yes, it is hard to control. Harder than you know. And I have hurt people. I’d change it all in a heartbeat if I could, believe me. But I can’t. And right now, I have a mission. Fran and I and our friends, we’re trying to stop a war, one that will unleash powers I’ll bet even you couldn’t hide from. I’m trying to save this world, not destroy it.”
“Your words ring true,” Jote said after a few moments. “But words mean nothing. Evil deceives, first and foremost.”
“Then what does mean something?” Balthier said, patience wearing thin. “How can I convince you I am not evil?”
“You cannot,” Jote replied. “The sign is there. That is the end.” She turned from him to face the crowd of gathered Viera. “We have longed a thousand years for this day, my people!” she began, holding out her hands as she addressed them. “The warnings of our ancestors told us to watch and wait, and now we they were true. The evil will come, and we will destroy it, before it rises again. That time we have awaited, and that time is now!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and Balthier got a terrible sinking feeling. Jote turned from the crowd to face him again, her face hard with stony resolve.
“No!” Fran shouted. One of the other guards held her back. She struggled against him, to no avail. “Jote, you can’t! You don’t-”
“Silence!” Jote snapped. “This is Viera’s duty. You forfeited your right as such long ago.”
Jote produced a knife, a leather sheath over its blade, gemstones embedded in its hilt. She slid off the sheath, revealing a bright silver blade, ancient letters carved along its curved length. Balthier’s eyes widened; he’d expected gallows or guillotines, something that left him a moment for negotiation, or at least the journey to them to talk sense into his executioners. It struck him then, eyes fixed on that ceremonial knife, that he was mere seconds away from having his heart gored out in front of an eager audience, and no escape path lay open. One of the guards behind him grabbed Balthier’s arms, holding him still and keeping his hands out of the way. Balthier was brought to forcible acknowledgement of how incredibly strong these Viera really were.
“Hold on a moment!” he stammered, but no one listened.
“The legends have warned us, and now we know those warnings were indeed true! This duty has waited eons, and now I fulfil it!” Jote called, holding up the blade for all to see. “Thus, we banish what would threaten our peace. Thus, we carve light for our world! Thus, we carve future for Ivalice!”
The crowd was silent in rapt attention. Jote’s eyes showed no great eagerness, but not a drop of hesitation as she raised her knife.
Then he felt it. Balthier knew the feeling well by now, and that fact alone was disconcerting. Something cold, a drop of ice deep inside, cold and dark and resonating with force, ready to spring out. Power awakened, more than enough, Balthier realized, to blow away Jote, her knife, and everyone watching, eager and ready to do just that. But, even if they did all want him dead, this was a defenseless crowd of men, women and children. He couldn’t…
Evidently, Balthier wasn’t the only one who sensed the waiting surge of energy. The guard holding Balthier let go, stumbling backward, panic rippled through the gathered crowd, and Jote cut short her strike, pulling back with a gasp.
“Balthier, don’t!” Fran shouted.
“I’m not trying to!” Balthier replied, grimacing as he fought to hold it back. The force behind that waiting explosion had never seemed so powerful, so impatient to burst out a wreak havoc. Balthier got the sense there was something within him that couldn’t understand why he hadn’t eradicated every threat and gone on his way already.
“Jote, hurry!” the guard, who’d neglected his duty to keep Balthier still, shouted. Jote wordlessly raised her knife again, fear now filling her eyes. Balthier held up his hands defensively, through every movement sent a shock of electric pain through his body as he struggled to keep that force contained.
“I don’t mean to threaten anyone,” Balthier said through haggard breaths, “but I’m really trying not to blow you all up-” He winced as the force intensified. “And you trying to kill me is not helping!”
Jote hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes at last. Balthier dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He couldn’t let it out. He had to hold it in. He wouldn’t give in, not this time. He couldn’t…
Balthier threw himself around that cold fire, burning black and lightless. He had to hold it inside, because if it got out, it would spell death for anything too close. His head pounded, his chest burned, and that force thrashed against the prison bars he struggled to close around it. Balthier couldn’t tell how long the battle took; it felt like hours, though it might have been only a few moments. However long it was, eventually, the power slinked away, and the terrible pressure it shoved against the walls of his mind finally relented. The battle was over, but the darkness of sleep called, and Balthier didn’t have the strength left to resist.

…

Fran watched as Balthier collapsed. The terrible waves ebbing through the myst had ended abruptly, and everyone gathered there knew the immediate threat was over. The guard holding Fran had let go of her in the panic, and she rushed to Balthier’s side. He was disturbingly still. She knelt next to him, rolling him over to see his face. Contorted with pain, but with life still, breathing, if raggedly. Fran let out a sigh of relief.
Jote rushed over, standing over Balthier’s unconscious form, her knife clenched in one shaking fist. She seemed terrified to come this close to him, but determined to fulfil her purpose. Jote dropped to her knees beside him, ready to strike.
“Jote!” Fran held out a hand towards her sister, and Jote paused. “Please, don’t,” Fran pleaded. “You saw the myst, you felt that power, didn’t you? He could have killed you all, and saved himself, yet he didn’t. You call this evil?”
“But the prophecy!” Jote said. “We have waited long for this, and you know that, Fran! We were warned for a reason. And as you said, it could have killed us!” She cast another terrified glance at Balthier. “Such power cannot be left unchecked.”
Fran sighed, looking down at Balthier’s unconscious face, fraught with the kind of pain and distress he’d never show awake.
“He hates what he is, Jote, and fears it,” Fran said, “more than you or I ever could. He fights to hold it back, as you just saw.” Fran raised her eyes to meet her sister’s. “And besides this, he fights for our world. Light and a future for Ivalice; he wishes for that as much as you! Jote, please, you must let him live.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jote said, but her resolve wavered.
“I know him, Jote,” Fran said. “He means no evil. You must let him live.”
Jote’s gaze flickered between Fran and Balthier’s faces, hands still clenched tight around her knife’s bejeweled handle. At last, she rested the knife on the ground, letting out a sigh.
“Very well.”

…

Headache. That was the first thing Balthier noticed: a splitting headache. His chest felt clogged and tight, but that was nothing compared to the pounding in his skull. He sat up, levering himself with one hand and holding the other against his throbbing head. He felt a bed beneath him, and as he opened his eyes, saw sunlight falling through a window. Only the window had no glass, the room’s walls were oddly curved, with leave sprouting out in random places, and the light had a strange, honey-colored glow to it.
The Viera village. Right.
“Balthier.”
At that voice, Balthier looked up to see Fran sitting on a chair up not far away. She stood.
“You’re awake,” Fran said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m… fine,” Balthier forced out, though he felt terrible. “Just fine.” He drew in another shaky breath. “At the risk of sounding clichéd, what just happened?”
“You don’t remember?” Fran asked, cocking her head.
“I remember the part where I almost got killed,” Balthier replied, rubbing one hand against his head as memories of Jote and her knife rushed through it. “You know, you could have told me how crazy these Viera are about this whole prophecy thing.”
“I said it was a deep part of our culture,” Fran replied.
“But you didn’t say they had ceremonies all planned out and kept special knives preserved solely for the purpose of killing me!”
“The knife is not only for that purpose,” Fran said.
Balthier sighed. “What else do you use that for?”
“Many things,” Fran replied.
“What, have a lot ceremonies like that, do you?”
Fran nodded.
Balthier heaved a sigh. “Is there a reason I’m still alive? I expected to be bleeding to death in front of an audience by now.”
“For my sister’s words, and your noble action, you live. For now.”
Jote’s voice alerted Balthier to where she stood by the doorway. She fixed him with the same look of cold distain she’d held all along.
“Sister?” Fran said. “You speak of an outsider, Jote, remember?”
“I had not forgotten,” Jote said, walking past Fran without even glancing at her. Fran sighed and stared at the floor. As Jote approached, Balthier stood to face her. The room spun for an instant, but he managed to stay on his feet.
“Cut her some slack,” Balthier said. “Fran’s a better person than any Viera I’ve seen here. She may not cower in the trees like the rest of you, but at least she asks questions before declaring an execution.”
“And she trains her pets well,” Jote replied.
Using some effort, Balthier withheld an angry response to that comment.
“Look,” he said. “We’re about to discuss terms of my survival, right? Why don’t we not start by insulting each other.”
Jote huffed. “As I said, you still draw breath because of your actions in the square. I cannot deny that you mean well, but that does not guarantee anything.”
“Then what will?” Balthier said. “If nothing I say or do will make a difference, what’s left?”
“I did not say that,” Jote replied. “There may be something you can do.”
“I’m listening.”
“A group of humans came through the forest a few days ago,” Jote said. “We have seen these ones before; they call themselves the Red Fangs.  They usually take monsters or tree samples, and we let them come and go. We have even worked with them, to remove the largest of beasts from our wood. But this time they took one of our rank.” Jote closed her eyes and sighed. “My youngest sister. Mjrn.”
“Mjrn?” Fran rushed up to Jote, stunned. “No! They took her?”
“Such comes of trusting hume-creatures,” Jote replied. She turned back to Balthier. “Go, fight your own kind and bring her back, prove that you can tame these dark forces and bend them for good. Then, I will allow you and your friends passage through our wood.”
“Sounds fair enough,” Balthier said.
“Will the others accept it?” Fran asked, frowning in worry.
“We all saw what happened,” Jote replied. “And I will speak with them.” She turned to Balthier, scowling. “I have thought long and hard about this. I hope you understand I am betraying the hope of my kind for generations and going against my better judgement.”
“I’m very grateful for it,” Balthier replied. “And I hate to ask more, but our friends…?”
“They are outside,” Jote replied.
“Thank you,” Balthier nodded. “Come on then, Fran. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Balthier’s headache was finally fading as he walked out into the streets of the Viera village. The rest of their group waited in front of the house. Vaan, Larsa, and Penelo stood by the street’s edge, chatting and looking around at the fantastical sights of the village in the trees. Ashe sat on a knot of wood arching up along the roadside, looking tired of waited. Basch stood nearby, one hand resting absently on the sheath where his sword should have been. A couple of Viera guards lingered around, not actively constraining the humans but obviously watching them.
“Balthier! Fran!” Ashe gasped, jumping off her seat. “Are you alright? What happened?”
“The Viera said you were ‘negotiating,’” Basch said. “Can we pass through?”
“They’ll let us pass,” Balthier replied. “But first they want us to go and rescue someone.”
“Mjrn, my younger sister,” Fran said. “She was taken by the Red Fangs.”
“Wait, those guys who tried to kidnap you back in Rabanastre?” Vaan asked.
Fran nodded. “We must bring her back, to prove our good intentions, then they will let us through the wood.”
“We’ll have to backtrack to the Ozmone Plain, and I’d like to waste as little time as possible,” Balthier said, “so let’s get going, hmm? Besides, I get the feeling we’re not particularly wanted here.” He glanced at one of the watching Viera guards. Basch nodded.
“Agreed. We leave now.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Four

Golmore Jungle
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The Viera returned the party their weapons and sent them hastily on their way, back the way they came. They slept one night in Golmore Jungle, Larsa’s first night camping in the wilderness. He pretended not to care, but Balthier could see he wasn’t used to being without the comforts of home. Perhaps the journey through the wilderness was more than the little prince expected. The next day, they made it out of dark woods of Golmore and into the fresh air of the Ozmone Plain.
“Whew! Bright,” Vaan said, shielding his eyes as they emerged from the cave-like entrance. “So, where do we go now?”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“These Red Fangs are a scientific organization, correct?” Basch asked.
“Of sorts,” Fran replied, bitterness tinging her tones.
“They’ll have taken this Mjrn somewhere they can set about their work, then,” Basch said. “Or delivered her to a customer. Either way, they must have either left the plain for more civilized areas…”
“…or there’s some sort of base around here they either own or are working with,” Balthier finished, nodding. “That makes sense. Nice thinking, Captain.”
“We still don’t know where this base could be, or if they haven’t simply left,” Fran said. “We need some way to learn that.”
“Hm.” Balthier nodded. “Not sure on that one.”
“Okay, uh, I have a question,” Vaan jumped in. “It’s great that the Viera will let us through the jungle. But… why don’t they just go rescue Mjrn themselves? Why do they have to have us do it?”
Balthier shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really trying to convince Jote not to let us go.”
“The Viera do not leave the wood,” Fran said. “Though Mjrn has been taken from under her boughs, they cannot follow. That is their law. That is why they call upon outsiders for this task.”
“But wait…” Vaan frowned. “You left, didn’t you, Fran?”
Fran paused, a shadow crossing over her face. “I did. And that is why I am no longer welcome there.”
“Wait, look!” Penelo’s voice cut off Vaan’s next question. “Over there!”
Farther down the ravine that led to Golmore Jungle stood a chocobo, with it two Archadian knights. One lay motionless on the ground, the other crouching over him. The conscious one looked up at the travelers approaching an arrowshot away, then stood, waving his hands and calling.
“Over here! Over here!” he shouted. The party rushed up to him, crossing the distance quickly.
“Please, do you have medical supplies?” the knight asked. “My friend’s hurt. I’ve done what I can, but… Oh, please, can you-”
The knight hadn’t finished his sentence before Penelo dropped down beside the wounded knight. Fran joined her, and together they started working on his wounds.
“Thank you! Thank you very much,” the conscious knight said.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Vaan frowned.
“He’s hurt! We’re helping,” Penelo said, glaring at Vaan.
“But they’re Archadians!”
“Larsa’s an Archadian!” Penelo replied.
“I never said I liked him!” Vaan huffed. If Larsa took offence at that comment, he didn’t show it.
“Larsa?” The conscious knight glanced over their group, his gaze resting on the young prince. “Lord Larsa!” he gasped, bowing. “My lord, what are you doing here? There was panic when we realized you were missing! Where have you been?”
“Oh, well, I…” Larsa floundered. “I’ve been attending to other business in the area. Delicate matters.”
Balthier chuckled at that. “Larsa, you know these people?”
“Well, they know me,” Larsa replied. “That means you must’ve come from the camp at the Henne Mines, correct?” he asked the knight.
The knight nodded. “Yes, we were with a division meeting to pick up… supplies near the jungle. On the way back, we were attacked by monsters on the plain, ferocious ones. The others went on; I don’t think they realized we survived.” He ended with a sigh.
“When you say ‘supplies,’” Balthier said, “you don’t happen to mean a very specific sort of supply from rather a rather shady group of people, do you?”
“Well, ah…” The knight glanced at Larsa, who nodded. “I’m not sure of all the details,” the knight said, “but that does sound like… what happened.”
Balthier nodded. “Thank you. That’s most helpful.”
Penelo stood. Fran helped pull the unconscious man into a sitting position against the stone wall and stood as well.
“He’ll be fine,” Penelo said. “Just let him rest a while, okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The knight bowed. “Thank you all. We’re in your debt.”
“And thank you for your information,” Larsa said. “You’ll be alright here?”
“We’ll be fine,” the knight replied. “But Lord Larsa, what about you? You’re-”
“I have protection enough,” Larsa replied. “Don’t worry about me; I know what I’m doing.”
“But… But…” The knight sighed, then nodded, bowing again. “Farewell, then, my lord.”
“And to you as well.”
Larsa turned to leave, and the others followed.
“So these Henne Mines- that’s where your big brother sent you to oversee mining operations?” Balthier asked.
Larsa nodded. “Yes. But I am… worried. I assumed they were just checking for new magicite deposits; there wouldn’t have been any scientists. Even if there were, Archadia’s scientists would never do anything so amoral. I’d never even heard of these Red Fangs before.”
“You might not have known everything that went on at the mines,” Basch said. “How much did you see while you were there?”
“If something important was happening, I would have been told,” Larsa said. “But I… I didn’t see much of what was going on. Honestly, they didn’t seem to need me there, so when I heard you were in the area, Lady Ashe,” he nodded to the princess, “I left right away.”
“Without even talking to anyone?” Balthier asked.
“I wanted it to be perfectly clear my intentions were peaceful,” Larsa said. “If I had told anyone, they would have insisted on going with me. I couldn’t afford that.”
“So you struck out into the Ozmone Plain,” Balthier said. “All alone, no guards, just a twelve-year-old boy against the world? Did that ever strike you as a bad idea?”
“I’m fourteen!” Larsa replied. Balthier stared at him a few moments, then sighed.
“What were you doing at the mines, anyway? It doesn’t seem like they’d need the prince of Archadia there just to some mining. Especially if Vayne had secret operations going on.”
“I’m… not sure,” Larsa said with a sigh. “But my brother was most insistent I go. I didn’t really have much choice.”
“Sounds like Vayne just needed you out of Archades,” Balthier said.
“Oh, he would never do a thing like that!” Larsa said.
“Didn’t you say he was changing?” Balthier asked. Larsa was silent.

…

Larsa knew the way to the Henne Mines, and he led them through the Ozmone plain towards there. It had already been afternoon when they emerged from Golmore, and they camped a night on the plains. The next day, they arrived at the entrance to the Henne Mines, a great hole in the side of one of the Ozmone Plain’s rising cliffs. As they approached the yawning mouth, a gory sight awaited.
Around the entrance to the Henne Mines lay bodies. Several imperial knights, and among them men and woman dressed in dull grey uniforms Balthier found horribly familiar: Draklor uniforms. Balthier had a strong stomach by nature; it wasn’t the blood that sickened him, but the sight of those uniforms his friend and family had always worn for the first time in years, bloodied and torn. Balthier tried not to look to closely at the corpses’ lifeless faces; he probably knew most of them.
“What could’ve happened?” Ashe asked, eyes wide with horror.
“Myst,” Fran said, staring into the dark depths of the mine. “It is thicker here than it should be. A surge in the myst might have driven nearby creatures to a frenzy.”
“Then where are they now?” Balthier asked.
“The myst still rises,” Fran said, closing her eyes and breathing deep. “They might have fled when it became too thick for them.”
“Will it affect us?” Basch asked.
“Not yet,” Fran replied. “But if we mean to enter, we should hurry. It may become too much if it continues like this.”
“Wait! These are…” Larsa knelt beside one of the bodies. “These are Draklor researchers. Then… Then they really were…”
“Mjrn’s probably inside,” Balthier said. “With all this chaos I doubt they’d have had time to ship her back to Archades. Fran said we should hurry, so let’s go, alright?”
Basch marched ahead, leaving no room for objection. At least someone saw the value of time. But really, Balthier just wanted to get his eyes off those bodies, clad in uniforms as familiar as the faded yellow walls of Draklor Laboratories.
Bodies still lay here and there along the stone tunnels of the Henne Mines. Knights and more Draklor researchers, all dead. The party carried on down the eerie mines, their path lit by veins of blue and gold magicite.
“All these bodies,” Ashe said as they marched through the shadowy passage. “It’s horrible.” She turned to Fran, averting her eyes from the sight. “What do you think caused this myst?”
“I’m not sure,” Fran replied, speaking slowly. “But… it feels like on the Leviathan, all drawn together. I think may be nethicite.”
“Wait, like on the Leviathan?” Vaan asked. “You think it’ll blow up?”
Fran shook her head. “No, this is different. More stable. Focused. Still unnatural. We draw closer to its source.” She nodded down the tunnel ahead.
“You said these scientists were from… Draklor, right?” Ashe said, glancing at one of the bodies along the wall, swallowing nausea at the sight. “Is that one Archadia’s laboratories?”
“Our finest and most prestigious,” Larsa replied. “They conduct research on all sorts of things, though mainly weapons. Draklor is where you’ll Archadia’s greatest minds and most classified research.”
“And that’s where you’ll find their nethicite,” Balthier added. “I imagine.”
“But I would have been informed of something like this!” Larsa said. “Besides, my brother is good friends with Draklor’s director; I would’ve heard something from him.”
“Wait, Vayne? He’s friend’s with Draklor’s director?” Balthier asked. That held a lot of implications he didn’t want to think about. But it did make a lot of sense.
“Yes, a Dr. Cid,” Larsa replied, nodding. “He’s a rather… eccentric old man, but brilliant. Why, members of his family have directed Draklor since its founding, four generations ago.”
“Whoa.” Vaan’s eyes went wide. “Really? But-”
A piercing scream from down the tunnel cut off Vaan’s next question. Balthier was almost glad of it; this talk about Draklor was driving him crazy.
“What was that?” Penelo asked, eyes wide.
“Mjrn!” Fran took off down the tunnel without a second thought. Everyone followed her, rushing out into a large cavern at the end. On the stone floor knelt a Viera, who looked no older than a teenager. She pressed her hands into her short, silver hair, breathing hard, face screwed with pain.
“Mjrn!” Fran called again. Mjrn’s eyes fluttered open, wide and wild. She took one look at the party of new arrivals and gasped, stumbling backward. She jerked awkwardly to her feet, pressing back against the far wall. On a chain around her neck hung a single stone, dark, ultramarine blue, thrumming with light and power. Balthier fought to block out its voice of maniacal hunger; definitely nethicite. This one was like Penelo’s piece: cold, starved, incoherent: manufactured nethicite. The nethicite’s light flared, and Mjrn let out another shriek.
“Myst…” she panted. “Burns… cold… can’t…” She screamed, digging her fingers into her hair. Her eyes flung open, pulsing with an eerie light. “Humes!” Mjrn shouted, pointing a shaking finger. “Power-needy creatures… Stay away!” She brought her hands back to her head, whimpering.
“Careful,” Basch said, stepping out in front of the group. “Everyone be careful. We don’t know what she’ll do.”
Basch was probably right. But Balthier hated the thought of standing there, watching, while Mjrn writhed in pain from his father’s nethicite.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ashe asked.
“The myst… it’s too thick. Too hot,” Fran said between shaky breaths. “We must… get the stone away from her.” Apparently, the nethicite affected Fran, too.  
“Right,” Balthier nodded. He took a step towards her, and Mjrn’s eyes widened.
“No!” she shrieked. “No more! Stay back!”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Balthier said, trying to stay calm, moving towards her all the while. “We want to help, alright?”
Mjrn’s eyes grew wider, filled with that eerie light, like she was possessed.
“Help?” she whimpered. Balthier nodded. Mjrn looked calmer for a moment, then the nethicite flared. She dropped to her knees with a scream, and when her eyes flung open again, they were blank and wild. Mjrn lunged like a wild animal, and Balthier just barely dodged her. She flew into Basch, who flung her back as gently as he could. Mjrn landed crouching, then staggered back to her feet, eyes filled with a savage rage. She shook her head, then leapt at the nearest target, which happened to be Balthier. This time he wasn’t fast enough to dodge her. Mjrn fastened her hands around his throat, slamming him against the far wall and squeezing with astonishing strength. Balthier really didn’t want to fight this girl, but with all access to oxygen closed off, he didn’t have much choice. Just try and be gentle.
Grabbing Mjrn’s wrists and pulling to loosen her grip, Balthier planted a foot into her stomach and shoved, throwing her back. It was that or suffocate, he reminded himself. She’ll probably be fine. Balthier sucked in precious air, and Mjrn skidded over the floor. She tried to find her feet, but the nethicite around her neck pulsed again, and she collapsed.
“Mjrn!” Calling her name, Fran dropped to her sister’s side. Pain twisted her face as she drew near the nethicite, but she fought through it.
“Fran…?” Mjrn said, staring up at her through misty eyes, face contorted in pain. “Is it you…?”
Now was his chance. Ignore in the ache in his neck and lungs, Balthier rushed over to Mjrn, who was still distracted by Fran. He grabbed the stone around her neck and yanked on it, snapping the chain and pulling the nethicite away from her. It sent an icy sting up his arm, thrumming with an eerie glee. He couldn’t block out its unnerving voice anymore. It rasped of hunger, satisfied at last, too much… Then the voice broke off and the nethicite shattered into pieces, dissolving away into cold light that stung his fingers. The manufactured nethicite was unstable, incomplete, at least so far. That proved it. Balthier couldn’t wait to watch the three Shards break in similar fashion.
Mjrn let out one last scream and lay still. Fran cradled her little sister in her arms, staring down at her motionless face.
“Is she okay?” Penelo asked, crouching beside them.
“She’s alive,” Fran said with a sigh of relief.

…

When Mjrn woke, Fran insisted on talking to her alone, so Fran and Mjrn spoke in the cavern while everyone else waited in the tunnel beyond. Balthier formulated a few questions to ask the young Viera to isolate exactly what Draklor was trying to achieve with its nethicite. Though honestly, all other questions hinged on her answer to ‘what happened?’
Fran called everyone back in after a few minutes. Mjrn sat against the wall, looking tired but much calmer and much saner than before. As they entered, Balthier noticed the young Viera’s gaze rested solely on him. It struck him right away. Of course, she can see it. That sign. That was probably what Fran was talking to her about. Balthier hoped so, anyway. He doubted Mjrn’s reaction would as disastrous as at the village, but she very well could blab something to everyone else listening.
“Fran says I am to tell you what happened,” Mjrn said, still eyeing Balthier warily.
“Go ahead,” Balthier said.
“The Red Fangs brought me from the wood over the plains, to this place,” Mjrn began. “The men in iron gave them small, round stones of gold, and they left. The iron ones gave me to the men in grey. One of them did something to that stone, I’m not sure what. But the myst heated so!” She closed her eyes, struggling for the memory. “Then he gave me the stone, and… I don’t remember much else. Many of the grey humans escaped, I think, after.”
Balthier sighed. That was all she had? There had to be more than that.
“Did you see what kind of equipment they were using?” Balthier asked.
“Equipment?” Mjrn stared blankly.
“Machines, that sort of thing?” Balthier asked, getting impatient.
“I don’t… remember,” Mjrn said, shrinking back. “Just the stone. And the lights. And it hurt.” She closed her eyes, pressing a hand against her chest as she breathed shakily. Balthier sighed, knowing he should let up. I don’t remember. Just that it hurt… Draklor did that. His Draklor. Probably his father.
“Wait, that stone,” Larsa said. “That was… manufactured nethicite?”
“What?” Mjrn frowned. “What is that?”
“It looked like it,” Balthier said.
“Then… Penelo,” Larsa turned to her. “The piece I gave you- do you still have it with you?”
“Sure, right here.” Penelo pulled out the small blue stone, glowing faintly. Larsa snatched it away.
“This is more dangerous than I ever imagined,” Larsa said, staring at its smooth surface. “I should never have given it to you. Forgive, I didn’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Penelo said. “I always thought of like a… good luck charm. Even if it is dangerous, it protected us on the Leviathan.”
“Still…” Larsa sighed, still staring at the stone.
“Do you think you can travel, Mjrn?” Fran asked her sister. “We should hurry back to the village.”  
“Yes, sister. I am… well enough,” Mjrn said, standing with some effort. She took one last glance around the dark cavern. “Let’s leave this place.”

…

The party left the ruined Henne Mines and traveled over the Ozmone Plain towards Golmore. They stopped to make camp on the plain, the sunset blazing in the background. Vaan, Penelo, Larsa and Mjrn sat around the campfire while Mjrn enthralled them all with masterfully told tales of Viera legend. Mjrn, now recovered from her brush with Draklor, proved she possessed a dramatic flair her older sister lacked, and she roped in everyone within earshot with her skillful storytelling. Basch and Fran stood farther off, away from the fire, talking about something. Balthier wondered what the two people who never talked were talking about, but he decided not to go find out. He listened to Mjrn’s tales for a while, then withdrew from the main group, sitting against a nearby rock while he worked on tweaking his rifle, improving its poor design. Balthier had designed guns better than that himself at Draklor.
His mind kept wandering to that: Draklor. For the first nineteen years of his life, Draklor had been his world. Faded, yellow brick walls, researchers all dressed in dull grey, days full of magicite and machines. Yes, he’d left it to become a Judge, at all his father’s wishes, but Draklor was always home. And now home was preforming torturous experiments on fellow members of the high races.
Balthier struggled to keep his mind on the mechanical work at hand. It would be easier if he had a tool of some sort, maybe a screwdriver or a wrench.
A wrench. He had a wrench. At first, some instinct scolded him for even considering using that family treasure for menial labor. Balthier pulled the item in question; the words Ffamran Bunansa flashed back at him in the fading dusk light. A name and a symbol of the great Bunansa house, and a power fraught with mystery and menace, a dark heritage he’d never asked for. A gift from his father, who’d gone completely mad seeking the power of nethicite, and now apparently spent his free time experimenting on teenaged girls.
It was with resentment Balthier finally jammed the treasured article into the workings of his rifle.
Balthier had only spent a few minutes reveling in the sullying of his most irreplaceable procession when Ashe came over. She knelt in the grass near him and didn’t say anything. She’d lost interest in Mjrn’s endless supply of folktales, Balthier imagined. After a few silent moments bordering on awkward, she turned to him.
“Is it broken?” she asked, nodding at his rifle.
“Try innately defective,” Balthier replied, jerking the wrench again with more force than was necessary.
“But… it’s worked just fine so far, hasn’t it?”
“More like just barely,” Balthier replied. He fiddled around inside the rifle a bit more, then yanked out the wrench, dropped it in the grass, and started closing up the firearm. Without proper equipment, there was little more he could do.
“What’s that?” Ashe said, frowning down at the wrench.
“It’s a wrench, what does it look like?” Balthier said, snatching the tool back up and dropping his rifle into his lap.
“I thought I saw something written on it,” Ashe said.
“It’s a…” Balthier sighed. “A family heirloom. Doesn’t mean anything. At least, not me.” It meant heritage, legacy, words shrouded in far more darkness for Balthier than for most people.
Ashe frowned, worry in her eyes. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You’ve been on edge ever since we left Henne.”
“Yes, Ashe, I am all right,” Balthier replied. “Do I not look alright?”
“No.” Ashe scooted over to lean against the rock beside him. “No, you don’t. What’s wrong?”
“‘What’s wrong’ is you’re worrying about me, and it’s terribly annoying,” Balthier replied.
Ashe sighed. She stared up at the slowly appearing stars overhead for a long while. A burst of laughter came from the ring of teenagers sitting around the fire. Basch and Fran still talked a stone’s throw past them, backed by the fading glow of dusk. The sun had completely sunk away, leaving only a streak of ember light over the horizon. Stars glimmered above it, twinkling peacefully in the night sky, their silvery sheen reflected in Ashe’s silver-blond hair and distant blue eyes.
“We’re almost there. To Mt Bur-Omisace,” Ashe said at last. “We’ll get the Sword of Kings, and… Well, I mean…” She turned back to him. “I hate all this- the fighting and politics, and all the death.” She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened them again. “And it gets heavy. But we have to stop the war, and we have to get rid of the nethicite. Or else, none of it will be worth anything. And, well, however much it hurts, what’s happening, what did, well…”
“Focus on the matter at hand, is that what you’re saying?” Balthier asked.
“Well, yeah,” Ashe replied.
“I suppose,” Balthier said.
“I guess I should probably get better at orating before I become queen, huh?” Ashe said after a few moments.  
Balthier chuckled. “Yes, Ashe, I doubt that would’ve satisfy the high courts of Dalmasca.”
“Well, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Ashe asked, though she didn’t look offended; a smile played over her lips.
“No, I’m sure it was better than… Vaan would’ve done,” Balthier replied. He felt a smile tugging at his face, too.
“That’s a start, isn’t it?” Ashe said. “I’ll do better someday. Maybe if I plan first?”
“Maybe,” Balthier said, not fighting the smile anymore.
“It’s late.” Basch’s voice caused Balthier to start. He turned to see Basch standing over them.
“We’re turning in,” Basch continued, oblivious to their surprise. “I’ll cover first watch. Can you take second, Balthier?”
“Ah, yes, I can,” Balthier replied. Basch turned and walked back towards the fire, where everyone was already settling in. Balthier stood.
“Goodnight then, princess,” he said to Ashe, then turned to leave.
“Oh, wait,” Ashe said standing. She picked something off the ground. “Balthier, you dropped this.” She held out the wrench, the words emblazoned along its length reflecting the moonlight in her open palm.
“Oh. Yes.” Balthier took it from her, looking at it a few moments before putting it back in his pocket. “Thank you.”
 Ashe nodded. “Goodnight, Balthier.”
“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Five

Eruyt, the Viera Village
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“Jote!” Mjrn rushed into her stunned sister’s arms. Jote stared down at her, then raised her shocked gaze to the party. Balthier couldn’t help but smirk. Yes, Jote, we brought her back and I didn’t eat her for breakfast. After another day’s travel over the Ozmone Plain, they’d finally made it to the Viera village. Guards waited at the entrance, and they’d hurried to fetch Jote.
“Mjrn,” Jote said. “You’re alright?”
“I am fine. Now,” Mjrn replied. “Fran and her friends helped me escape.” She glanced at Fran, then back to Jote, clearly worried. Though Mjrn had shown none of the coldness towards Fran or the humans that the other Viera had displayed, it obviously wasn’t lost on her how the rest of them felt.
Jote nodded. Wearing her usual scowl, she left Mjrn and approached the group.
“Very well. You have fulfilled our bargain,” she said. “Pass through the wood. To other places go.”
“But… wait!” Mjrn said, rushing up to Jote. “That can’t be all! I saw it outside the wood! Ivalice is changing! How can the Viera stand and do nothing at all?”
“Our wood is safe, as it has been for millennia,” Jote replied. “That is all of Ivalice that we care for.”
“But that is wrong!” Mjrn said, nearly shouting. “I saw so much, in just a few days! So much is happening! We cannot just hide in the trees while the world outside is on the move! I want to live freely!” Mjrn sucked in a breath, overcome with emotion. “I want to leave this wood!”
“No, Mjrn, don’t do this,” Fran said, shaking her head. “You must stay with the wood. That is the Viera’s way.”
“But Fran-” Mjrn began, but Fran continued.
“I discarded wood and village,” she said. “I won my freedom, but my past is cut away forever. I cannot return. You want this, Mjrn?”
“But Fran- my sister!”
“No,” Fran said, shaking her head. “I am no longer of you. You have only one sister now, Mjrn. You must forget me.”
“But…” Mjrn shook her head, tears in her eyes. When she couldn’t choke any words out, she took off down the pathway, crying.
“I am sorry to make you do this,” Jote said, watching where Mjrn had disappeared.
“It is better that I do,” Fran said. “She wouldn’t have listened to you.” Fran stared after Mjrn a few moments, well-masked sorrow in her eyes. Then she sighed and shook her head. “We have a long way to go. Farewell, Jote.”
“And to you, Fran,” Jote said, nodding.
“Hold on a moment,” Balthier said, walking up to Jote. Questions had piled in his head the past couple of days, and he wasn’t leaving this place without some semblance of answers. He glanced back to make sure the others weren’t close enough to hear, then turned back to Jote. “Can I… ask you something?”
Jote scowled, eyes narrowed in a most unfriendly way. “What?” she growled.
Balthier sighed. At least she was listening. “About the… prophecy.” Those words were hard enough to force out to Fran, much less to this lady who’d only ever tried to kill him, but he carried on. “You Viera are all crazy about it, but Fran can hardly tell me anything. Since you’re the high priest or whatever, I thought maybe you know more?”
Jote scowled. She studied him with that distrusting look for several moments before speaking.
“Thousands of years ago, there was a war,” she began with a theatrical air. “The seven high races of our world fought together against a great foe, whom only the Viera could seek out. After much blood, the war was won. In the chaos that followed, the Viera retreated to the forests of our world while history was rewritten from Giruvegan.”
“What?” Balthier said with a frown. “History rewritten? What does that mean? And what is Giruvegan?”  
“Giruvegan is the ancient city, the throne of the Occuria,” Jote replied. “To spare Ivalice pain, they purged the memory of those terrible days. The Viera of that time preserved what little they could in song and rhyme, and swore to never let it repeat. That is all we know. We thought it just legends, but…” Jote fixed Balthier with her glare. “That is all anyone knows.”
Balthier sighed. “So you don’t know anything. Nothing at all.”
“I know what I have said,” Jote replied.
“But none of that makes any sense!” Balthier said. “You say your Occuria ‘purged the memory to spare Ivalice pain,’ but isn’t that completely counterproductive if you don’t eliminate the problem first?”
“That is all I know,” Jote replied, voice growing impatient. “Now, you and your friends have fulfilled our bargain, and I ask you all leave. Our wood needs not the disturbance of hume-creatures any longer.”
“Fine,” Balthier said with a sigh. “We’ll go.” He turned, saying over his shoulder. “You know, for someone who boasts of ‘carving light and a future for Ivalice,’ you sure don’t seem to care what goes on beyond your little corner of it.”
Jote scoffed. “Goodbye, evil. I hope we won’t meet again.”
Balthier didn’t respond to that farewell. Leaving Jote and her unsatisfactory explanations, he rejoined to the group. Every one of them fixed him with a questioning stare, except Fran, who still watched where Mjrn had left.
“You alright, Fran?” Balthier asked, ignoring his own frustration and the others’ confusion.
Fran nodded. “I will be fine. Now come, let’s leave. The Paramina Rift is close.”

…

“I am not the cause of our problems, Excellency,” Vayne said, in that silky voice he’d developed over long years. “The imperial senate hates the very fact that House Solidor exists. By necessity, we must find reason to dispose of them.”
Emperor Gramis sighed, sitting at the desk in his study. He turned his gaze from his son’s face to the cup resting on his desk.
“Necessity,” he said with a scoff. “Does that word free you, Vayne? You don’t hesitate to solve matters with blood.”
Vayne’s gaze drifted up to the banner displayed behind Gramis, the banner of House Solidor, a great red flag, embroidered with an elaborate black sword.
“The sword of House Solidor cannot be left to rust in doubt.” He rested his gaze back on Gramis, with that dark look his father had seen too often of late. “It was you, Excellency, who tempered that sword. Remember?”
Gramis sighed. “I do.” Our family has many enemies. Someone must fight for us, or our power will be lost. Someone must be our sword. Words that seemed right at the time. Gramis regretted them more than anything now.
“Is this your idea of revenge?” Gramis said, lifting the cup from his desk, but keeping his eyes on his son.
“It is my idea,” Vayne said with a sickly smile, “of necessity.”
Gramis sighed, staring down into the cup.
“Hurry, your Excellency,” Vayne said. “There are less pleasant ways this could happen. And remember, it is not only our future you imperil if this fails.”
Larsa. One son who hasn’t betrayed me.
“So you would soil your hands to keep his clean?” Gramis said.
“My hands are stained with blood,” Vayne said, spreading them out as if you could see the red stains. “I see little reason to stay them now.”
Gramis sighed. “So they are. And so House Solidor lives on.”
He raised the cup to his lips and drank.

…

“Perhaps Gramis has finally decided to name his successor,” Drace said. Gabranth nodded.
“That would be a relief to us all.”
Summons from the emperor himself had called the imperial Judges to the throne room. The reason for these summons eluded Gabranth, but Drace’s suggestion made sense. The two Judges marched down the hallways of the imperial palace together, towards the throne room where the emperor waited. Dressed in the flowing black capes and black, shining armor of the Judges, their footsteps echoed through the vast halls. Both had left the elaborately designed helmets to complete the outfit behind; this was no dangerous mission or vaunted public appearance; no need for all the pomp and ceremony that usually surrounded the Judges.
“With this sickness that’s troubled him so long, it’s a matter of urgency,” Drace said. She was the only female member of the Judges at this time, though she’d long since proven herself no less competent or reliable than the others. Gabranth knew she’d worked tirelessly to hone both her sword skills and political skills to reach this level, and he respected her greatly for it.
“If Gramis died now,” Drace continued, “Vayne would claim the throne.”
“As his excellency’s eldest remaining son, it is his right,” Gabranth said, “but I share your concern. Vayne is obsessed with power. His ruthlessness would surely plunge us into turmoil.”
“Lord Larsa is Archadia’s only hope,” Drace said. “We all know the senate endorses him as our next emperor. We only need Gramis to declare it.”
“The senate only wants Larsa on the throne because they think he will be easy to control,” Gabranth said with a scoff. “A puppet to give them absolute power.”
“They’ll be disappointed,” Drace said. “The young lord is far beyond the level they expect. Although, I worry how far that disappointment will drive them. Gabranth,” Drace’s eyes reflected the seriousness of her words, “Larsa stands between both the senate and Vayne for power. We must make sure Lord Larsa remains safe. Agreed?”
“Aye,” Gabranth nodded. “Emperor Gramis has said as much. He told me just that; to keep Larsa safe. Though I don’t think we need worry about Vayne. If there is one thing that man cares for, it’s his brother.”
“He didn’t show such mercy to his older brothers,” Drace said. “And it’s left him in a perfect position to claim the throne.”
“Unless Gramis says otherwise,” Gabranth said. Drace nodded.
“This is an outrage!” A shout from up ahead distracted the two Judges. Ahead, several knights were dragging imperial senators from the throne room. They shouted protests but to no avail.
“What…?” Drace frowned, confusion painting her features. Gabranth felt a similar frown pull his face. He met her eyes for a moment; no words needed to pass between the two. They hurried into the throne room before the great doors slammed shut.
Within the throne room stood Vayne, and two other Judges. Of the many Judges in Archades, only five served the emperor and House Solidor personally. With the recent death of Judge Ghis, only four were left: Gabranth, Drace, Zargabaath, and Bergan.
But that did not disturb Gabranth. What alarmed him was Vayne, standing before his father’s throne, and Emperor Gramis nowhere to be seen.
“Gabranth. Drace.” Vayne spread his arms in greeting, wearing his silky smile, face half hidden by long black hair. “You have arrived. I take it you have not heard the bad news. My father, Emperor Gramis, has passed away. Terrible news for us all.” Gabranth could see in Vayne’s face he didn’t think it such terrible news.
“More than that, the emperor was poisoned,” Judge Zargabaath spoke up. “Murdered.” He sighed. “It seems, by our own imperial senate.”
“A conspiracy,” Vayne said. “A viper with many tails. The senate can be trusted no longer.” He turned his back on the watching Judges, staring up at the banner of House Solidor hanging over the throne. “With the state of affairs as delicate as it is, we have no choice but to strip the imperial senate of all authority and assigns powers of complete autocracy to myself-”
“Lies!” Drace shouted, cutting off Vayne mid-sentence. Vayne turned slowly, peering at Drace through the shadow of his dark hair. Gabranth tensed. He’d longed to shout out himself at the obviousness of Vayne’s hand in these affairs, but he knew the danger that lay in that. Danger Drace threw herself right into.
“You say our senates are the snake?” Drace continued, eyes afire. “I see the serpent coiled before me!”
“Drace, you speak too freely,” Zargabaath said, frowning. “Vayne is our emperor now.”
“Zargabaath, don’t tell me you’re siding with this… this traitor!” Drace shouted.
“Drace,” Gabranth hissed, stepping up to her, cutting off her next outburst. “Be careful.”
She stared into his eyes a few moments, then back at Vayne. That anger never left her green gaze. Vayne stared at her darkly a few moments, then resumed his speech to the gathered Judges.
“As I was saying, now that the once great House Solidor is reduced to only myself and my dear brother Larsa, I must take the reins of leadership in Archadia into my sole grasp. With my father dead and Rozarria ready to invade, we cannot afford any-”
“No,” Drace interrupted, and Gabranth felt a jolt of panic. “No, you’ve gone too far this time, Vayne!” Drace marched up to Vayne and drew out her blade, placing the edge against Vayne’s neck.
“As Judge Magistrate and guardian of law in Archadia,” she called, “Vayne Solidor, I place you under arrest!”
Vayne just smiled. Weaponless, defenseless, cold steel against his neck, Vayne just smiled.
Drace let out a gasp as Judge Bergan, fast as lightning, swung his sword around and held it against her throat, holding her from behind. Gabranth watched with one hand resting on sword hilt, torn. Watch and let Drace die or join in her pointless insurrection? He could only hope her temper would settle, and she would back down before things got ugly.
“Careful, Drace,” Judge Bergan said with a sickly smile that mirrored Vayne’s. “Vayne didn’t make himself autocrat; it was the very ministry of law you serve. You bare your blade at him, you bare your blade at the law.” That smile of Bergan’s grew as he pressed his blade harder. Gabranth held his breath. He'd never liked Bergan, a ruthless, military man. He’d served under Gabranth during the war; while there were those like Judge Ffamran who’s constant protest to fighting had annoyed him, Bergan seemed all-too eager to kill. Gabranth had no doubt he’d execute Drace in a heartbeat.
To Gabranth’s relief, Drace pulled her blade from Vayne’s neck, breathing shakily against the sword at her throat.
“You wear the traitor’s bridle well, Bergan,” Drace spat as she lowered her blade.
“Lord Vayne is a worthy master,” Bergan replied. Drace’s eyes burned, but she made no move to attack again. Bergan relaxed his blade, then Drace, without warning, spun around, swinging her sword with full force for Bergan. Bergan raised an arm and effortlessly blocked the strike, the clang of sword meeting armor resounding across the room. Gabranth had sparred with Drace many times, and he knew she was far stronger than she looked. The ease with which Bergan deflected the attack was astonishing. Drace’s eyes widened.
With his other hand, Bergan grabbed Drace by the throat, flipping her over his head and throwing her across the room. Drace skidded over the floor, eyes bulging as the impact drove the air from her lungs. She lay there, panting for breath, clearly in pain from more than the impact. Gabranth flew to her side without a moment’s hesitation, dropping to his knees. Drace looked up into his eyes for a moment, then her pained gaze drifted back to Bergan.
“How…?” Drace gasped. “Such strength… inhuman…”
A horrible smile twisted over Bergan’s face.
“Such is the reward of serving Lord Vayne,” he said, an eerie light in his eyes.
“And those who refuse such service will face the punishment,” Vayne said, staring darkly down at Drace’s prone form. Drace still panted for breath, but she met his gaze with fire in her eyes.
“Gabranth,” Vayne said, turning his gaze to him. “You are in position. Execute her.”
“What?!” Gabranth snapped his gaze in horror from Drace to Vayne. “Y-Your Excellency,” he stammered, “I… I beg you to reconsider!”
“You’ve served me well before, Gabranth,” Vayne said. “You commanded the army during the war. And why, remember at Nalbina, two years ago? We framed your dear brother as king slayer. You killed the king yourself! You had no qualms about following orders then.”
“But Lord Vayne…” Gabranth stared at Drace, dark hair splayed around her contorted face.
“A mongrel dog from a conquered land… you should be honored you’re allowed to serve Archadia at all, Gabranth,” Vayne said. “Now come, fulfill your duty as Judge Magistrate before us all.”
Gabranth couldn’t think of anything to say, only stared down at Drace’s face.
“Do it,” Drace gasped, forcing open her green eyes.
“Drace!” Gabranth leaned his face closer to hers, so the others couldn’t hear. “I… can’t!”
“You must,” she said. Gabranth felt her hot, shaky breaths on his face. “If you don’t, you’ll only join me. Live, Gabranth, and… protect Larsa. He’s our only hope to save Archadia… from all this. Please, Gabranth, for Archadia…” Drace raised one shaking hand, and Gabranth took it. Archadia wasn’t his home, not Landis, but it was a place he’d sworn to protect. And it was her home…
“For Archadia.”
With his other hand, Gabranth reached for Drace’s sword; it lay on the ground a where it’d flown from her grasp. He closed his hand on the hilt and drew it to him.
“Forgive me, Drace,” he breathed, raising the sword over her.
“Only be quick,” she said.
Gabranth stared for a few long moments into her green eyes, then, averting his eyes from the sight, thrust the sword.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Paramina Rift
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“Whoa.”
Vaan gaped at the sight before them as the party stepped out from the cover of Golmore’s trees into bitter, wintry winds. The forest had grown steadily colder through the last day of travel, finally emptying into a valley called, according to Fran, the Paramina Rift. Balthier had heard of the place, though didn’t know much about it; few people did. A frozen valley in a frozen land, carving through a great mountain chain in the depths of Jagd Difor, the path to the tallest of the mountains, Mt Bur-Omisace.
The Rift was a sight to behold; snow drifted down from grey skies into a land already frosted with snow and ice. Craggy cliff walls rose up all around, building into the stony mountains that dominated most of the land south of Golmore. At least, most of the land Balthier knew about; Jagd Difor was a vastly unexplored place, and hardly a soul alive had passed through it.
Vaan gawked at the sight, stunned in his way. Penelo, by his side, stared in equal wonder.
“Is that… snow?” Penelo said, staring into the grey sky.
“You mean you’ve never seen snow before?” Larsa asked, cocking his head.
“Dalmasca is a desert,” Basch said. “Snow is only a fairy tale there. I haven’t seen it myself since Landis fell.”
“It’s… incredible,” Ashe said, stepping out and looking around. Balthier had thought the place rather dismal himself, but there was a certain sense of awe to it, vast and white with mountains towering all around. Balthier watched with a smile as Ashe held her hands up to catch the falling flakes. He couldn’t help but note how very unprincesslike she looked, and was about to comment on it when Basch spoke up.
“Fran, you know this area better than I do,” he said, turning to her. “How much farther to Mt Bur-Omisace?”
“Only a few days, I’d say,” Fran replied after a moment’s thought. “The Rift is unforgiving, but not long in crossing.”
“Let’s get moving, then,” Balthier said. Everyone started out, footsteps crunching in the snow. Ashe lingered a moment, eyes fixed on the grey sky.
“Come on, princess,” Balthier called. “You’ll be sick of snow and cold by the time we get out of here, I’m sure.”
Ashe nodded, breaking her trance. “Right. Coming.”  

…

It took two more days to cross the frozen Paramina Rift. The winds were bitter and relentless, and a blizzard raged constantly overhead, swathing the whole place in clouds and snow. Nights were spent in caves or pressed against cliff walls, huddled around a wonderfully warm fire whose light fought back the cold, desolate shadows.
By nightfall the second day, the ground sloped upward out of the valley, and Fran seemed confident they were beginning the climb Mt Bur-Omisace. Balthier hoped so. Noon approached the next day when a new development attracted their attention.
“Hey, it’s not snowing anymore,” Vaan said, looking up. The sky was blue overhead, and the sun visible for the first time in the days.
“About time, too,” Balthier said, glancing up at the welcome sight. “This place was getting downright dreary.”
“A good sign,” Fran said, nodding. “We’re getting higher. The Kiltias’ settlement can’t be far.”
“Hey, look!” Penelo called, pointing ahead. “Over there!”
Ahead, a chocobo bounded down the snowy mountain path, three more coming into view behind it. Atop the leading chocobo sat a young man in white robes. The other three birds were riderless, bouncing along with no burdens.
“Greetings, travelers!” the rider called, pulling his chocobo to a halt before the group. He slid off the bird with grace and bowed low. “I am Kiltias Yoni. Mt Bur-Omisace welcomes you, wayfarers.” He bowed once more. “Lady Ashe, Lord Larsa, welcome.”
“You know who we are?” Ashe said, frowning in confusion.
“Grand Kiltias Anastasis foretold your arrival many months ago,” Yoni replied. “He sent me out this morning to meet you.”
“Foretold?” Balthier sighed. Of course, expecting the kiltiases to be normal was too much to ask. “How, exactly, does one ‘foretell’ that sort of thing?”
“The flow of myst spans all time,” Yoni replied. “In it, the stains of past and future bleed through, visible to those who’ve learned to read it. A simple art. All we kiltiases practice it.”
“Ah-ha.” That makes so much sense. Balthier decided not to ask more, or speak his sarcastic comments aloud.
“The Grand Kiltias is ready to see us, then?” Fran asked.
Yoni nodded. “And eager to. Come, there is enough for all.” Yoni motioned to his chocobos, then mounted his. The birds could bear two riders apiece, and there were exactly enough to carry the whole party. Eerie, Balthier thought.
“Good,” Basch said, mounting one of the great yellow birds. “Princess Ashe.” Basch turned and held out a hand to the princess. Ashe nodded, taking his hand, and he pulled her up behind him. Balthier sighed, moving to the nearest of the birds. Onward to Mt Bur-Omisace. Hopefully, the Grand Kiltias wasn’t as strange as his welcoming committee.

…

At the kiltias settlement’s entrance, a Moogle took the party’s chocobos. From there, Yoni led them along a cliffside pathway with clouds far below. It led to a massive building with massive stone doors that crowned the quaint mountain village. All the people Balthier saw wore the same white robes, and they all pointed and whispered as the travelers passed. Guards pulled open the doors to the great hall, and Yoni led them inside, staying just within the doors as they crossed.
A massive throne rested at the end of an overly ornate hall, and on the throne sat an old man, face ravaged by time. Balthier thought everything in this hall incredibly over the top with its medieval splendor, from the vaulted ceiling to the great throne, to the old man in elaborate white robes.
“Grand Kiltias Anastasis.” Ashe walked to the front of the group, curtsying with grace that reflected her royal upbringing. “It is an honor to meet you. I am-”
“Princess Ashelia Dalmasca,” Grand Kiltias Anastasis said, standing from his throne and marching down to face them. He bowed to Ashe. At first, Balthier had thought the Grand Kiltias was a human, but now he wasn’t so sure. The old man’s ears had a weird point to them, and something about his face was more angular and feline than it should have been. What race his was, Balthier couldn’t tell.
“The honor is mine,” Anastasis continued. “To think I stand before those who shall bring Ivalice from the past into the future.”
“Hm?” Ashe looked up from her bow, frowning.
“Daughter of the Dynast King,” Anastasis continued, ignoring her confusion. “Your steps to this mountain rang with purpose. Tell me, why have you come?”
“I…” Ashe sucked in a breath, holding her head higher. “My friends and I have come seeking the Sword of Kings. Do you know where we can find it?”
“The Sword of Kings.” Anastasis closed his eyes as he thought. “The blade given Raithwall by the Occuria, that he might carve his shards of nethicite. What need have you of this?”
“We spoke to the Garif great-chief,” Ashe replied. “He believes the sword can destroy the nethicite.”
“Destroy it?” Anastasis’s eyes widened. “Lady Ashelia, the nethicite is your birthright, as a scribe of Raithwall’s line. Why would you destroy it?”
The horror in the Grand Kiltias’ voice at that idea stirred up an anger in Balthier.
“Because it’s caused nothing but trouble from the beginning!” he snapped, cutting off whatever Ashe was about to say. “Those blasted stones started the war two years ago, and they’re about to fuel another one.”
“Exactly!” Ashe joined, speaking with passion. “We can’t let that happen! I don’t care what my birthright is; for the sake of Ivalice, we must destroy those stones!”
“I see your resolve is strong,” Anastasis said, nodding. “If you are set upon this course, I shall not hinder you. The Sword of Kings lies-”
A blast of wintery wind cut off the Grand Kiltias. Everyone spun as the doors swung open to allow through a gaudily dressed man who strode down the hall with his chin high. He made a show of dusting off his purple shirt as he walked and ran a hand through his curly black hair. He jerked off a pair of dark sunglasses that hid his eyes and hooked them in his collar.
“Grand Kiltias!” the man called, voice thick with a peculiar accent. “Forgive the interruption, but I need a word with your guests before you send them off.”
“Al-Cid?” Larsa said, eyes wide, as the man approached their group. “Is that you?”
“Little Lord Larsa!” The man flashed his teeth in a grin. “A pleasure, as always!” He patted Larsa on the head, a gesture Larsa squirmed away from, clearly displeased.
“You know this… character, Larsa?” Balthier asked, narrowing his eyes at the newcomer.
Larsa nodded. “Yes, this is Al-Cid-”
“Al-Cid Margrace.” Al-Cid took up the introduction, bowing extravagantly. “I am a member of Rozarria’s royal house Margrace and the head of our reputable intelligence agency.” He nodded to Larsa. “And a good friend to the little emperor in waiting.”
“Al-Cid, what on Ivalice are you doing here?” Larsa asked.
“Well, I was on the mountain attending to… delicate matters, when all the kiltiases started saying how Lady Ashe and Lord Larsa would be arriving,” Al-Cid replied. “I understand you’ve reasons of your own for being here, but a chance for representatives of our threes great nations to meet without swords, especially with recent goings-on, was too good to pass up.”
“We’re in a hurry,” Ashe said, “but I see what you mean.”
“Ah, the infamous Lady Ashe,” Al-Cid said, flashing a grin. “We haven’t met, have we? But I’ve heard much about you.” AL-Cid knelt, taking Ashe’s hand and kissing it long and deep. He looked back up at her face with that smile. “I see what they say is true. Ah, stunning is Dalmasca’s desert bloom.”
Ashe went red. Larsa sighed. Balthier said nothing. Nothing at all.
“Al-Cid,” Larsa said, clearly exasperated. “If we have something important to discuss, can please start?”
“Certainly.” Al-Cid stood. Balthier felt a wave of relief when he released Ashe’s hand. He did not like this person.
“What is there to discuss?” Balthier asked, not masking that dislike. “Ondore won’t move the resistance without Ashe to lead them, and until then, Rozarria can’t do a thing.”
“But the resistance is moving,” Al-Cid replied. “Why, Ondore was discussing plans with Rozarria’s emperor just a few days ago.”
“What? No…” Basch frowned. “What is he thinking?”
“But… there won’t be any need for war!” Ashe said. “We’re going to discuss peace with Emperor Gramis!”
“Marquis Ondore doesn’t know that, apparently,” Al-Cid said. He scoffed. “And you’ll have quite a hard time discussing anything with Emperor Gramis.”
“What do you mean?” Larsa asked, frowning.
“What, you haven’t heard?” Al-Cid said, raising his eyebrows. “You really have been off galivanting, little Larsa. Gramis is no more. His life was taken.”
“What?!” Shock and horror blew over Larsa’s face. “Father…”
“What happened?” Ashe asked, eyes wide.
“He was poisoned,” Al-Cid replied. “Vayne pinned the deed on the imperial senate and dissolved them when he stepped up to claim the throne.”
“And now he’s the supreme dictator of Archadia.” The pieces fell into place in Balthier mind, creating a less than pretty picture. “Oh, this is not good.”
“The resistance can’t mobilize fast enough,” Al-Cid went on. “There’s word Vayne will strike first. From what my faithful spies can gather, he plans to use some new weapon and wipe out a prime target city, to tell the resistance off. I can only assume, Rabanastre.”
“No!” Ashe cried, horror washing over her face at the mere thought.
“And we can all guess what that weapon is,” Balthier said. The image of Nabudis raced through his mind, utterly destroyed. Never again. “Grand Kiltias!” Balthier turned back to Anastasis. “The Sword of Kings, where is it?”
“And this Sword of Kings is?” Al-Cid asked, cocking his head.
“It’ll destroy Vayne’s nethicite, and stop him from destroying any more cites,” Balthier replied.
“The Sword lies in a shrine on the mountain, south of our village,” Anastasis replied. “The kiltiases there will bring it to you. I’ll send others to show you the way.”
Ashe curtsied with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Grand Kiltias.”
“We leave,” Basch said. “Not a moment to waste.”
“There’s no need for us all to go,” Fran said, nodding at Larsa. The little prince stood rooted to the spot where he’d heard the fateful news, face blank in shock and grief.
Basch nodded. “Larsa, stay here.”
“Y-Yes,” Larsa replied, nodding.
“I’ll stay too,” Penelo said, stepping close to Larsa, concern clear on her face.
“You know, I think I’ll stick around, too,” Vaan said, eyeing his sister and the prince.
“I’d love to stay and lend a hand,” Al-Cid said, “but I’ve tarried on this mountain too long already. But as a loyal citizen of Rozarria, I’ve delt my fair share of business with the Dalmasca resistance. I trust our paths will cross again.” He bowed, then strode off toward the door, nodding to Ashe as he passed.

…

Grand Kiltias Anastasis told Yoni to bring the party down to the Sword’s shrine, and other kiltiases showed Vaan, Larsa, and Penelo to accommodations. Balthier, Ashe, Fran, and Basch all mounted chocobos and followed Yoni back down the mountainside. After a ride of couple hours, they arrived at a snowy valley, cradling a massive building that reminded Balthier eerily of the Grand Kiltias’ hall. A great stone bridge spanned from the mountain path over the bowl of the valley, running up to the door of the great hall.
“This the place?” Balthier asked, tugging on his chocobo’s reins, bringing it to a stop just before they entered the shadow of the building’s doorway. Two kiltiases stood on either side of the doors.
Yoni nodded, then slid off his chocobo in a fluid motion. “This is the Stillshrine of Miriam. The Sword of Kings lies within.”
“Yoni!” one of the kiltias guards called. “Is that you?”
Yoni nodded. “I’ve brought these travelers from Mt Bur-Omisace by the Grand Kiltias’ order,” he said. “They’re to be given the Sword of Kings.”
“Really?” the kiltias glanced over the party of travelers. “If that is his wish. But the Sword will yield only to Raithwall’s blood; I’m not sure if we can remove it.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Basch said, nodding to Ashe, who sat on the chocobo behind him.
“Very well,” the kiltias said. He turned to set of stone doors behind him, pushing them open with a creak. “This way.”
Everyone dismounted their chocobos, and the second guard tended to them while the first led them inside.
Stairs led down into a great hall that, again, mirrored the Grand Kiltias’ throne room. Only this one had no windows; magicite lamps far up walls lit the room, casting a cold blue glow down on the hallway. In the far wall was an impression, where a sword floated, suspended by cords of blue light. Balthier couldn’t tell what sort of energy held the ornate blade in the air; probably more unknown ancient technology.
Ashe approached the sword, the blue light bathing her wonderstruck face. She reached up to touch the sword’s hilt just out of her reach. The blade floated willingly from its perch to meet her hand.
“Amazing!” the kiltias guard said. “We couldn’t move the sword however hard we tried. She must truly be one of Raithwall’s scribes.”
Ashe closed her hand around the hilt, and the blue light from the wall behind faded away. The sword’s full weight rested suddenly on her hand. Ashe let a gasp as it dropped to ground, barely managing to keep her hands on the hilt.
“You alright, princess?” Balthier asked. Ashe glanced back at him and nodded.
“It’s just… heavy,” she replied, heaving the sword back up. The black metal of its blade glittered in the dim blue light.
“But does it work?” Basch said. “Highness, try it on the Dawn Shard.”
“What?” Ashe swung to face him, horror in her eyes. Balthier sighed.
“That stone’s no good to us. And besides, aren’t we planning to destroy all the nethicite, anyway? Why not do it now?” And even though Ashe looked appalled at the thought, Balthier couldn’t wait to see that stone shatter.
“I… suppose,” Ashe said, turning away. Holding the sword in one hand, she reached into the folds of her clothing and pulled out the Dawn Shard. Its dull grey surface caught no luster from the shrine’s light. Ashe laid the Shard on the ground and held the Sword of Kings out. She stared at the stone, not moving.
“Ashe?” Balthier said. “What’s the matter?”
“I just…” Ashe shook her head and sighed, raising the sword to strike. A golden glow seeped back to the Dawn Shard’s surface, along with a grating wave of energy that had been blissfully absent from Balthier’s life since the sandsea. He struggled not to wince at the half-formed feelings radiating from the stone.
“The stone bleeds myst,” Fran said. “It fears the sword.”
“Ashe? What are you waiting for?” Balthier asked. “Destroy it already!”
But Ashe wasn’t listening. She stared at something just ahead of her, though Balthier couldn’t see anything there. She whispered something he couldn’t hear, reaching a hand into the empty air before her.
“Ashe?” Now Balthier was worried about her. “What is it?”
“Huh?” Ashe turned to him, wide-eyed and distant.
“What’s wrong?” Balthier repeated.
“Uh, nothing,” Ashe said, shaking her head. She turned back to the nothing in front of her, then glanced around, as if she expected to see something there. “But… where…?” she said.
“Princess,” Basch said. “The nethicite.” Even he was growing impatient. Ashe hesitated a moment more, then nodded. She raised the sword, sucked in a deep breath, then struck. The ebb of energy ceased all at once- but it ended with a trill of satisfaction. The Dawn Shard lay as dull grey as ever, in one piece, the Sword of Kings’ blade resting next to it where it had struck the floor. Ashe missed.
“Oh, come on, princess,” Balthier said with a sigh.
“It’ll work,” Ashe said, lifted the sword back up. “The shard, it was… Like Fran said, scared. The sword will work.” She knelt down and picked up the Dawn Shard. Balthier couldn’t think of what to say. Why not just destroy it already?
“Come on,” Ashe said, standing. “Let’s go.”

Back outside, Yoni stood with the two other kiltiases, and the three chocobos. The sun was low in the sky, just barely peeping above the lofty mountain peaks.
“It’s gotten quite late,” one of the kiltias guards said. “We have lodgings here; you’re the welcome to stay the night if you like.”
Basch peered at the sinking sun, then nodded. “Yes, thank you. That’d be fine.”
“I have to head back,” Yoni said, glancing up the mountainside. “I… Well, I promised my family I’d be back by sundown, and I’ll be late as it is. I’ll come back for you in the morning.”
“No need. It’s not far,” Basch said. “We’ll find our way back.”
“Thank you. And good luck.” Yoni bowed, then vaulted on to his chocobo’s back. The bird let out a kweh, then sprinted away over the stone bridge.

…

The kiltias’ ‘lodgings’ were fine indeed. A single but surprisingly sturdy building behind the shrine housed the half a dozen kiltiases who stayed at the Stillshrine. The thought of sleeping in an actual bed after so many days of travel was wonderful. Balthier may have criticized Larsa about his desire for the comforts of home, but really, Balthier wasn’t so fond of the dirt and grime of traveling himself. Something he blamed entirely on his aristocratic upbringing.
But before settling in, Balthier wanted to talk with a certain princess. He’d wanted to lay it on her the moment they stepped out of the shrine with the sword, but it was probably good he didn’t get a chance then. It gave him some time to cool off before asking Ashe why in the world she didn’t destroy that stone? He’d really been looking to forward to watching it shatter into a thousand pieces.
Stars covered the clear night sky above the snowy mountains when he found her. Ashe sat on the edge of the bridge, legs folded underneath her, staring up into the starry heavens. She didn’t notice Balthier approaching.
“Princess,” he said, alerting her to his presence. “Hello.”
Ashe glanced back at him. “Oh. Hi.”
Well, she’s cheery. “Where’s the sword?” Balthier asked.
“I gave it to Basch,” Ashe replied. “He said he’d keep it safe.”
Balthier nodded. Ashe said no more.
“You want to explain what happened in there?” Balthier asked, sitting next to her. Ashe sighed.
“I just… couldn’t!” she said, staring down into the valley below the bridge. “It felt so wrong. And then…” Ashe trailed off, eyes flickering with the beginning of tears.
“Then what?” Balthier asked, frowning.
“I saw him!” Ashe said, turning her gaze fully to him. “Rasler! Like before. He didn’t want me to. I could feel it.”
“Ashe…” Balthier couldn’t think of any way to say what he wanted to without being offensive. Apparently, he didn’t have to say it.
“You think I’m crazy,” Ashe said with a sigh.
“Well… I don’t know what to think, princess,” Balthier said. “You say you saw him, and no one else did.”
“I’ve seen him before! Twice!” Ashe said. “In Raithwall’s tomb, when I was in that trap, and in Jahara.”
“And you had the Dawn Shard with you both times?” Balthier asked.
“Well, yes,” Ashe replied.
“And you said he didn’t want you to destroy it?”
“Yes.”
“Only you can see him, and the shards are connected to Raithwall’s line.”
“Yes…” Ashe grew less certain with every yes. She frowned, staring down into the valley again. “But…” she continued. “I… Oh, I don’t know what to think.” She shook her head and sighed. “Let’s find the rest of the nethicite, and then we’ll destroy it all.” She met his eyes again. “Right?”
Balthier sighed. “Right.”
“Where are we going next?” Ashe asked. “We don’t know where Vayne is keeping his nethicite.”
“I don’t know,” Balthier said, “but my best guess would be… Draklor Laboratories. In Archades. The empire’s weapon research begins and ends there.” Home. Time to head back.
Ashe nodded, then turned to look back up at the stars.
“I’m turning in,” Balthier said, standing. “Don’t stay out all night, princess.”
“I won’t,” Ashe said, nodded at him. Balthier turned and walked away.

…

Balthier awoke the next morning to the smell of smoke. In his half-awake state, he entertained the idea that it was someone trying and failing to cook something. But as the smell grew stronger, it brought Balthier back to consciousness. He’d looked forward to taking his time getting ready this morning, to enjoying a moment to get tidy and presentable without rush, but it seemed that wasn’t to be. The ominous smell of smoke drove him to hurry as he got out of bed, got dressed, and went for the door. Balthier swung the door open to see Basch outside, fist raised and just about to knock.
“Captain,” Balthier said. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, but it seems so,” Basch replied. “The kiltiases are all up in arms. Fran went to wake Ashe. They’ll meet us outside.”
Basch turned and walked down the hallway. Balthier followed him down the hallway, down a flight of stairs, and out into the cold, snowy morning. The sun rose above the mountain ridges in a pale blue sky, stained with billowing clouds of black smoke. The two chocobos they’d left there the day before stood tied to a post near the shrine’s entrance, chirping nervously. Among a crowd of kiltiases on the plaza stood Fran and Ashe, staring at the sight.
“What’s going on?” Balthier asked as he and Basch joined the two ladies.
“It’s coming from the mountain,” Ashe said, staring anxiously at the peak above.
“Look!” Fran pointed as the winds shifted, and a massive shape appeared in the smoke, still too obscured for Balthier to make out. Flashes of hot, red light fell from the shape, crashing to the mountain with distant rumbles.
“Is that an airship?” Balthier said, narrowing his eyes. Airships couldn’t fly in jagd, and Jagd Difor was the thickest of them. But the Leviathan’s fleet had flown into Jagd Yensa. Did that mean they were the empire’s ships?
“Bur-Omisace is under attack,” Basch said gravely. He turned to the nearest kiltias. “Are the chocobos we rode yesterday still here?”
“Yes. Yes, they’re the only ones we have,” the kiltias replied. “We have no weapons. Mt Bur-Omisace can’t survive an attack! Oh, please, if you can help-”
“We’ll go,” Balthier said. Of course they wouldn’t ignore it. Besides, Vaan, Penelo, and Larsa were still on that mountain. “Let’s move.” Balthier signaled to the others, then strode over to the chocobos. He grabbed the reins of one, untying it from the post, then mounted it. Fran joined him. Basch was already on the other one. Ashe tried to climb up behind him, but the captain held out a hand to stop her.
“No princess, this is dangerous,” Basch said. “Stay here.”
“What?” Ashe said. “No! I want to help. I can’t just let you all go and fight while I’m safe!”
“Princess-”
Ignoring him, Ashe bypassed Basch’s hand and mounted up behind him. Basch sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “No time to waste. Let’s go.”
Basch took off, and the crowd of kiltiases parted before him. Balthier snapped his bird’s reins, and it sprinted away, following the captain, towards the burning peak of Mt Bur-Omisace.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Mount Bur-Omisace
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The kiltias village was still by the time Balthier, Fran, Ashe, and Basch finally arrived. The bombardments had stopped, and any fighting that took place was long since over. But it was evident there had been no battle on Mt Bur-Omisace; it had been a slaughter. The kiltiases’ houses lay in smoldering ruins, and the only kiltiases in sight were dead on the roadside.
“Oh, no,” Ashe said, staring over the desolation from her seat behind Basch. “It’s… horrible.”
Balthier couldn’t help but agree. The ride there had taken too long, they were too late. But would they have done any good? How big a force was here? And why?
“Wait, look!” Fran tapped Balthier on the shoulder, then pointed towards a light by the roadside, glinting from behind a hunk of burned debris that hid its source. “That light comes from magic,” Fran continued. “It may be Penelo.”
The party wasted no time riding over and dismounted their chocobos. Sure enough, behind the charred hunk of housing, Penelo knelt over a mortally wounded kiltias, crying as she let her healing magic flow. Balthier recognized the kiltias’ face: Yoni. Vaan stood over Penelo, bloodied sword in hand, battle-stained and weary. As the others approached, he brought up his sword, then his eyes widened he recognized them.
“Balthier! Everyone!” Vaan let out a sigh of relief, letting his sword drop. Fran immediately knelt to help Penelo, but Penelo shook her head, pulling her hands away from Yoni’s horrible wound.
“It’s… too late,” she said between sobs. Fran nodded, then wrapped Penelo in a hug.
“Vaan,” Balthier said turning to him. “Are you alright? What happened here?”
“Archadians,” Vaan spat. “It was those blasted Archadians! See now why I hate them?”
“They took Larsa, too,” Penelo said, wiping her tearstained face with one arm.
“I don’t think they’d hurt him,” Fran said.
“But after they grabbed him, they just started killing everyone!” Vaan said, his grip on his sword tightening till it shook. “There were some of those Judges with them. One of them, the guy who ordered the attack, he… glowed, tore through everything. I… tried to stop him, but… no good.” Vaan sighed again, then knelt, leaning on his sword and staring at the ground. He looked years older than he had the last time Balthier saw him.
With the smoke above clearing, Balthier could see the great airship overhead. The ship was anchored to the mountainside above the village, looming like a great sleeping dragon. If the ship hadn’t left yet, that meant the imperials must still want something on the mountain. But what did they want in the first place? Just retrieving Lord Larsa wouldn’t have required killing so many.
A wet, sickly cough from Yoni captured everyone’s attention.
“The… soldiers…” he gasped, barely holding his eyes open. “They went towards… the Grand Kiltias’ hall…”
“Huh?” Vaan looked up, frowning. Balthier knelt beside Yoni to hear his faltering voice better.
“Please go.” Yoni coughed again. “They hid there… the survivors… the Grand Kiltias… the woman and children…” He closed his, face twisted in pain. “My wife and daughter…”
Yoni’s voice trailed off. He let out one last breath and lay still.
Images sprang to Balthier’s mind that he did not want to see in reality. There’d be no reason for the Archadian army to slaughter innocents, but they’d had no problem massacring the defenseless kiltiases. Not a chance he wanted to take. Balthier stood, then turned towards the chocobos.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Basch stepped in his path. He glanced at Vaan, who’d also stood. “How many troops are there? We may not stand a chance.”
“We’re not going to sit around and watch!” Balthier said, fighting the urge to shove the captain out of his way.
“There weren’t that many!” Vaan said, taking off towards the waiting mounts. “Come on!”
“Basch, we can’t do nothing!” Ashe pleaded. “Please!”
Basch didn’t look happy, but he was outvoted. They all mounted up on the chocobos, three on each bird. Balthier figured the birds could take a little overloading for the short trip up to the Grand Kiltias’ hall.

The hall’s doors stood wide open. Balthier leapt off his chocobo at the bottom of the long staircase leading to them, and everyone followed suit.
“Wait!” Basch called before he stared up the stairs.
“We don’t have time to wait!” Balthier shouted back.
“Listen. It’s quiet,” Basch said. He frowned darkly. “This isn’t right.”
“But we don’t have time!” Ashe said. She pulled out her sword, pulled in a deep breath, and started up the stairs. Balthier followed, catching up to her so he’d enter first. Who knew what they’d find in that hall? Whether a battle, carnage, or a waiting army, he wasn’t letting Ashe lead the charge into it.
Within the doors was… a terrible sight. Too late. Ashe let out a horrified gasp, and Balthier clenched his teeth. Too late again. But what did he expect?
Flanking the wall around the door was a regiment of Archadian knights, about three dozen in all. They had their swords out, but all clean. There was one man standing in the hall, over the Grand Kiltias’ body, who’s blade was dirtied. He wore a full suite of crafted armor, complete with a flowing back cape. A Judge Magistrate. He turned to face the new arrivals.
“Ah-ha!” the Judge said, gleeful voice echoing in his helmet. He slid his bloodied sword back into its sheath. “Our guests have arrived! Men, show them some… hospitality, won’t you?”
The gathered battalion of knights closed around the party in an instant. It was hardly the whole army, but more knights than the group of six could hope to defeat. Balthier still pulled out his rifle, instinctively stepping closer to Ashe, who still held her sword. Basch sighed, wisely raising his hands.
“I knew this would happen,” he said as one knight pulled his sword from him. It was futile to resist as the knights stripped everyone of their weapons.
“The princess and her entourage,” the Judge said, looking over the group. “Welcome to Mt Bur-Omisace, princess. I am Judge Bergan.” The Judge bowed, pulling off his helmet to reveal his smiling face. “Enjoyed my handiwork outside, did you?”
“You’re a monster!” Ashe shouted as the knights held her back. “How could you do this? Why?”
“How? I can tell you how, little princess,” Bergan said with a chuckle. “By the gift bestowed on Lord Vayne’s servants! Power unfathomable!” Bergan spread his arms wide, laughing. The air around him filled with an eerie blue glow, rippling like a heat haze. Balthier struggled not to wince at a horribly familiar feeling.
“This myst…” Fran gasped. “He holds nethicite!”
Bergan laughed a disturbing laugh. “Yes, nethicite!” he said, cackling all the while. “Nethicite of our own creation! The stone of Archadia’s power!”
Bergan walked forward, and his troops parted to let him walk into the group of prisoners. He smiled maniacally, meeting each of their eyes in turn as he spoke.
“And hold it close I do! My very bones are set about with nethicite! It is a power you couldn’t possibly imagine!”
“That is sick,” Balthier said, grimacing.
“Sick?” Bergan locked his gaze on Balthier. “No, it’s incredible!” A sickly smile spread over Bergan’s face. “And possible… all that’s to your father’s genius.”
Balthier stiffened with a jolt of panic.
“Oh, yes,” Bergan continued, smile growing at Balthier’s distress. “He’s a brilliant man. But then again, one must be to be the head of Draklor Laboratories.”
“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” Balthier said.
Bergan smirked. “Oh, there’s no point denying it,” he said with a chuckle. “I know who you are, Judge Ffamran. It was all part of my mission briefing. From the highest authority on the matter.” Bergan broke off laughing.
“Balthier?” That was Ashe’s voice, confused and wary. Balthier didn’t turn to meet her gaze. He didn’t want to know what he’d see there. He looked at the floor, Bergan, the corpses all around, just not her or any of his companions.
“Ah-ha, I see I should introduce you all…” Bergan said, still smiling, “to Judge Ffamran Bunansa, a member of one of Archadia’s most upstanding houses, and son of Draklor’s director, Dr. Cid. I think you were once a scientist of some renown at Draklor, weren’t you? Then a member of our great Judges… Then a deserter and a traitor-”
“Is there a point to this?” Balthier snapped, cutting him off. Bergan maintained that sadistic smile.
“Why, yes,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to return home, traitor. Our emperor has need of you, you see.” Bergan chuckled, then turned to his knights. “Bring the princess and the traitor. Our emperor has uses for both of them.”
Balthier had enough time to be confused before one of the knights grabbed his arm. Another one grabbed Ashe.
“What about the rest of them?” Another knight asked.
“I don’t care about them!” Bergan said, smile changing to a scowl. “Throw them out in the snow! Kill them if you’d like. Then hurry and join us on the Alexander.” Bergan turned and marched away, the knights dragging Balthier and Ashe after him, while others pulled the rest back out the door.

…

A transport carried Balthier, Ashe, their guards and Bergan up to the Alexander, the massive airship waiting above. The knights marched them from the hanger down the ship’s corridors, hallways all too similar to the Dreadnaught Leviathan. Ashe stared at the ground as she walked, face disbelieving. Balthier couldn’t believe what had just happened, either. Of everything he expected to find on the top of Mt Bur-Omisace, the sudden revelation of what he’d kept hidden from his friends so long was not it. From how Ashe looked, had been right all along about what they’d all think?
“Ashe,” Balthier said. Ashe lifted her gaze to meet his, and Balthier was relieved by what he saw there. She looked troubled, hurt, stunned, but not horrified. Not that blank shock she’d born when Vossler betrayed them. Bad, but better than he’d expected. Balthier’s next words were cut off by a shout from down the corridor.
“Bergan!” Down the hall stomped an irate Judge Gabranth. He held his helmet under one arm, face painted with fury. He was Basch’s twin brother, wasn’t he? The resemblance was clear now.
“Gabranth, good to see you!” Bergan said, completely dismissive of Gabranth’s ire. “I’ve got the princess, and the deserter Vayne’s been so insistent about. Though-”
“Bergan are you out of your mind?” Gabranth said, coming face to face with Bergan. “What possessed you to go rampaging-”
“Oh, Gabranth, calm down,” Bergan said, waving a hand dismissively. “We only lost a few troops. Nothing to get so upset about.” He chuckled. “You’ve been on edge ever since Drace died- Oh, pardon. Since you executed her. “
“I had no choice about that!” Gabranth snapped, anger rising. “Those were my orders.”
“Only following orders?” Bergan smirked. “Well, I was ‘only following orders’ with what I did on the mountain.”
“We were to retrieve Lord Larsa and capture Lady Ashe and Judge Ffamran. Those were our orders,” Gabranth said. “Not to slaughter hundreds of innocent women and children!”
“Yes, but Lord Vayne told me to test the abilities of our new nethicite augmentation,” Bergan replied, still nonchalant. “Those were the orders I was following.”
“That nethicite has clouded your mind, Bergan,” Gabranth said, scowling.
“Oh, you don’t know what you’re talking about, Gabranth!” Bergan spread out his hands. Blue energy ebbed into an aura of light around him. “The stone’s power is incredible. Why, with an army like me, Vayne wouldn’t have any need for… other powers.” Bergan cast a sidelong glance at Balthier, and Balthier got a sudden, horrible feeling he knew what was going on. Oh, dear…
“Vayne has made it clear what he wants,” Gabranth said sternly. “If you’re so set on following orders, I suggest you don’t make a fuss. Though honestly,” Gabranth also glanced at Balthier, “I haven’t a clue what the emperor was talking about.”
“Oh, Dr. Cid filled me in,” Bergan said, smirking. Gabranth scoffed.
“Oh, yes, I forgot what good friends you two became around the operating table.”
Bergan scowled. “You can laugh now, Gabranth, but you’ll see. This nethicite’s power is unstoppable! Vayne will see the stone is all we need.” He glanced over at Balthier, face dark. “One way or another.”
Gabranth sighed. “You’re taking these prisoners down to the detention level?”
“And then I’ll check on the little prince,” Bergan replied.
“I can do that.” Gabranth stepped into Bergan’s place at the head of their prison procession.
“What, worried I’ll hurt our prisoners?” Bergan asked with a sneer.
“No, they’re having trouble in the engine room,” Gabranth replied. “Go down there and assess the situation.”
“What sort of trouble?” Bergan asked.
“The jagd shields are falling,” Gabranth replied. He sighed and shook his head. “Something was bound to go wrong; skystones weren’t designed to fly in jagd. Like…”
“Like humans weren’t made to hold nethicite?” Bergan said, eyes narrowing. “Is that what you were going to say?”
“Yes, it is,” Gabranth replied, looking satisfied at Bergan’s anger. He pointed down the hallway. “Now go.”
Still scowling, Bergan walked off. Gabranth stared after him a few moments, then placed his helmet back on. He signaling to the knights to move, and they started off.

…

Gabranth shoved Balthier and Ashe into a holding cell in the detention block. The heavy metal door slid closed behind them, and outside, Gabranth barked muffled orders to his guards.
There was awkward silence between them in the cell, for a few moments longer than Balthier could bear.
“Well, then,” he said, not quite meeting Ashe’s gaze. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Balthier went to the wall and started prying off the panel that would let him access the door controls’ workings. If he could get the door open…
“Balthier…”
Balthier stopped his work at Ashe’s voice. Did I think I was going to get out of this? Sighing, he turned to face Ashe; she studied him with unease in her eyes. He had to say… something.
“Look, I….” Balthier sighed, forcing the words out. “I shouldn’t have kept it a secret. I’m… sorry. I just… didn’t know how you’d… how any of you would feel about it. That I’m one of the enemy. I guess…” He trailed off. Ashe didn’t say anything. Her face didn’t change. She just stared at him with uncertainty. Balthier turned away with a sigh. “I guess I was right.”
“No…” Ashe’s voice surprised him. Balthier turned back to see her shake her head.
“No, Balthier…” she continued, stumbling for words. “I… Well, it’s surprising. That you’re an Archadian, and… I don’t know what to think about that.” Ashe sighed and shook her head. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?” She walked up to Balthier to look into his face. “Balthier, I knew from the moment we met you were hiding something. There was just something… different about you. And Bergan, he said Vayne needs more power, and he looked at you! Balthier… There’s something else. Something important. What is it?”
“I… ah…” That was not what he expected. Balthier tried to look away, not to meet Ashe’s expectant gaze. He wanted to back up from her pleading eyes, but wall was right behind him. He just turned his face away, mind racing for a response.
“Tell me!” Ashe said, trying to catch his gaze again.
Balthier sighed and shook his head. “Ashe, we have to get off this airship before they repair the engines, or else-”
“Balthier, no!” Ashe said. “Don’t-”
“Ashe, we don’t have time!” Ashe’s insistent face didn’t change. Balthier sighed. “Ashe, look, I… We have to move now. But when we’re safe and sound and done running for our lives, then I promise… I’ll tell you everything. Until then, you’ll just have to trust me. Alright?”
Ashe stared into his eyes for several moments before answering softly.
“Alright.”
Balthier let out a sigh of relief, though the relief didn’t last long. Did I really just agree to that? Oh, dear…
“Well, let’s get out of here,” Balthier said, shoving off the heaviness of their conversation. He knelt by the door controls, pulling away the panel to expose a mass of wires.
“But there’ll be guards, won’t there?” Ashe asked. “How do we get past them?”
“With the element of surprise,” Balthier said, tweaking wires inside in the wall. “It won’t be that hard.”
“Are you sure you can get the door open?”
Balthier sighed. He glanced up at her. “Ashe, as we have spent the last traumatic half hour establishing, I grew up in a laboratory. I know how these things work.” He turned back to the controls, switching two wire’s connections. “Alright, princess, get ready. Just a few moments…”
Ashe tensed, and Balthier stood as the metal door began to slide open, a hasty plan half-formed in his mind. He’d seen Basch do this before…
As the door slid open, both Archadian knights outside spun around in unison, reaching for their swords. Taking advantage of the moment’s surprise, Balthier jumped forward, grabbing both the guards’ heads and bringing them together with as much force as he could muster. Their helmets met with a resounding clang. It dazed them, to be sure, but didn’t knock either one out like he’d hoped. One guard dropped his sword, Balthier lunged for it, diving between the two guards and coming up with the sword on the other side. They spun around to face the more dangerous, armed prisoner. The one still with a sword brought it around towards Balthier, and he found himself locked in a sword duel. Ashe dived past the remaining guard. She came up behind the guard Balthier fought and stuck out a foot to trip him as he stepped back. He fell backward into the wall, head hitting at an odd angle that sent his helmet flying off. He fell to the ground unconscious.
The remaining guard dived to grab Ashe, but she jumped out of the way. The guard stumbled, and Balthier flipped his sword around and brought the hilt against the knight’s forehead. He collapsed with a groan.
Ashe let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, I… thought that wasn’t going to work, for a moment.”
“Sorry,” Balthier said. “That move’s not as easy as Basch makes it look.” He nodded to the sword held in the second guard’s unconscious hand. “Feel free, princess. We’ve got a ways to go, and we’ll need weapons.”
Ashe nodded, then knelt to take the guard’s sword.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Ashe asked when she stood again, armed.
“Not… exactly,” Balthier replied. “But these imperial dreadnaughts are usually similar. We spent our fair share of time on the Dreadnaught Leviathan, and hopefully that’ll be enough to get us off. If not, then… We’ve a better chance of escaping roaming the corridors than stuck in that cell.”
Ashe didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyways.
“Come on then, princess.” Balthier signaled to her as he started down the corridor. “Let make our exit.”

…

“Over here!”
Balthier pulled Ashe against the wall as a patrol of Archadian knights passed the side corridor they’d just ducked into. He made sure to keep his voice as low as possible. Luckily, the patrol didn’t seem to notice. As Balthier had expected, there weren’t that many knights manning the Alexander. However, they were well disciplined, and had stayed on Balthier and Ashe’s tails since they left their cell.
Balthier eased out a breath as the knights passed. He stood back from the wall, nodding to Ashe.
“Alright, let’s hurry. If I’m right, the hanger’s just past that door.”
They hurried down the passage to the metal door at the end. Unlike the other doors on the Alexander, this one didn’t slide open when they approached. Balthier tapped the keypad.
“Locked,” he said, shaking his head.
“Can’t you get it open? Like in the cell?” Ashe asked.
“Probably,” Balthier replied. He knelt by the controls, using the tip of his stolen sword to pry up the keypad. It popped off, and he reached into the mass of wires underneath.
“Uh, Balthier?” Ashe’s worried voice came to his ears, and Balthier glanced over his shoulder. Ashe stood facing a group of knights coming down the corridor.
“Ah.” Balthier reached for the sword he’d laid down and moved to stand, but Ashe shook her head.
“No, I’ll… hold them off,” Ashe said, raising her sword even with fear in her eyes.
“Ashe, no!” Balthier said. “I can help-”
“We can’t fight them all!” Ashe said. “We have to get out! Just hurry!”
Her argument was logical. Balthier still didn’t like it. Nevertheless, he turned back to the controls, working as fast as he could the reroute the wires, every clang of steel driving him onward with renewed vigor. He tried to focus and not glance over his shoulder at Ashe parring and striking just a couple feet away, far outnumbered but still somehow holding her own. A few moments and the door ground open. Balthier grabbed his sword in one hand and Ashe’s wrist in the other, dragging them both through the door just as it slid shut again.
Ashe, panting, sighed with relief and let her sword drop.
“Ashe, are you alright?” Balthier asked, looking her over. She didn’t look hurt.
“I’m fine,” Ashe replied, giving him a weary smile.
“Good.” Balthier sighed, relief washing over him. He glanced down the corridor ahead of then. It opened up just a short ways down, into the hanger they were going for. “Come on then, princess,” he said, waving for her to follow. “It won’t take those knights long to get that door open again.”
Ashe nodded, and they darted off down the corridor.
A hanger waited at the end, just as Balthier expected. The docking doors stood wide open, showing a splendid view of the snowy mountainside and pale blue skies. Only the hanger was empty, not a ship in sight. Not even an Atomos. Balthier didn’t have a chance to voice his frustration before shouts came from the corridor behind them.
“Balthier?” Ashe said, glancing nervously behind them. “What now?”
“Uh… There!” Balthier pointed to a second door leading out of the hanger, positioned precariously close to the hanger’s wide-open doors. “Come on!”
Balthier and Ashe sprinted for the second door as soldiers spilled out of the hallway behind them. Balthier slowed his pace to make sure Ashe wasn’t lagging behind, but she was fast. Balthier was only a few yards from the escape route when another battalion of knights poured out of that door, too. Balthier stopped short, and Ashe nearly crashed into him.
“Not good…” he hissed under his breath, backing up from the second wave of pursuers. The knights closed in, and Balthier and Ashe found themselves pinned against the hanger’s door, imperial knights on one side and a sheer drop on the other. The knights were closing in fast, swords drawn, not looking friendly. Balthier assumed their orders were not to let the prisoners escape, whether that meant capture or kill. Vayne wanted them alive, but he’d rather have them dead then on the loose again.
“Balthier, what do we do?” Ashe asked, pulling closer to him. She held her sword ready to fight, but fear filled her eyes. “We have to get out!”
“I…” Balthier glanced both ways, trying to think of a solution. They couldn’t possibly hope to win against all those knights, and every exit was blocked… Not every exit…
Balthier looked out the sheer drop a few feet behind them. The Alexander had dipped remarkably close to the mountainside, probably due to the skystone troubles Gabranth had mentioned. A survivable drop. Balthier pulled his gaze back to meet Ashe’s eyes. She’d glanced back, too.
“You thinking what I’m thinking, princess?”
Ashe glanced over the edge again. “I think so.”
“It’s not that far down,” Balthier said, inspecting the drop. “And there’s a snow drift down there- fluffy stuff. I think we’d make it. Besides, it’s the only way out.”
“Then…” Ashe sucked in a deep breath, then nodded, looking into his eyes. “Alright.”
“Leave the swords,” Balthier said, throwing his to the ground. “Don’t want to get tangled up with those on the way down.
“Right.” Ashe nodded, dropping hers. She looked up at Balthier. “Look, Balthier, if we don’t survive-”
“We will,” Balthier said, stepping back towards the edge. Somehow, it looked farther down now.
“But-”
“No wills, princess. We’ll make it.” Even so, something rang in Balthier’s mind that this might be the final time. He stared a few long moments into Ashe’s deep, blue eyes…
Armor clanking distracted Balthier as the knights charged. No more waiting.
“NOW!” Balthier shouted, and he and Ashe leapt over the edge into cold, open air.
It wasn’t really like jumping. Balthier just ran for the edge until solid ground disappeared from beneath his feet, and gravity sucked him down. He plummeted feet first through icy air and whistling wind, the landscape rolling out below, snow and mountains and stone. Balthier saw it all through a blur as icy wind rushing by stung his eyes with tears. The ground suddenly seemed impossibly far away, and that no amount of snow would stop him from breaking his neck.
Tumbling in open air, Balthier found himself leaning on his front, bound to land face-first in the snow. Not a good idea. He managed to flip around, facing the pale blue sky above, still stained with black smoke from Mt Bur-Omisace’s destruction. He wondered then, of all things, what Ashe was about to say when he’d cut her off. Balthier, if we don’t survive… He was the one with grave secrets he’d promised to tell.
Balthier’s thought ceased abruptly as he slammed into a mass of fluffy snow, the impact rattling his bones and driving every ounce of air from his lungs. The snow caved beneath him, cushioning the fall and collapsing over him. For a several moments, he lay there on his back, half-covered in snow, gasping for breath. It wasn’t until he’d sat up, trying to find his feet and extract himself from the cloud of snow, that Balthier realized he was still alive. He hadn’t broken his neck, or any other bone. He’d jumped from an imperial dreadnaught and was still breathing! He was about to laugh out loud when he realized his survival wasn’t the only one in question.
“Ashe!” Balthier shouted as he finally made it to his feet. He didn’t see her immediately. Where is she?
“Balthier!”
Balthier spun at the voice, and before he could say a word of relief, Ashe threw her arms around his neck, laughing.
“Balthier, I… can’t believe it! We’re alive!” she laughed.
“That we are, princess,” he said, hugging her back and laughing along. Yes, Ashe was just fine.
“We’re out! We made it.” Ashe ended with a sigh of relief, stepping out of Balthier’s embrace. “Do you think… they’ll follow us?”
“Well, they won’t be following us that way,” Balthier said, glancing up at the Alexander. “But you can bet they’ll send transports out as soon as they can. We need to get somewhere we can hide.”
Balthier turned and scanned the mountainside, shading his eyes with one hand from the sun overhead. The kiltiases’ settlement was nowhere in sight; they must be on the other side of the mountain, he thought. The rocky slopes weren’t that steep. A run covered in thick snow flowed down from where they stood into a sheer rock wall. Balthier followed the cliff’s course with his eyes until he spotted a chain of dark openings scattered at its base.
“There.” He pointed. “Looks like a cave network. If it’s deep enough, we can lose them in there. Not a particularly good position; with that cliff, we may not be able to see ships coming in. But,” he sighed, “it’s better than sitting here.”
Ashe nodded, and they set off trudging through the snow.

…

Balthier was glad when the snow thinned out. The massive amount of snow might’ve been what saved their lives, but it was no fun to walk through. Luckily, as he and Ashe came next to the great cliff wall, the snow grew much shallower. The cliff stood between them and their view of the Alexander, and Balthier was keenly aware that the imperials could land a small transport ahead of them and they wouldn’t even see it. However, they were very close now to the first of the cave entrances, and once they were underground, the knights would have a much harder time finding them.
“You’re limping, princess,” Balthier said, eyeing Ashe’s lopsided gait. He hadn’t noticed while they were trudging through waist-deep snow.
“I’m fine,” Ashe replied, holding her head high.
“Really?” Balthier arched an eyebrow.
“I’m fine, considering what we just did!” Ashe glared at him. Not a very scary glare.
“Well, then don’t lag behind.” Balthier marched ahead towards the nearest cave entrance. The jagged tear in the rock showed a window into a deep tunnel swathed in shadows. Balthier was wondering where they’d get light in there when he heard Ashe gasp.
Balthier spun around to see Judge Bergan with one arm hooked around Ashe’s neck, his sword’s tip pressed into the small of her back. Ashe stood very still, eyes wide in shock and terror. A sickly smile twisted Bergan’s face.
“Aw, that look on your face.” Bergan shook his head, laughing. “So sweet. She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? It’d be a shame if I had to hurt her.” Bergan pressed his sword harder, and Ashe sucked in a gasp.
“Wait, stop.” Balthier held up his hands, mind racing for a solution. He and Ashe didn’t have any weapons, and Bergan had both his sword and his nethicite, as well as Ashe prisoner. Fighting was out of the question. “We’ll come back with you, alright?” Balthier said. “Just… don’t hurt her.”
“Oh, no, no,” Bergan shook his head. “I don’t want you to come back. Why would you think a thing like that?”
Balthier frowned. “What?”
Bergan let out a chuckle. “No, I want to see those powers Vayne and Dr. Cid are raving about. I want to see what in the world can be more powerful than nethicite. I want to prove to Lord Vayne that nethicite is all we need, and nothing can stand against it or me!” Rage flared across his face for a moment, then melted back into that smugness. “So come on.” Bergan twisted his sword, and Ashe winced. “Just a little duel. What do you say?”
“You really are insane,” Balthier said. Bergan just laughed.
Balthier’s heart was racing as fast as his mind now. For once in his life, he wanted to feel that force awakened deep inside him, but he felt nothing. Whatever instinct awakened it wasn’t going off now. Even if he wanted to, Balthier couldn’t give Bergan what he wanted.
“Tick, tock, pirate,” Bergan said. “Time’s running out. You really think I won’t kill her?”
Bergan tightened both his arm around Ashe’s neck and his sword at her back. Ashe gasped, bringing her hands up to his arm at her throat, but her grasp did nothing. Her blue gaze drifted to stare at Balthier, eyes wild with fear and confusion. Something. He had to do something.
“Be patient,” Balthier hissed through clenched teeth.
“Patient?” Bergan sneered. “I’m out of patience. I don’t see any reason you need to wait!”
Balthier closed his eyes, trying to block out Bergan’s voice as he grasped inside. There had to be a way. What did it feel like when he contacted an airship? What did it feel like when those icy flames surged up inside him? He had to reach it. Had to…
Balthier sucked in a gasp of pain as he felt something respond to his desperate call. He clenched his fists and teeth as the power awakened. Not just leaking out through prison walls, but pouring forth from a door swung wide open.
Heat. Icy flames surged into white-hot force, stinging each breath with fire and resounding through every muscle with electric power. Balthier felt the heat gathering around his hands, so hot it burned. Balthier forced his eyes open to see masses of white, electric energy crackling around his clenched fists, the light blinding and heat intense. Like fighting Vossler… Balthier remembered. The white light wreathing his hands and blade, energy rippling out from deep inside. But not this strong. Not this hot.
Balthier heard Ashe gasp and Bergan laugh. With effort, he forced his gaze from his hands to his opponent.
“Oh, finally.” Smiling madly, Bergan threw Ashe aside and raised his sword. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
He charged.
Balthier had no idea what to do. In deaf instinct, he flung his arms up to block Bergan’s overhead strike. The Judge’s sword sunk into the mass of sizzling energy, which surged back with greater force, blowing Bergan back. Balthier planted his feet in the snow, managing not to be thrown back by his own power. Bergan slammed hard into the snow, but climbed to his feet after only a moment, cackling madly all the while.
“Oh, yes, now this is more like it!” Bergan wiped away the line of blood that dripped from his lip, still laughing. “At last, a worthy opponent! Not like Drace, that boy, or those kiltiases. Here is a challenge!” Bergan’s smugness hardened. “But I won’t lose. You know that, don’t you?”
Bergan dropped his sword, maniacal smile growing over his face again. That aura of blue light formed in the air around him, and Balthier felt more acutely than ever the painful ripple of nethicite awakening. Dark energy of midnight black and ultramarine blue gathered around Bergan’s hands, in an eerie mirror image of Balthier’s power.
Bergan charged again, striking with both fists and all the gathered energy at his disposal. Balthier blocked with both arms, and the two forces met with a terrible surge of electric crackling. Balthier felt the impact resounding through him, shaking every bone. The two forces shoved against each other, and Balthier felt with panic his feet slipping in the snow. Bergan was winning.
In a final surge of power, Bergan sent Balthier flying back. He slammed into the cliff wall hard and fell to the snow, head spinning. Still dazed from the impact, Balthier tried it sit, dimly aware of blood trickling down the side of his face. He felt the snow melting under his hands as he pushed himself up.
Bergan circled with catlike pleasure, grinning as he neared his downed target. Clenching his teeth at the pain in his head and in his hands, Balthier struggled to stand before Bergan could strike again. As he shakily found his feet, Balthier spotted Ashe holding Bergan’s sword, creeping up on the Judge from behind.
“Ashe, stay back!” Balthier shouted. Ashe stopped, her gaze darting between Balthier and Bergan. Bergan glanced over his shoulder at the princess, but only laughed at the sight.
His moment’s distraction was an advantage Balthier couldn’t afford to waste. He just had to hope Ashe would be smart and get out of there.
Balthier stood, holding both hands out towards Bergan. Instinct drove him to grab hold of that burning power surging through him and force it forward. A tide of crackling white energy flew from his hands, slamming into Bergan and driving him down into the snow. Ashe scrambled away from the fight, still clenching Bergan’s sword, and watched helplessly.
The rush of power from Balthier’s hands ceased all at once. He didn’t move, just stood there, trying to breathe. Fire rippled through his arms and chest, and he couldn’t even feel the heat on his hands anymore.
After a few moments, Bergan’s from appeared through the steam of melted snow. His armor was scuffed and face furious, black energy still twisting around his hands.
“You’re… good,” Bergan said, a wince of pain flickering across his face. “But not… good… enough!”
Bergan lunged with savage force, and Balthier blocked his strike. Their two forces met again, but this time Bergan’s momentum carried him forward, and he slammed Balthier against the wall. With his back pressed against the stone, Balthier had nowhere to run. He had to win this clash. Gritting his teeth, Balthier mustered all the energy he could and shoved back on Bergan, letting it flow without holding back. The heat built and surged, and final blast of power sent Bergan flying away. He tumbled over the snow, coming to lay still. Smoke curled from his twisted armor; Bergan was clearly dead.
Balthier collapsed. He leaned against the cliff wall, gasping for breath. The last tendrils of white-hot energies lifted away from his hands, but he could feel more dying to come out. Balthier clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as he struggled to hold in the remnants of his power. Just one more surge to use up the clinging heat… but he couldn’t…
“Balthier!”
Balthier forced his eyes open painfully to see Ashe running towards him. Balthier could still feel the fire inside him trying to burn.
“Ashe, no…” he gasped out. “Stay away!” Balthier held up his hands between him and her.
“But… Balthier?” Ashe glanced at Bergan’s body, then back at Balthier. She took a step closer. Concern filled her eyes, and fear.
“Don’t.” Balthier shook his head, keeping his hands raised. She couldn’t come any closer. She was too close already… “Ashe, don’t…”
The remaining fire was too strong. Balthier couldn’t force any more words out. He winced and sucked in gasp of pain. Ashe rushed to his side. She knelt beside him, reaching out to take his arm. She looked confused and scared, somehow still worried about him. Balthier raised his hands to push her away, struggling for the strength to speak.
“Ashe-”
Suddenly there was a surge. Balthier felt it rush through his hands and saw the flash of light. A sudden sting of heat, the remnants of a hungry power reaching for a target… Balthier’s eyes widened as he realized with horror what was happening, and he was powerless to stop it. An explosion blew from his hands with incredible force…
Then as suddenly as it came, it was over. The clinging heat was gone. His power slinked away, satisfied it had wrought its worst. In the snow just a few yards away, Ashe lay still. She didn’t even look hurt, no visible wound, but she was still and silent, eyes closed. No thoughts could form in the blank shock of Balthier’s mind, only the sound of Vossler’s dying words…
“Keep her safe, won’t you?”
No…
Balthier’s gaze drifted down to his outstretched hands. They were burned all over, shaking now, he realized. Breath came harder at that moment than while his power burned, as the reality of what had just happened swept over him.
“No.”
The word drifted from Balthier’s mouth. He lifted his gaze back to Ashe. She wasn’t… dead. Couldn’t be. He had to know. Had to check. Had to… somehow… stand…
“Bergan!”
Gabranth’s voice drifted on the cold, wintery wind.
Balthier turned dumbly to watch as Gabranth came into view around the cliff wall with a handful of Archadian knights.
“Bergan, you fool! Where did you…?” Gabranth trailed off as he saw Bergan’s twisted form. He stared at him for a few moments, then turned to grimly survey the rest of the scene. One of the knights crouched next to Ashe, checking for her pulse.
“Is she alive?” Gabranth asked, pointing to the princess’s still form.
“I… think so,” the knight replied. He rose to his feet with a sigh. “But not for long.”
Gabranth came to stand over Balthier. Balthier barely registered his presence, or what any of the knights were doing. Those words echoed in his mind, a drop of light rippling through an ocean of shock and despair. I think so… Not for long…
“What happened here?” Gabranth demanded.
Balthier tried to answer, but couldn’t find the strength to even form words. He was utterly exhausted in every way, and wanted nothing more than to collapse into the snow. No, he wanted Ashe to be alive, and to be sure of it. But he was so… tired…
The last thing Balthier remembered was the cold of snow on his face as he collapsed.

End Part Two, Act Three: Smolder

Begin Act Four: Ashes

Chapter Text

Part Two, Act Four: Ashes
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mt Bur-Omisace
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Basch stood on the stone steps outside the Grand Kiltias’ hall with his three companions, frowning up at the Alexander anchored far up the mountainside. Earlier, they’d seen a transport dock there, one he could only assume carried Bergan, the last of his troops, and their two prisoners.
“What are we going to do?” Penelo asked, brown eyes wide. She gripped her staff with trembling hands. They’d found the pile where the knights had thrown their weapons and recovered them. Basch had found the Sword of Kings there, too; he’d been carrying it when they rode for the kiltiases’ settlement, an oversight he’d scolded himself for repeatedly. Luckily, the knights who’d taken it from him didn’t know it was anything but a normal sword; about the only turn of good luck they’d had that day.
“We can’t get to the Alexander,” Basch answered Penelo’s question, studying the ship far up the mountainside. The ship’s engines lit with a red-orange glow, flickering feverishly with a distant rumbling.
“It looks like they’re having trouble,” Fran said. “But not bad. They’ll be leaving soon.” She shook her head. “As Basch said, we can’t get up there.”
“So we’re just gonna watch?” Vaan asked, angry.
“No,” Basch said, staring grimly at the Alexander. “I swore to protect the princess, and I will not fail.” He turned and marched a few steps down the stairs. “They’ll be headed for Archades; that’s the capital, and Vayne will be there. If we start now, before they leave, we can get a head start.”
“Wait, to Archades?” Vaan said, eyes wide. “That’s forever away!”
“They have chocobos here,” Basch said. He turned to face the group. “We take them, and we ride, day and night, until we reach the Strahl. Then we fly for Archades as fast as that thing can go.”
“But… Balthier’s not here,” Penelo said. “How do we fly her?”
“Balthier…” Vaan stared at the ground, hot unease in his eyes they hadn’t had time to indulge yet. “I can’t believe…”
“We’ll worry about him once Princess Ashe is safe,” Basch said. Honestly, Basch had his own questions… He’d always suspected there was more to that man then he said. But no time for that. Basch turned to Fran. “Fran, you’ve watched Balthier fly the Strahl long enough. Do you think you can do it without him?”
“I… don’t know,” Fran replied. “I’ve watched the instruments, but to actually operate the controls… Perhaps. I’ve never done it before”
“I can help,” Vaan said. “Balthier… taught me some. I’ve actually flown her… a little.”
“Good.” Basch nodded. “Then we leave. Now.”

…

Pain was the first thing Balthier noticed when he woke. Before he even opened his eyes, he felt a throbbing in his head and an ache in his chest. He was lying on something hard and cold, stale air all around.
Balthier forced his eyes open, fighting back the fog of fatigue. Harsh white light came from a single lamp hanging from a metal ceiling. After a few moments, Balthier realized he lay on a bench in a cell, probably back on the Alexander. Everything around him vibrated softly; they must be flying. They’d gotten the engines going and left Mt Bur-Omisace. On their way back, to Archades.
Balthier strained to sit up, but pain shot through his hands the moment they met the cold metal bench. He gasped and dropped back down. Balthier held up his hands, and immediately winced at the gruesome burns covering his palms and fingers. The memory of what had happened rushed over him in an instant.
Ashe.
Balthier sat up, this time careful not to use his hands. The burns didn’t seem as bad as he initially thought; painful, but not crippling. Even just sitting up, his head spun, enough to make him nauseous. Balthier didn’t even try to stand. The door to his cell was firmly shut, and he knew he couldn’t escape again. Even if he could, there was no way Balthier would leave without Ashe.
If she was still alive.
That, Balthier had to find out, somehow. His first instinct was to reach out to the Alexander. Military ships were always unreasonable, but if it would talk to him, then Balthier could find out how long ago they left Mt Bur-Omisace and where Ashe was. And, more importantly, how she was.
Balthier stretched out his mind to contact the airship, and was surprised by the shock of stabbing pain he got in response. Balthier brought one burned hand up to his forehead with a gasp at the agony streaking through his mind. The sudden pain staggered him, and Balthier leaned against the wall a few moments, grimacing while he tried to get his breathing under control and bring coherence back to his thoughts.
Too much. He’d done too much. His power seemed satisfied with the freedom it’d gotten, but it’d left his body and mind ravaged. And not only him…
If he couldn’t talk to the Alexander, perhaps the guards outside would tell him something. Balthier couldn’t bear another moment not knowing. He had to know if Ashe was alive. Or if she wasn’t… he had to at least know.
Balthier stood. The effort set his head spinning again, but not as bad as before. Balthier felt a little of his strength returning. Shaking off the fog of sleep, he managed to make it to the door and rap on the metal, ignoring the pain in his burned hand.
No response. Balthier shouted through the door, but the only reply was a yell to ‘be quiet.’ He tried again with the same effect. No good.
Balthier went back to sit on the bench with a sigh. Despite the fact he’d been unconscious for some unknown amount of time, he felt exhausted. His dizziness was easing, but that only made sweet sleep seem more appealing. But Ashe… Yet there seemed no way to get to her, wherever she was. Balthier was stuck in this cell, and she wasn’t, dead or alive.
Alive. She had to be alive. She would be, and Balthier would find her. They’d get out of this, somehow. He just had to wait…
Balthier laid back down on the bench, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He didn’t know how long it’d been since they left the mountain, or how long it’d be until they reached Archades. The only thing he knew was he was exhausted, trapped, and wanted Ashe here, alive and well…

…

The trip dragged on. Bur-Omisace and Archades were on the other side of the world from each other, and Balthier had assumed the flight would be long. He slept for most of it, waking briefly when the guards brought in a rather meager serving of prison rations. Then he slipped back into troubled sleep, longing for them to finally arrive and get it over with.
Balthier woke when he heard the door to his cell slide open. A gruff voice called, echoing from within a suite of metal.
“You there. Get up.”
Balthier forced his eyes open and sighed. He sat up, surprised when the wave of dizziness didn’t hit him. His hands and head still hurt, but not as bad as before. An Archadian knight stood just within the threshold of the cell, waiting.
“Don’t worry, I’m coming,” Balthier said. He stood without much trouble, relieved the effects of his power were finally starting to wear off. He felt the ship wasn’t moving anymore. The background hum of the Alexander’s engines still filled the atmosphere, which meant they were hovering, but they weren’t moving. They’d anchored somewhere.
“This way.” The knight signaled with one hand, then turned and walked out of the cell. With a sigh, Balthier followed. Outside stood a group of nearly a dozen knights, Judge Gabranth at its head. One knight, holding handcuffs, came up and fixed them around Balthier’s wrists.
“General Gabranth,” Balthier said, nodding to the Judge. “Good to see you again.” He glanced around at the abundance of armed guards. “Don’t you think this is all a bit over the top?”
“Considering what you did to Judge Bergan,” Gabranth replied, “no, I don’t.”
“Fair enough,” Balthier replied.
Gabranth stared at him a moment longer, face invisible beneath his helmet.
“What’s the matter? Scared?” Balthier said, not trying to keep the scorn out of his voice. He’d had quite enough of knights and Judges and cold black armor.
“I didn’t believe Vayne,” Gabranth said, maintaining a level voice. “Or Cid. I thought they were insane. But they were right, after all. Who would’ve guessed?” Gabranth turned and started to walk off. “Come on. Vayne’s expecting his prisoners.”
The knights scrambled to push Balthier along after him.
“Wait!” Balthier said, and Gabranth stopped. “The princess. Where is she?”
“And why would I tell you that?” Gabranth said.
“Is she alive?” Balthier persisted.
Gabranth just scoffed and continued walking.

The guards brought Balthier to one of the Alexander’s transport crafts, a light skiff for bringing people to places the massive dreadnaught couldn’t dock. They shoved him down the few steps into the cargo hold, and without his hands free to steady him, Balthier tripped and landed on his knees.
 The lights were off in the hold, and once they closed the door, it was completely dark.
“Feel like turning the lights on?!” Balthier shouted back at the door. There was no response. With a sigh, he started trying to shake loose the lock picks in his sleeves. He knew he couldn’t escape once the transport was moving, but it’d be nice to have his hands free. Balthier was already working on the locks as the skiff’s engines hummed to life and they lifted off the ground.
After a few moment’s work, Balthier handcuff’s slipped off, clattering to the ground. He stood and rubbed his wrists a moment, then felt along the wall. After a few moments, he found the light switch and flipped it on. A row of white lights along the roof flickered to life, illuminating the small room. It was relatively featureless, save for a bench resting against the wall. An abandoned medical stretcher was draped on top of it, and on that lay…
“Ashe!”
Balthier rushed to her side. Her face was perfectly still, but her chest rose and fell, still breathing. Balthier took her wrist: steady pulse. She seemed fine, just unconscious. Balthier took her shoulders and shook her.
“Ashe, wake up! Wake up! Come on.” No response. None at all. Balthier shook her again, but nothing changed. He stared at her still, cold face a few moments, frustration welling up inside him.
“Oh, blast it!” Balthier clenched his fists, then dropped to his knees beside the bench, breathing hard. His fault. This was all his fault. Ashe had been stupid, but his power did that to her. Now she was in a coma, and it was all his fault.
“Ashe,” Balthier breathed out, eyes fixed on her still face, knowing she couldn’t hear. “I’m… so sorry…”
Then something incredible happened. Ashe’s grey-blue eyes flickered open. Her brow furrowed as she tried to focus her gaze on him.
“Bal… thier?” Ashe whispered, voice barely audible.
Balthier stood instantly. “Ashe?”
A fragile, weary smile tried to form on her lips, and she stared up at him with blurry, half-dreaming eyes.
“Oh, I… I think I… understand now…” she breathed out. Then her eyes drifted closed again, smile disappearing in a wince of pain.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Balthier shook her shoulders again, hope suddenly renewed. “Come on, princess, wake up!”
Ashe let out a moan, lifting one hand slowly to clench against her chest as she painfully sucked in air. She tried to sit up, but lost her strength and slipped back down. Balthier knelt to catch her. Ashe blinked open her eyes to look at him, brow still furrowed with pain.
“Balthier?” she asked. Ashe glanced around the hold, little bigger than their cell. “Where are we? What… happened?” Ashe pressed a hand against her forehead, closing her eyes. “Oh… I think I… must’ve hit my head. I remember…” She opened her eyes, then turned her confused gaze to Balthier. “Balthier?”
Balthier sighed. Seeing the princess could sit up on her own, he pulled his hands away from her and stood, not meeting her eyes.
“I suppose I did promise to tell you everything,” Balthier said with a sigh. “I…” Where to start?
“Down on the mountain,” Ashe said, staring up at him. “Bergan… You… Balthier, you… Oh.” Ashe sucked in a breath, gaze drifting away, eyes wide in realization. Balthier let out a bitter chuckle.
“I hate to say it, but if you remember everything that happened, then you know about as much as I do. What I’ve known my whole life.” Balthier closed his eyes, clenching his fists so hard his fingers stung his burned palms. “And that’s… about it. That, and a disturbing Vieran prophecy,” he added under his breath. Balthier sighed. “I’d love to tell you why and how, princess, but… Even I don’t know that. I wish I did, believe me.”
Balthier finally brought his gaze back to Ashe. She’d sat up more and swung her legs over the edge of the bench. She studied him closely, one hand still clenched against her chest as she wheezed in breaths. By her face she was clearly in pain. Balthier sighed and shook his head.
“I’m… sorry, princess. I can’t believe I…”
His gaze drifted down to his hands still clenched in fists, burned with a constant painful reminder of his power and what he’d done. He didn’t want to look up at Ashe’s face.
“Balthier…” Though masked, her voice held the tinge of fear he’d feared to see in her eyes.
Balthier let out a bitter chuckle. “You should be scared, princess.”
“No! I… don’t want to be,” Ashe said. “But…”
Balthier finally met her conflicted gaze. “But I could hurt you. And I did.”
“But you saved my life!” Ashe said.
“Saved you?” Balthier said with a scoff. “I nearly killed you!”
“But Bergan would have killed if you hadn’t… done what you did,” Ashe replied, weary eyes still fixed on him. “And I did see… everything that happened. It hurt, didn’t it? To use your… powers?”
“Well, it’s… not the most pleasant experience,” Balthier replied, trying not wince at the memory of icy flames and burning heat.
“Your hands…”
“Oh.” Balthier instinctively pulled his hands closer to him, glancing away from the concern in Ashe’s eyes. “It’s… not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks terrible,” Ashe said. “Here, let me-”
Ashe tried to stand, but the moment her weight rested on her feet, her knees buckled. She let out a gasp and toppled forward.
“Ashe!” Balthier rushed over and caught her before she hit the ground. He helped her back up and onto the bench.
“I’m… fine…” Ashe panted, struggling to keep her eyes open. She gasped for breath for few moments, wheezing as if she’d pass out. “I’m fine…”
“Sure you are,” Balthier said, rolling his eyes. He held her shoulders, supporting her as she tried to catch her breath.
A jerk rippled through the transport, and Ashe sucked in a gasp at the sudden movement and noise. Balthier frowned.
“I think we’ve docked,” he said.
“Where are they taking us?” Ashe asked.
“I don’t know,” Balthier replied. “Probably not somewhere we want to be.”
The door slid open, spilling light into the dimly lit hold. Silhouettes filled the opening, and half a dozen knights decked with armor and swords filed in, led by Judge Gabranth. Following the procession of soldiers came a man wearing the faintest curve of a sickly smile, half-hidden by his long black hair.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said.
“Vayne!” Pain and weariness didn’t mask any of the loathing in Ashe voice as she stared with venom at Vayne Solidor, the emperor of Archadia.
“Princess Ashe,” Vayne said. “It has been some time. I hope you’ve been well since our last meeting. And Judge Ffamran.” He turned his gaze to Balthier. “How I’ve looked forward to making your acquaintance. I must say, I’m quite impressed by your work with Bergan.”
Balthier scowled, trying not to flinch at that satisfaction in Vayne’s face. “What is it you want, Vayne?”
“Oh? Can’t you guess?” Vayne turned to Gabranth, leaving his question unanswered. “Gabranth, my dear brother Larsa is coming on another transport. Meet him and bring him safely to the palace. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Gabranth said with a bow. He turned and walked out the door.
“The rest of you,” Vayne addressed the remaining knights, “bring the prisoner. And the Lady Ashe.” Vayne turned his faint, chilling smile to her. “I want the dear princess to witness my absolute victory. Then perhaps she’ll be more… negotiable when it comes time to discuss her role in my empire.”
Vayne turned to leave, signaling to his guards with one hand. They closed in, prodding Balthier and Ashe to move. Ashe tried to stand, and managed to keep her balance this time, but she dropped to her knees when she tried to take a step. Balthier turned to her; she gasped for breath but didn’t look any more hurt.
“She can’t walk,” he said, glaring over at Vayne.
“Then you’ll have to carry her,” Vayne replied. “And hurry. Dr. Cid’s waiting.”
Those weren’t very comforting words. Still, there wasn’t much choice. Balthier knelt by Ashe.
“Come on, princess. I don’t think there’s much point in protesting.”
Ashe nodded, still breathing too hard to speak. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Balthier stood, lifting her up; she was a lot lighter than he expected.
The guards shoved him forward, and Balthier marched with the procession out of the hold. Vayne took its head, a generous supply of knights between him and his prisoners. The walked off of the transport into a very familiar hanger. Balthier stopped short at the sight.
“This is… Draklor,” he said, sense of dread growing the longer he thought it over. He tore his gaze from the familiar surroundings, turning to Vayne. “What are we doing here?”
“What do people usually do here?” Vayne replied simply. “Now let’s hurry; we’re expected.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Ozmone Plain
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Vaan couldn’t believe they’d actually arrived. After a day and a night without rest, he finally stood in the Strahl’s cockpit. The idea of sitting on something other than a running chocobo was wonderful, even if he did now have to fly an airship. Vaan had always been obsessed with airships, and he knew as much about flying one as anyone could without having actually done it. And he’d got a rather short hands-on lesson from Balthier, even taken the pilot’s seat for a few brief minutes; a few minutes longer than Fran had ever sat in it, she claimed. However, the prospect of flying all the way to Archades on that short amount of experience was intimidating, to say the least.
“Hurry. We have to hurry,” Basch said. Vaan sighed, then reluctantly sat in the captain’s chair. Fran was already in the copilot’s seat, Penelo in the seat behind her. Vaan stared over the controls before him, both excited and terrified. Could he really fly this ship? And the thought of the man who’s airship this was wouldn’t leave his mind.
Balthier was an Archadian? A noble? A Judge? Vaan wasn’t sure whether to feel bad about the things he’d said, or get angry that Balthier was one of ones who conquered his homeland and killed his family, and that he’d kept it a secret.
“Vaan!” Basch’s voice broke through his cloud of anxiety. “The princess is in danger.”
“I know!” Vaan shouted back. “They both are. I’m just…”
“We must leave!”
“I know!” He glanced back at the mass of buttons and levers covering the controls. “I’m just not sure if I can do this!”
“You have to! There’s no more-”
Suddenly the ground beneath Vaan’s feet rumbled, thrumming with impatience, and controls lit up across the panels.
“The engines are starting,” Fran said, studying the instruments with a frown.
“But I didn’t touch anything yet!” Vaan said, holding his hands away from the consol.
“Skystone myst release has begun, but nothing was set to trigger…” Fran mumbled, pressing buttons on her side of the controls. “How…?”
“Argh! Does it matter?” Vaan grabbed the steering controls. Basch was right; he didn’t have any more time to be nervous. Even the airship could see that, apparently. “Let’s go!”
“Finally,” Basch sighed.
Sucking in a deep breath, Vaan pulled back on the controls, lifting them up into the skies.
Balthier said this thing was fast. Time to see how fast it can really go.

…

Knights marched Balthier down the halls of Draklor Laboratories, Vayne Solidor at the head of their procession. The knights surrounded Balthier, making any dash for escape impossible without some kind of distraction; even harder, carrying Ashe.
They continued on through the familiar halls, walls all of brick painted a faded yellow-beige, windows offering a view down on the vast city. Such a familiar place, where he’d grown up… It didn’t seem real, walking through those halls again. No scientists walked the hallways, like usual; Vayne must’ve ordered them all to keep out of the way. Or perhaps they were preparing for their next project. Draklor was home sweet home no longer; Balthier could assume something a lot more sinister waited for him at the end of this journey. Whatever it was, he had no intention of finding out. As they rounded a corner, a plan came to him.
But he had to act fast. Ashe rested in his arms, eyes closed, but he was pretty sure she was still conscious. Balthier leaned in closer, whispering so the guards couldn’t hear.  
“Princess, are you feeling better?”
“A little,” Ashe replied, eyes flickering open. “I can… probably walk now if you’re-”
“That’s good, but not what I meant,” Balthier said. “I have a plan. It alright if I drop you?”
“If it means we can get out of here,” Ashe replied.
“Then get ready to run,” Balthier said.
“Where?” Ashe asked.
“Just follow me, alright?”
“Alright.”
Balthier glanced around to make sure none of the knights had heard their whispered conversation. Good so far. “In that case, here goes…”
Balthier let go of Ashe. She released her arms from his neck at the same moment, and she slipped to the floor. Balthier skidded to a halt to avoid tripping over her. He practically winced when Ashe hit the ground; he couldn’t tell if her gasp of pain was fake or not. The knights ground to a halt with several shouts of annoyance.
“Ashe! Ah… Sorry,” Balthier said. Terrible acting.
“What’s going on?” Vayne said, spinning around. No time for all that.
Trusting the princess was unharmed by her fall, Balthier grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. The guards, surprised, had broken their formation in the sudden stop, leaving enough of a gap for Balthier to pull Ashe through and sprint down the hallway. Balthier heard the guards scrambling and Vayne shouting for them to follow. He didn’t take time to look back.
The moment they were around the corner, Balthier released Ashe’s wrist and knelt by the wall.
“Balthier?” Ashe said, gasping for breath. “We have to… keep going.”
“No, it’s here somewhere,” Balthier said. “This is an old building; it has its secrets, and I know them.”  Balthier felt along the wall, looking for what he knew was there, his search made all the more hurried for the incoming footsteps behind. At last, he found the seam in the brick wall. “Ah-ha!”
With a rush of satisfaction, Balthier yanked out a slab from the bottom of the wall. Perfectly hidden, you couldn’t see the secret opening unless you knew it was there.
“Quick! In!”
Following Balthier’s command, Ashe crawled into the opening, and Balthier followed after her, pulling the slab back into place behind them.
The compartment was more cramped than Balthier remembered. It was completely dark inside, and the odors of mildew, brick, and mortar filled the air. Balthier held his breath until metal-booted footsteps clanged by and kept going. Balthier breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Is this a… secret passage?” Ashe asked. Balthier could barely see her face in the shadows.
“Well, more a secret cupboard,” he replied. “It doesn’t go much farther back, but we can hide in it until those guards are far enough away.” Balthier paused a moment to listen. “I think we’re safe to move now. If you’re alright, princess.”
“I’m fine,” Ashe replied. “But… Where will we go?”
“Towards the nearest exit,” Balthier said. “I know one where there won’t be any guards. Until then, we hope we’re not caught.”
“That’s your best plan?” Ashe asked. Eyes adjusting to the dark, Balthier could see her frown.
“You have a better one?” he asked. Ashe didn’t reply. Balthier turned back to the slab covering the exit and shoved on it. “Then let’s go.”

…

Dr. Cid paced back and forth in his office. Soon. They’d be here soon. It was time. Only Cid wasn’t sure if he was ready. There were so many variables to account for… And so many things were going wrong… But if it succeeded… Oh, think!
Dr. Cid stopped his pacing a moment, drawing in a few breaths to calm himself. Each breath brought a thurm of unnatural strength and energy from deep inside; he smiled at that, a feverish chucking escaping his lips. There was one project that had worked as he planned. Was this what it felt like to be a true inheritor of his noble house? No, nethicite paled in comparison with that force at its full. That was why…
“Cid!”
The door to his office swung open, and Vayne marched through. A slight frown broke the usual cold, confident calm of his features.
“Vayne! You’re here!” Cid glanced at the empty space behind the emperor. “And a little light on company. Where’re our guests?”
“There’s been a minor complication, Cid,” Vayne said. “The prisoners escaped. However, they’re still in the building, and I’ve no doubt they’ll be caught before long.”
“Well, we’ve a few more complications than that, I’m afraid,” Cid said. “My guards have spotted an intruder in the lower levels. Not our escapees. It seems he’s a formidable opponent; the guards have been unable to bring him in.”
“So we’ve multiple miscreants at large? Hm.” Vayne frowned in thought. “Perhaps it would be better to move this operation to the roof, as we first planned.”
“I concur.” A thin, rattly voice came, speaking as if from the air itself. Dr. Cid felt the surge of nethicite’s power, the tug at his thoughts as Venat’s ghostly form materialized.
“It is vital the transfer has as little interference as possible,” Venat continued. “It is a delicate process, while I must still manifest by way of the stones. And if the new host resists, the leap will be impossible if I must also defend my current host from assault.”
Vayne nodded. “I understand you require a foothold to focus your powers if you are to exist for long. But you can wield your forces without that for a short period of time, correct? I know the bond you share with the host is strong, but-” he glanced at Dr. Cid. “-I thought you were working on a way to sever that bond for the moment of transfer? Then Venat could leap easily to a new host, with all his power at his disposal.”
“We were working on it,” Cid replied. “I’m still not sure exactly how to accomplish that. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to capture Ffamran so soon. But no matter. If we can ensure no disruption to Venat’s current host, the transfer will go smoothly.”
“They will return,” Venat said.
“What’s that?” Cid frowned at his ghostly friend.
“The ones we seek. They seek the stones,” Venat continued. “Whether for themselves or to keep them from us, I cannot tell. But yes…” Venat let out a faint hissing noise. “Princess Ashelia comes for the nethicite. A true scribe of Raithwall’s line. We must take care to find our prisoners before they find us.”
“Mm.” Dr. Cid nodded. “Yes, that could make things difficult. Impossible, even.”
“Then we will not allow it to happen,” Vayne said simply.
“But if it does…” Cid turned to his desk, papers strewn all over it. “Yes, I’ve a plan to use this delay to our advantage.”
“Cid…” Venat rattled. “I sense you are uneasy. The idea of delaying our ultimate victory… pleases you.”
The trouble with hosting an Occuria in my mind. No thoughts my own.
“Nonsense!” Cid said, maintaining a perfectly unruffled appearance. “I am as eager as any to see our new world. I only mean that if we try this with all our guards busy, enemies unhindered, and a half-formed theory, the best outcome we can hope for is alerting them to our master plan.” Cid picked up a paper from his desk. “No, I suggest we try a different approach; we’ll let the princess and her party get careless. We’ll know right where they are and where they’re headed. And, with a little patience, we can have power all the more! Power enough for many things.” Cid turned to Vayne with a smile. “Remember Bahamut?”
“Cid-” Venat began, but Vayne cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“No, I like how this sounds. What is your plan, Cid?”
Cid looked back down at the paper he held, his chuckle raising into a cackle.
“Just a little… trip.”

…

Vaan stepped out of the aerodrome, willing his tired legs to work again. Even through the tense flight, constantly worried he would crash, Vaan had wrestled with the haze of fatigue. The knowledge he’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours constantly called his eyes to drift closed even as he sat in the Strahl’s captain’s chair. Vaan had been too worried and too tired to even admire the massive metropolis of Archades from the air.
That said, now standing in the midst of the great city, he couldn’t help but gawk at its enormity. Massive buildings rose up and up on ascending platforms, and walkways ringing those platforms served as road. Small, service transports parked here and there offered lifts to the upper levels. Vaan walked to the railing, peering over the edge to look down on the level below.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Penelo said, coming up beside Vaan.
“Uh, yeah,” Vaan replied with a shrug. “For the empire.”
“We’re not here to see the sights; We must find the princess,” Basch said with the same iron frown he’d worn since they left the mountain. He didn’t look tired at all.
“But… where do we look?” Penelo asked.
“Vayne will be keeping her somewhere secure, somewhere he can reach her easily,” Basch pondered aloud. “Perhaps the palace.”
“Not an easy place to reach,” Fran said. “We’ll need a plan.”
“What about Balthier?” Vaan said. “Bergan said-”
“Ah, Balthier! There’s a name I hear quite often now-a-days.”
“Huh?” Vaan looked up to see a shabbily dressed man leaning against the railing a few feet away. He watched the newly arrived travelers with a smirk.
“Who are you?” Vaan asked with narrowed eyes. “You know Balthier?”
“Never met Balthier,” the man replied. “I knew Judge Ffamran, though. Only Judge I ever could do business with! A brief arrangement, but… Ah, good days!”
 Vaan frowned. “You mean-”
“I mean a Judge and noble turned sky pirate! Known by the wanted posters as Balthier!” The man spread his arms out in a dramatic gesture. “Yes, we speak of the same man.” He left the railing, turning to the group and bowing briefly. “My name is Jules, and peddler of information. Government secrets? Common hearsay? You need it, I know it! For the right price, of course.” Jules chuckled, then continued. “Now you, my friends, seem to be in great need of information. I couldn’t help but hear your little conversation. Something about Lord Vayne and a captive princess?”
Basch, who had seemed relatively uninterested in the man so far, strode up to him with sudden urgency. “You know where the princess is?”
“I know there was some hush-hush military operation going on way down south. And I know the ships sent there returned not long ago, bringing high-profile prisoners.” Jules smiled. “And I know where those prisoners were brought.”
“You must tell us,” Basch said. “We must find Princess Ashe.”
“Hold on,” Jules said. “This information isn’t free. Now, let’s see…” He stroked his chin, face twisted in exaggerated thought.
“We don’t have time for this,” Basch said, taking a threatening step closer to Jules. “Where is the princess?”
Jules didn’t even seem to notice Basch. “Now,” he said, “why don’t we go… one thousand, five hundred gil?” Jules held out a hand, palm up.
Basch stared at him with a scowl for several moments before grunting.
“Fine. It’s fair.” Basch nodded to Fran. She counted out the coins into a pouch, which she held out. Jules took it with a grin.
“Oh, thank you!” he said. “Now, you wanted to know where those prisoners are?”
“That’s right.” Basch stepped closer, as if he thought Jules might try to run. “Where?”
“Well, the Alexander sent a guarded transport over to Draklor Laboratories,” Jules replied. “Though why they’d need a princess and a pirate in a lab is beyond me. Although, young Master Ffamran’s lord father would be there; he’s the director, you know.” Jules let out a chuckle. “Perhaps Vayne thought to organize a little family reunion.”
“Draklor.” Basch nodded slowly. “Then that is where we must go.”
“There’ll be guards,” Jules said. “Tough to get past without making a ruckus.”
“Could you get us inside?” Basch asked with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, of course!” Jules replied. “A few underhanded deals, a transport to an open window… I can get you inside.”
“And it will cost…?” Basch asked.
“Nah, this one’s on the house,” Jules said with a knowing smile. “Just give my regards to Master Ffamran, eh?”

…

Balthier peered around the corner, pulling back instantly when he spotted two knights.
“More guards?” Ashe asked. Balthier nodded. Always more guards. How many does Vayne have looking for us?
“I think we’ll need to backtrack,” Balthier said, nodding towards the door at the end of the hall they’d just come from. Ashe sighed; Balthier shared her sentiment: it seemed they’d spent the whole time since their escape running in circles.
Balthier turned towards the door, walking at brisk pace, only to have it fly open and two more knights walk out. He screeched to halt, Ashe stopping behind him. The guards shouted, whipping out their swords. Weaponless, fighting wasn’t an option. Balthier spun to run the other way, but saw the two other guards, alerted by the others’ cries, running down the corridor. Ashe let out a gasp of terror. Balthier glanced between the two groups of foes, unsure of what to do.
“Not good…” he hissed under his breath. Balthier spun to face one pair of knights, pulling close to Ashe. There had to be something they could do. He wouldn’t just surrender.
Bang! Balthier spun at the ringing crash behind him just in time to see the two knights at his back drop to the ground, Captain Basch staring down at them with an indifferent frown. It took a few moments for Balthier to believe his eyes at the sight of Basch, Fran, Vaan and Penelo standing in the hallway, weapons drawn. Except Basch. Apparently he needed only his bare hands and the element of surprise to take out two Archadian knights.
Fran stepped forward, sweeping out one hand to send a wave of fire at the other two stunned knights. The surge of magic threw them hard against the wall with a crash, and they, too, fell unconscious.
“Captain.” Balthier nodded to Basch, glancing, still disbelieving, over the rest of the group. “Impeccable timing.”
Basch ignored him and walked straight up to Ashe.
“Princess, you’re unharmed?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Ashe replied. Basch nodded, letting out a long sigh of relief.
“I suggest we keep moving,” Fran’s voice came. She knelt by one unconscious knight. “When these guards do not return, they’ll send others.”
“Right,” Balthier nodded. “Come on then!” He turned to leave, but no one else moved. It occurred to Balthier that the last time he’d seen these people was at the moment of a poorly timed revelation.
“Ah.” He turned to back to face the dubious faces of Basch, Vaan, and Penelo. “Look,” Balthier said with a sigh, “I know none of you want to trust me right now, and there’re conversations to be had, but not here. Right now, we need to get out of this building before we’re caught.”
“It’s here,” Ashe’s voice interrupted Balthier next words. He turned to her with a frown.
“What?”
“The nethicite,” Ashe said, lifting her face as if she’d just come out of deep thought. “It’s here, isn’t it?” She turned to Balthier. “That’s what you said, the night we stayed at the Stillshrine. That the nethicite would be at Draklor Laboratories, in Archades, didn’t you? The nethicite is right here, in this building!”
“Ah.” Balthier nodding slowly. He sighed. “I guess unsullied air will have to wait. Someone did think to bring the sword of kings, right?”
Basch nodded. The great, black sword was tied to his back in a scabbard.
“If we’re staying here, you’ll need these.” Basch handed Ashe her sword and threw Balthier’s rifle to him. Balthier caught it, but the impact on his hands reminded him painfully of the burns there. He let out a gasp of pain and dropped the gun. The clatter it made attracted everyone’s attention. Fran stood and grabbed one of his hands before he could jerk it away.
“These are bad,” she said, frowning. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Balthier said, yanking his hand away from her.
Fran sighed, then reached to grab it again. “Let me see-”
“I’m fine.” Balthier stepped back from her, stooped to pick up his rifle, and placed the weapon in its holster on his back. Wasn’t it a good idea to let her heal him? Later. We’ve sat still too long already.
“My best guess is, the nethicite will be in the director’s office. That’s where he used to keep it. Always nearby.” Balthier sighed, then nodded up. “On the top floor. We’d better get moving.”

…

Balthier marched up to the familiar doorway. Everything about Draklor was horribly familiar, but this door more than even the faded yellow walls and the city sixty floors below.
On the single, ordinary looking door hung a sign writ with the letters “C. D. B.”
Cidolfus Demen Bunansa. Draklor’s very own Doctor Cid.
Father’s office. Ffamran had been here many, many times. But Balthier had never set foot inside. A funny line of reasoning, that, to try and separate Ffamran and Balthier, like they were two different people.
Balthier shook his head, trying to get a hold on his thoughts. His father was likely behind that door, and that thought was scaring him out of his wits. But was he going to let that stop him?
“Right in here,” Balthier said, nodding to his band of companions. He reached out and grabbed the doorhandle, not waiting a moment more. He tried it and frowned.
“It’s unlocked,” Balthier said.
“Is that good?” Ashe asked.
“Well, it’s either very good or very bad,” Balthier replied. Let’s hope the former.
Balthier yanked the door open.
The only light in the windowless office came from a lamp perched on the desk, flickering feverish. The room was empty, and a mess. A bookshelf along one wall was toppled over, its contents spilled over the floor. A crate in one corner had been torn open, the files inside it strewn everywhere like someone had been rummaging through then. Several papers were spread over the desk, caught in the yellow glow from the single old lamp.
“He’s had visitors,” Fran said, studying the scene with her usual taciturn gaze. “Ones lacking manners, it seems.”
“But… who?” Vaan asked. “Who’d want to wreck his office? Isn’t everyone here on his side?”
“Unless we’re not the only ones after the nethicite,” Balthier replied. He walked over to the desk, glancing over the papers strewn across it: hurriedly written notes on an expedition to Jagd Difor, one Balthier remembered well. He father had been gone for nearly two weeks on that ‘expedition.’ The only thing he’d been willing to tell Ffamran before he left was that something had been discovered and wanted to be there to see it. The next time Ffamran saw his father, he was walking off a transport, a glowing shard of nethicite cupped in both hands.
“And ever since, all this,” Balthier mumbled under his breath as he skimmed the papers. “Just what is it you want?”
“Up! Above us!” The shout came from outside the office, pulling Balthier’s attention from the papers. Through the office door he could hear the pounding of many armored footsteps. Knights shouted in overlapping cacophony.
“The intruder’s been spotted!”
“Hurry!”
“He’s headed for the roof!”
“Drop bulkheads eight and nine!”
Balthier frowned as the footsteps faded away, along with the discordant shouts of command.
“It seems our earlier visitor has been found,” Basch said, frowning at the closed door. “The guards will be everywhere. We should lie low.”
“No, we’ll use their confusion,” Balthier said. “If this intruder they’re chasing is after the nethicite, he’ll be following whoever has it. That means Doctor Cid is up on the roof. Right above us.” Balthier glanced up, as if he could already see his father’s face. He shook his head; can’t dwell on that now.
“We have to find Cid. Now.” Balthier marched up to the door, swinging it open without another thought.

…

Just down a few hallways down from Dr. Cid’s office was a staircase that led up onto Draklor’s roof. At sixty floors up on one of Archades’ highest levels, you could see nearly the entire city from up there; Ffamran had been there many times, looking over the grand capital…
Balthier rounded the corner, coming into view if that familiar staircase. The knights were all in disarray, as he’d hoped, and given them no trouble on the way there. Whoever this other intruder was, he was giving Archadia’s knights a bit more trouble than they bargained for.
The staircase led up out of the hallway, out onto the open roof. Light from the low sun spilled down over the stairs; the afternoon was drawing on. Balthier wondered briefly what time it was, or for that matter, what day it was. How long had it been since he awoke on Mt. Bur-Omisace?
The sudden crash of steel-on-steel right to his left claimed Balthier’s attention. Basch had whipped out his sword with lightning reflexes to block the strike of a man wielding two curved blades, bald with dark skin, who’d flown from down the hallway. Basch managed to catch both his blades on his one, but the man struck, again, and again, in a matter of seconds. Basch blocked each blow, barely. With both swords held once more against Basch’s blade, the man frowned at his opponent’s face.
“Ah. My apologies,” the man said, pulling back his swords. His deep rumble of a voice bore a faint Bhujerban accent. “You don’t bear the stench of Cid’s lackies.” He glanced over the group, studying each one quickly but intently. Balthier returned the man’s probing gaze, eyes narrowed. A stockily built man, but by no means short… His unusual clothing could belong to no one but a sky pirate; certainly not a full-time agent of Archadia or Rozarria. The man looked strangely familiar…
“And you would be… our earlier visitor,” Basch said, warily lowering his blade. He also gazed at the mystery pirate with obvious distrust.
“A valuable man!” a chillingly familiar voice shouted from atop the staircase, the caller’s form hidden by the lowering sun. “One I’d rather not waste! Though he knows too much…”
The mystery pirate’s face contorted in an angry frown, his gaze fixed up the stairs. He took off, racing up the steps without another word, both swords still drawn.
Balthier stared after him only a few moments before following at an equal clip. The voice he’d heard calling down the stairs…
Father.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty

Draklor Laboratories, roof
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Balthier raced up the stairs, the exit onto the roof only a few feet away. He could see the whole scene out on the rooftop; the mystery pirate, with his double blades drawn, stood before Doctor Cid.
There he was. The sight drove Balthier onward, even as his breath came shorter. There stood his father, a painfully familiar face, greying hair, spectacles and white gloves, eyes and smile flashing with all the insanity Balthier had come to know from him.
“Cid! You know what I’m here for!” the mystery pirate shouted at Dr. Cid, clenching his grip tighter on both blades. “The power of those stones is far too dangerous for you to meddle with!”
“And what? You think to stop me, then?” Cid let out a cackle, shaking his head as if he found the prospect most amusing. “I’d like to see you try!”
“I think you’ll find you’re outmatched, old man!” Balthier shouted as he broke into the afternoon light. Hot anger bubbled up all at once, flowing into his words, a bitterness awakened at the sight of his father.
Cid turned his gaze with narrowed eyes to rest on the newcomers. Familiar eyes, but hazed with something strange and wild. Cid let out a sigh. “I thought you’d be running for the nearest exit, pirate. What brings you back?”
“Treasure, of course,” Balthier replied. “What else would a pirate want?” He held out a hand. “We’ll take the Dusk Shard.”
“The Shards? Those trinkets?” Cid scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What need would you have of those? What’s that, Venat?” Dr. Cid glanced to the empty space at his left, and smile suddenly forming over his face.
“Ahh…” Cid turned his gaze back, smiling madly. “Can it be? Before me stands the princess of Dalmasca?” Cid let out a mad laugh as Ashe flinched. “Oh, you desire the stones, don’t you?” he continued. “Don’t you feel it in your blood? The blood of Raithwall’s line, of the Occuria’s scribes! It cries out for its rightful power, does it not?” Dr. Cid out his hands; in each was gripped a glowing stone, one ember red, the other icy white. The Dusk and Midlight Shards. Ashe gasped.
“See?” Dr. Cid said, cackling at her distress. “You speak of peace, but your lust for power consumes you!”
“N-No!” Ashe cried, flinching back as if the inch of space would hide her from the madman’s words. Balthier gritted his teeth. Listening to his father’s madness was bad enough, but hearing him spew it at Ashe was all the worse.
“Enough of this!” the mystery pirate shouted, clenching his swords tighter. His glanced at Ashe. “Lend him not your ears, Highness,” he said, then, oblivious to the princess’s surprise, turned back to Dr. Cid.
“Cid!” he shouted. “Don’t make me take those stones from you!”
“Oh, by all means, come and try!” Cid said, spreading his arms out wide. “Throw me your worst!”
Without warning, a cloud of golden energy gathered around Dr. Cid. The lights surged as strands of black and ultramarine weaved through the golden myst, all collecting around the deranged scientist. Gasps rippled over the group at the sudden appearance of the eerie, unnatural power.
“This… myst…!” Fran gasped, pressing both hands against her head. “Manufactured nethicite!” She drew in a ragged breath, eyes screwed close. “Like Bergan!”
Balthier felt his hands draw into fists, clenching tight until his burns stung. How could you fall that low…?
Undaunted by Cid’s display of power, the mystery pirate ran, and with a shout, leapt towards Dr. Cid, bringing both his swords down towards him in a vicious overhead strike. A shadowy figure manifested in the air between the pirate and his target, and the attacker had barely time to gasp before he met a wall of invisible force, which flung him back across the roof. That creature… pale grey and made of mist, a spectral figure with no arms or legs, framed with crystalline shapes, black shadows over his face and piercing yellow lights for eyes… Balthier could barely believe it. That thing from Nabudis? He could almost feel anew the pain as the creature sunk its claws into his mind, digging for a way in. Balthier heard gasps from all his friends at the thing’s appearance.
“Venat!” Dr. Cid said, addressing the ghostly creature. “I could’ve handled him, you know.”
“Better to be safe,” the creature replied, its thin, cold, rattly voice coming as if from the air itself. “We still have much to accomplish.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Cid said with a sigh. “No matter.” Venat’s eerie shape vanished, and a blast of wind rushed over the roof as an Atomos appeared over the edge. The light skiff hover just beyond the roof’s edge, the wind from its engines battering over the roof. The mystery pirate staggered back to his feet, still clutching his two swords.
“Cid!” he shouted, but Dr. Cid made no heed of his call.
“Princess Ashelia!” Dr. Cid called, holding up the Dusk and Midlight Shards once more. “You’d do well to go to Giruvegan. Who knows? The Occuria may reward you with more nethicite for your trouble. I, too, make for Giruvegan.” Cid turned, walking towards the roof’s edge and the waiting Atomos. He called over his shoulder as he walked. “Give chase, if you dare!” Cid paused a moment at the edge, glancing back. His gaze met Balthier’s; something was there, hauntingly familiar, not quite insane... There for a moment, then gone.
Dr. Cid leapt from the roof’s edge, grabbing hold of the skiff’s open door. Balthier ripped out his rifle at an instinct but didn’t shoot. He shouted something, he didn’t even know what, but it was drowned by the rising roar of engines. Wind blew dust and debris into Balthier’s face, and he could only watch, rifle clenched, as the Atomos disappeared below the lip of the roof, out of sight and unreachable. Balthier stood numb a moment, then clenched his teeth, as a tide of frustration washed over him. Failure. All that, and still we’re right back where we started.
The mystery pirate sighed in frustration, shaking his head. He let his swords lower, and their long blades rested on the stone rooftop.
“And who are you?” Basch marched up to face the mystery pirate, who still stood watching the sky with a set frown. He did look familiar; bald with a short, blond beard, striking a unique contrast with his dark skin. Definitely familiar, but Balthier couldn’t place it.
“Ah, yes,” the pirate shook his head. “My apologies, to all of you.” He raised his swords, sliding them into crossed sheaths on his back, then turned to the group. He nodded in Ashe’s direction. “Especially you, your Highness. I am the sky pirate Reddas.” He bowed briefly. “At your employ.”
“And what are you doing here?” Balthier asked, eyes narrowed.
“I came at Marquis Ondore’s request,” Reddas replied. “For two purposes: to retrieve the nethicite for Dalmasca’s resistance, and,” he nodded to the princess, “to insure the Lady Ashe’s safe return.”
“Uncle Halim?” Ashe asked. “But… how did he know where I was?”
“All a long story,” Reddas said, turning back towards the stairs. “Come! I have failed one part of my mission, but I have no intent to fail the other!”
“Should we trust him?” Ashe said, quiet enough that Reddas, already down the first few steps, couldn’t hear.
Balthier sighed; his father’s last look lingered in his mind, staining his vision even as he watched Reddas leave; but I can’t worry about that now.
“I don’t think we have much choice,” Balthier replied.  “But let’s be careful, shall we?”
“Agreed.” Basch nodded firmly.
“We must hurry!” Reddas called up the stairs. “Guards will be here soon!”
“And how do you plan to get out of here?” Balthier asked as he and the group walked to join Reddas on the stairs.
“I’ve friends who are well-informed,” Reddas replied. “I got a chance to peek at this building’s blueprints before I left. It’s riddled with hidden passages. There’s one on level five that leads out of the building-”
“And empties out on the street nearby; I know,” Balthier cut him off. “Actually, that’s where I was headed before everyone else showed up.”
Reddas frowned at him a few moments, then sighed. “From there, it should be easy enough to make it out of the city.”
“The Strahl’s at the aerodrome,” Basch said. “That seems the fasted way out.”
“True.” Balthier nodded. “And besides, I’m not leaving without her.”
“Then let’s make haste.” Reddas glanced back at Ashe with a frown. “Highness, are you alright?”
Ashe trailed behind, a hand clenched at her chest as she gasped for breath.
“I’m… fine, I’m fine.” Ashe let her hand drop. “Really. I just… can’t wait to get out of here.”
“You’re sure you’re alright?” Balthier asked, studying her pale face. It flashed in his mind again, the moment of helplessness, his power reaching hungrily forward, Ashe still in the snow…
“Yes!” Ashe said, stubborn insistence on her face overriding the pain. Very alive. Alive, at least…
Balthier sighed. “Then let’s hurry.”

…

“How did you all get into Draklor, anyways?” Balthier asked, glancing over his group of friends; well, friends plus one: Mr. Mysterious Reddas. On the street outside the aerodrome, the mystery pirate still accompanied them. He hadn’t proved himself untrustworthy yet, but that didn’t satisfy Balthier.
“Well, after we landed, we met a guy named Jules. Said he was a friend of yours,” Vaan answered Balthier’s question. “He offered to get us inside.”
“Jules? Oh, him?” Balthier sighed at the memory. “I don’t know if friend’s quite the right word,” he scoffed. “And he offered to get you inside? I’m surprised he even spoke to you without a few pieces of gil. Though I suppose anyone can change given enough time.”
Balthier sighed, gazing at the aerodrome just ahead, where Stahl waited. He couldn’t wait to feel her engines rumble to life as they flew away from this city. “Incidentally, who did fly the Strahl here?” Balthier asked, glancing back at Vaan.
“I did,” Vaan replied. He added no extra excited chatter, speaking with an uncharacteristic coldness. Balthier wasn’t surprised.
“Well, well done,” Balthier said. “Assuming she’s still in one piece.”
“Look!” Reddas pointed ahead towards the aerodrome. “Something’s not right.”
Everyone stopped to see what Reddas noticed. At the aerodrome’s entrance, two somber-looking men in white uniforms backed by four imperial knights talked with an attendant. She nodded, too far away for her words to be heard, then led the group inside the building.
“Well, you’re right about that,” Balthier said, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s be careful, shall we?

…

People were scattered about inside the aerodrome, their chatter filling the air, a variety of accents spanning the reaches of Ivalice. Balthier remembered hours spend in this very place, just eavesdropping on the conversations of travelers from far away, longing to see the places they spoke of. His quest this time was very different. Balthier and his group of companions blended perfectly in with the crowd of travelers as they walked into the large Archades aerodrome.
Balthier needed to find out exactly what was going on in this aerodrome and if would affect their escape. Luckily, he had a very reliable source of information when it came to these things. Balthier reached out for Strahl, feeling for their connection in his mind, but the moment he stretched out, a stab of pain rippled through his head. Balthier let out a gasp, stopping short and bringing a hand up to his forehead.
“Oh! Balthier!” Ashe said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m… fine.” Balthier breathed a few moments, realizing what had just happened. I still can’t? Not even to Strahl?
“What’s wrong with you?” Reddas frowned, studying Balthier with narrowed eyes.
“Nothing!” Balthier said, pulling the hand from his head. “I said I’m fine.” Balthier sighed and shook his head, then turned to Fran. “What hanger did you leave the Strahl in?”
“Number five.” Fran nodded ahead. “It’s right over here.”
In front of door that led out into the hanger, a woman in uniform, clearly one of the aerodrome attendants, talked with an Archadian knight. The knight nodded and walked off, and the attendant took hold of the door handle. Balthier frowned.
“Well, that doesn’t look good. Get ready for trouble,” Balthier whispered as his group approached the door. The attendant, who’d just cracked open the door, yanked it closed and spun around with a gasp. She glanced over the group, finally settling on Balthier as the obvious leader.
“Oh, you’re the Strahl’s crew, aren’t you?” She glanced at Fran. “You landed here earlier.”
“That’s right,” Balthier replied, eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Well, I… I’m afraid that ship’s been confirmed as stolen property,” the attendant said, her back pressed against the door. She glanced briefly towards where the knight had disappeared. “The owners stepped up a little while ago, and… Well, I’m afraid I can’t let you take off.”
Blast. YPA. How did they find her so quickly? Unless… Jules. Thanks a lot, old friend. I should’ve known you’d never do anything for free.
“Is that so?” Balthier said, trying to be nonchalant. “I’d like to talk with these so-called ‘owners,’ if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I’ll… I’ll see what I can do,” the attendant said. “Please wait here.” She took off, disappearing around a bend some distance away.
“What was that about?” Basch asked, frowning.
“Ah, well…” Balthier scrapped for words. “Let’s just say I… didn’t exactly get the Strahl full price.”
“You stole her?” Vaan said, eyes wide.
“There was more to it than that,” Balthier replied with a glare. He sighed. “Let’s just hope they don’t still care about bringing me in-”
Balthier was cut off as a blaring alarm split the air, silencing in a moment the buzz of travelers’ chatter. Over the loudspeaker came the voice of the flustered flight attendant.
“Guards to hanger five! Miscreants have been located!”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “Why can’t anything in my life be easy?”
“What do we do?” Vaan asked.
“Run!”

…

The metallic clip-clops of knights’ footfalls grew ever nearer as Balthier and his party rushed into the hanger. The attendant had locked the door, but Balthier had made quick work of that.
The hanger roof was wide open, letting late afternoon light wash down on the massive, spectacular airship docked inside. You’re still here. Balthier breathed a sigh of relief. Don’t worry, Strahl. The only way you’re going back to YPA is over my dead body.
No voice came to his mind in reply, not the slightest ripple to indicate someone was listening. Because she couldn’t hear him…
But there was still trouble, knights approaching behind. Swallowing his frustration, Balthier ran.
Reaching Strahl’s door, Balthier typed in the entry code rapidly. The door fell open.
“Everyone in!”
As his friends rushed inside, Balthier glanced back at the door. Three knights had burst into the hanger, following just behind the escapees. The one in front swung his sword down with a cry, and Balthier whipped out his rifle to block the blow. His bad arm protested as the impact rattled through him.
The other two knights arrived, and Balthier realized with alarm he was outmatched three to one, pinned against Strahl’s hull with no escape.
Balthier blocked two more blows from two different knights, but a third stroke found his arm. He jerked back with a hiss of pain as warm blood trickled down his sleeve. Luckily, the wound wasn’t deep; Balthier fought through it.
One knight fell with a cry as an arrow from Fran found him. Balthier spotted his Viera partner standing in Strahl’s doorway. Balthier leapt over the fallen knight, out into the open. He dashed up the four steps into the door where Fran waited and punched in the code on the inside. The door settled back into place, sealing the knights outside. Balthier breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, Fran,” he said. Fran nodded, then started up the stairs.  Balthier jogged after her, into the cockpit, and sat down in his captain’s chair.
Fran pushed buttons, Balthier pulled levers, in a familiar ritual that set Strahl’s myriad systems spinning. Light flickered on, inside and out. Balthier felt the vibration rippling through the ground into his legs as her engines breathed to life, the air filled with the familiar scent of burning oil and heating magicite. A thrumming rushed through the walls as myst flowed by, and the massive glossair rings outside began to turn with a whooshing that grew louder and faster, shaking the roof and walls. Balthier noted with relish the moment he no longer felt the ground supporting them.  
“They’re closing the roof!” Fran shouted, pointing out the windshield. The hanger’s domed roof was slowly drawing shut, like great jaws closing. Much longer and they wouldn’t fit through.
“Everyone hold on!” Balthier shouted, gripping the controls. “This’ll be tight!”
Fran pushed buttons and turned dials to speed up their rise, but she couldn’t do much good. This was the part where Balthier would normally tell Strahl to push harder, because they needed myst and power, a lot, and fast, and that came from only one source.
“Come on, girl, you got this,” Balthier breathed as he pulled back on the controls, leather steering grips smooth under his burned hands. He could feel the force rippling through Strahl’s frame as her rings spun harder in a desperate effort to raise them faster. They climbed faster and faster, towards the shrinking window of open sky, bursting out just as the gap closed. The hanger’s roof slid shut beneath, just barely scraping the bottom Strahl’s hull.
Ha-ha! Oh, you wonderful, beautiful machine! Strahl, old girl, it’s good to be back!
She couldn’t hear him. Not that he would’ve said it aloud if she could.
A jolt rippled through the ship as Strahl’s wings opened, and Balthier felt a wave of exhaustion sweep suddenly over him, drowning the triumph of their escape. The wound on his arm from the recent fight stung. An ache in every bone reminded him of his duel with Bergan, and that his only rest since then had been a fitful sleep in his cell on the Alexander. The weight of many hours and many harrowing escapes pressed on his shoulders and called his eyes to close.
Balthier shook his head, trying to clear it. He pulled a lever, and with a burst of energy, Strahl’s engines engaged, propelling them into open sky over the Tchita Uplands. Balthier willed himself to stay awake; after all, he still had to pilot Strahl to…
“Where are we headed?” Balthier said aloud, to whoever would care to answer.
“Balfonheim Port,” Reddas said. He sat in the seat behind Fran.
“Balfonheim Port? Where’s that?” Vaan asked. His voice came from behind Balthier.
“Just southeast of here, if I remember correctly,” Balthier said. “On the Naldoan Sea.”
“It’s part of Archadia?” Vaan said.
“In name only. Balfonheim is a free place,” Reddas replied, firmly. “We make generous offerings to the empire, and they allow us autonomy. Balfonheim is a place inhabited by people who’ve left the turmoil of our nations. Pirates of sea and sky.” Ah
“Really?” Vaan said, eyes wide.
Balthier let out a scoff. “I don’t see the point of being a pirate if you’re going to sit around in one place.”
“A home base has its advantages,” Reddas replied. “People know that Balfonheim has the best mercenaries, so they bring the work to us. Pirates can work together for more difficult jobs.” Reddas’s tone grew firmer. “I made Balfonheim as a place where people can be free and not have to run.”
“You made?” Balthier glanced sideways at Reddas, a sudden realization dawning on him. “Wait, you’re not… that Reddas? As in Lord Reddas, Balfonheim’s founder and leader?”
“Ah, yes. I did found the city, about… two years ago now, it must be,” Reddas replied, an air of nostalgia to his words. “And I suppose I am its leader, as much as any man can claim so. I keep the peace as much as is needed and manage our relations with Archadia.”
Balthier eyed the man a moment more in a new light. Of course, Balthier had never met him, but one could hardly be a sky pirate and not know about Balfonheim, its leader, and their accomplishments. Yet Reddas did look familiar… But Balthier would’ve remembered meeting him.
Balthier sighed and shook his head. Fatigue was making his thoughts wander.
“All that aside,” he said, “why are we going to Balfonheim?”
“We’re both after the nethicite, aren’t we?” Reddas said. “And we’re both helping the resistance. Our goals seem the same; it makes sense we’d work together.”
“You’re helping the resistance?” Balthier said, glancing at Reddas.
“Ondore approached me some time ago,” Reddas replied. “He asked me to retrieve Archadia’s nethicite for the resistance’s use. He said if I wouldn’t, he would be forced to ally with Rozarria, an act that would plunge our whole world into war.” Reddas shook his head with a sigh. “I could not allow that to happen. I had been planning this attack for some time, but yesterday, one of my other associates informed me of the princess’s capture. I left with hopes I could retrieve both her and the nethicite.” Reddas glanced at Ashe, who leaned back in her chair, eyes closed. “At least Lady Ashe is safe. But she’ll be safer back at Balfonheim.” Reddas turned back to Balthier. “It’s as good a place as any for you to plan your next move.”
Balthier sighed and nodded. “I suppose so.”
As long as he could sit still for a moment, anywhere sounded fine.

…

“So this Sword of Kings can destroy nethicite?” Reddas frowned, stroking his short beard as he sat in his chair. In Reddas’s office at Balfonheim Port, wide picture windows offered a splendid view of the sea beyond, waves painted with orange and scarlet by the sinking sun, stretching off into the horizon. The long day was finally ending.
“Yes, it can,” Ashe replied, nodding resolutely.
“Not that we ever actually tested it,” Balthier added. Ashe cast a sideways glance at him, annoyed.
“It will work,” she said, to Reddas.
He nodded slowly. “Then that is perfect. Those stones are dangerous. Destroying them is the best course of action.”
“I don’t think the Marquis would like that very much,” a new voice announced, heavy with a Rozarrian accent. Balthier turned to watch Al-Cid, sunglasses and all, stroll casually through the door into Reddas’s office. Reddas sighed.
“Al-Cid?” Ashe said, staring wide-eyed.
“Ah, Lady Ashe!” Al-Cid flashed a white smile at her, sweeping off his sunglasses in one brisk motion. “I am so glad to see you well! Vayne treated you kindly?”
“What are you doing here?” Balthier said, trying not to sigh or groan. He’d hoped his first meeting with this man would be his last.
“It was Al-Cid who brought me word of Lady Ashe’s capture,” Reddas said, nodding towards the purple-clothed Rozarrian agent.
“Yes, I was departing the mountain when I noticed quite the commotion behind,” Al-Cid said, hooking his sunglasses in his shirt collar. “Alas, I arrived back after the action was over. However, the surviving kiltiases informed me of what transpired.” Al-Cid nodded towards Reddas. “I brought word to Lord Reddas as fast as I could.” Al-Cid turned back to Ashe, speaking softly. “You are unharmed, aren’t you, Lady Ashe?”
“Oh, yes, I’m… fine,” Ashe replied, cheeks flushing.
Balthier sighed. “We were discussing destroying nethicite, weren’t we?”
“Something I don’t think would profit your relations with the resistance, Lord Reddas,” Al-Cid said, turning back to Reddas. “Ondore did send you to retrieve it, didn’t he? He needs that nethicite to fight Archadia.”
“My unc- The Marquis. Is he set on war?” Ashe asked, turning to Reddas.
“Ondore made his position very clear when he helped you escape the Leviathan at Bhujerba,” Reddas replied. “He cannot sit by and expect the empire to do nothing. He must act soon. The Marquis is a friend of mine, and shares my distaste for war; his plan was to threaten Vayne enough to draw him to a treaty.” Reddas let out a sigh. “But he will not hesitate if it does come to war. He will ally with Rozarria if that is what it takes to fight Vayne’s nethicite.”
“Will ally?” Al-Cid scoffed. “Ondore’s resistance fleets are already training with Rozarria’s. It’s only a matter of time before they make their move.”
“But that is what Vayne wants!” Basch said, frustration showing over his stone-cut features. “To lure them both out and crush them with his nethicite.”
“But Cid has the nethicite now,” Balthier said. “Not Vayne. Our dear emperor won’t be crushing anyone with the Shards anytime soon. If we can catch up to Dr. Cid and smash those stones, Vayne’s armory won’t look nearly so pretty. That means we follow him.” Balthier let the memory of his father’s parting words swept over him, painful though the familiar voice was. What had he said…? “To Giruvegan.”
“Giruvegan,” Ashe echoed. “Where is that? It sounds familiar…”
“Giruvegan, the city of the Occuria,” Fran said. She stared out the window over the sunset sea, as if thinking hard. “Many ancient legends tell of it. The throne of the weavers of fate…” She set gaze on Ashe. “Those who bestowed Raithwall with his Shards. Those who claim his descendants as their scribes.”
Ashe looked at the ground.
“South of Golmore, beyond a wild place called the Feywood,” Fran continued, “lurks a myst storm that roils and seethes. If the legends are true, there lies Giruvegan.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Balthier said, nodding. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
“I’ll be making my exit, as well,” Al-Cid said. “I shall inform the Marquis of your safe return, Lady Ashe.”
“Highness, you’d do well to join Ondore, as well,” Reddas said, turning to Ashe. “You’d be much safer with him than seeking out Giruvegan.”
“What? No!” Ashe said.
“Highness, he may be right,” Basch said. “You have a kingdom to rule when this is over.”
“But I can’t just let you all go into danger while I sit back and do nothing!” Ashe said, desperately, looking over all their group. Her deep blue gaze rested on Balthier, carrying a silent plea for assistance.
“Captain Basch is right; listen to reason, Lady Ashe,” Al-Cid said, and she pulled her gaze to him. He flashed one of his toothy smiles at the princess. “You can travel with me. I’ll see you safely to Ondore’s care. Better to deliver you yourself than just word of your survival, don’t you think. And don’t worry;” His smile broadened. “You’ll be in good hands.”
Suddenly, Balthier really wanted Ashe to come along to Giruvegan.
“No. I’m sorry-” Ashe glanced at Al-Cid, Reddas, then to her friends. “-but I can’t let you risk your lives while I sit in safety! I’m coming along, whatever’s waiting for us!”
“No one has to worry,” Balthier said, stepping forward. “The princess will be safe with us. And besides, isn’t Ondore in a bit of a sticky situation at the moment? Ashe won’t be particularly safe in Bhujerba, either.”
“The choice is yours, Highness,” Reddas said with a sigh. He stood from his chair, and Ashe breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re all welcome to stay at Balfonheim tonight,” Reddas said. He looked past the group at something, a smile growing. “It seems you need the rest.”
Apparently seeing the conversation didn’t concern them, Vaan had taken an unclaimed chair near the door leading out of Reddas’s office, where he now sat, sound asleep. Balthier smirked, even as the sight reminded him of his own exhaustion.
“That sounds wonderful, Reddas,” Balthier said. “Let’s wake him, then get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-One

Balfonheim Port
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

Along the side of the road, overlooking the already busy pier, Ashe, Basch, Vaan, Penelo, and Fran waited. They’d all agreed to meet here the previous evening when they woke, so everyone would have time to rest up before starting off. The past couple of days hadn’t been kind to any of them.
Ashe rested her arms on the railing, still half-asleep, watching dazzling rays of sunlight play along the water’s surface. She only half listened as Basch and Fran discussed the hazards of traveling.
“We can fly as far as Jagd Difor, but we must walk from there,” Fran said. “Through Golmore and the Feywood…” She let out a sigh. “We will have to be careful.”
“Will you know your way around, Fran?” Basch asked.
“Through Golmore, yes,” she replied, “but the Feywood is a forbidden place. The myst runs quite thick there; the Viera keep back from it.”
“And there are no maps. We’ll be searching blind.” Basch shook his head and sighed. “I suppose it can’t be helped. We’ll leave as soon as Balthier gets here.”
“Allow him the rest,” Fran said, a faint smile on her face. “He would not admit it, but he’s been through a lot; he needs sleep.”
The memories flickered in Ashe’s mind; Balthier’s battle with Bergan, bright, crackling powers, Balthier lying panting in the snow after. All that followed by his return to Archades; though he tried hard to hide it, Ashe could clearly the pain in his eyes every moment they spent in that place. He had been through so much, and he’d saved her life…
“Why are you all so worried about him?” Vaan’s voice came. “Who knows if we can even trust him anymore?”
“Vaan!” Ashe spun to face him, horrified. “How could you say that?
“Didn’t you hear what Bergan said?” Vaan said, clearly angry. “He’s an Archadian. And he never told us the whole time!”
“The man’s origins do not concern me,” Basch said. “However, it does seem he’s been holding back valuable information.”
“I… I know.” Ashe stammered. “I know he’s an Archadian. And I know he kept secrets. But think of why! He knew this would happen.”
“He’s still an Archadian,” Vaan said, gaze simmering. “You know, the people who conquered Dalmasca? Like Vayne? And that crazy Dr. Cid? Did you know that guy’s his father?”
“Vaan!” Penelo spoke. At eye level with him, she captured Vaan’s attention. “I don’t think it really matters, does it? Larsa’s Vayne’s brother, but he wasn’t that bad. You said that, on Mt Bur-Omisace, remember?”
“I… guess,” Vaan sighed. “But-”
“He did leave the empire,” Fran said, looking down at Vaan with her cool, brown gaze. “With good reason, you agree?”
“He still lied to us,” Vaan muttered.
“Ah! The princess’s party.” A voice interrupted the conversation. Heads turned as Reddas approached, a casual smile on his face. He stopped at the road’s edge, looking over the group.
“You’re missing your captain, I see,” Reddas said. “Then I suppose you’re not leaving yet?”
“We will be, once Balthier arrives,” Basch replied.
“Well then, I’d like to have a word with you first,” Reddas said. “I have something I think will make your journey a little easier.”

…

Brilliant morning sunlight splashed off the blue sea waves, stretching forever east under the clear blue sky. Seagulls flapped overhead, their cries mixing with the lively chatter of pirates over the pier. Balthier breathed in deeply the salty sea air as he walked down the cobblestone streets of Balfonheim port. He knew he’d slept late, but he didn’t feel guilty about it. Who would be, after the past however many days? But that torturous stretch was over, and it was a brilliant, new morning.
Reddas had had some of his men show the group of weary travelers to the inn the night before. Fran had insisted on healing Balthier’s various wounds the moment they were inside, and though he’d protested, he couldn’t deny he felt much better now. Gone were the horrid burns and their lingering reminder of his deadly powers. The healing had been followed by a bombardment of questions about where he got the burns and what happened, But Balthier had managed to avoid them with the pretense of sleep. It was no lie that he was exhausted. Balthier had never felt so keenly the wonder of a long night’s sleep, a good bath, and a morning with no impending disaster rushing him along. It was wonderful to be in civilization again. Too bad they’d be leaving for mysterious depths of Jagd Difor in a few minutes.
Balthier approached the spot overlooking the pier where they’d all agreed to meet the night before. He felt a sudden twinge of guilt as he saw Ashe, Fran, Basch, Vaan, and Penelo all waiting and ready to leave. He glanced at the sun, picking up his pace. Oh, dear; it has gotten rather late, hasn’t it?
Reddas was there as well, Balthier realized. They were all engaged deeply in conversation, though they ceased abruptly as Balthier approached.
“Ah, sorry, everyone. And Reddas.” Balthier nodded to the pirate. “What are you doing here?”
“Discussing the details of travel with your crew,” Reddas replied. “As things stand now, you’ve a ways through jagd to travel before you reach even the Feywood, much less Giruvegan. A dangerous trip, not to mention a lot of wasted time.”
“I don’t see much way around that,” Balthier said. “All the more reason we should leave soon.”
“You see, I may be able to help,” Reddas said.
Balthier frowned. “Go on.”
“Well, during my incursion into Draklor, I managed to pick up a bit of their jagd shielding technology,” Reddas explained. “It doesn’t work in my ships; they’re Bhujerban models, you see. But yours is Archadian, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Balthier said, hesitantly. “That shielding technology is hardly flawless, you know. They barely managed to get the Alexander away from Mt Bur-Omisace. And this is my Strahl we’re talking about. I’d like to have a look at this shielding before you go stuffing it in her engines.”
“Ah, well…” Reddas hesitated a moment. “I’ve already had my mechanics install it. I figured there wouldn’t be a problem since-”
“You did what?” Balthier said, eyes widening, as angry as he was horrified.
“I’m sure it will work,” Reddas replied, unruffled. “There’s no reason why it won’t. It will save you days of treacherous travel.”
“But you couldn’t wait to ask me?” Balthier said. “This is my airship we’re talking about. You let random mechanics in there?”
“These are my men, following my orders,” Reddas said. “I don’t think they’re very concerned about bringing in your bounty.”
Balthier sighed through clenched teeth, taking a moment to avoid exploding at this Reddas.
“Fine,” he said, still breathing slowly. “But I’d like very much to check these shields before we set sail.”
Reddas nodded, still entirely unruffled. “You may feel free.”

…

Balthier marched down into Strahl’s engine room, each step rattling off the four metal-grate steps that separated the doorway from the floor. A low hum ran through the walls and floor, and the strong scent of oil permeated the atmosphere. Three thin tubes ran along the roof, filled with dark liquid that bubbled along. At one end, they disappeared into the roof just before the stairs, and at the other, they flowed into the top of a small box, just protruding out of the far wall. Other tubes ran into its sides, empty now, that would carry coolant and myst energy when the engines were activated. Balthier had tweaked and repaired almost everything in this room: coolant tanks, oil reservoirs, the pipes leading between them all. The smells, the sounds, the sights were as homely as the faded brick walls of Draklor Laboratories. Only one thing was needed to complete the familiar surroundings.
Balthier let out a sigh. He’d worked so hard to keep Strahl safe, but now he couldn’t even talk to her. And it was another lingering reminder of the dreadful days before. But it had been a whole day since then. Perhaps…?
Cautiously, Balthier stretched out his mind, feeling along the cord of their connection, wary of the pain he’d found there recently. He reached out, gently, until he could just brush against her mind…
“Balthier!” The instant response of Strahl’s voice jarred Balthier. “That you? How-”
“Strahl.” Balthier was silent a moment, taking it in. It did work, without a hint of pain; perhaps sleeping in did him good after all. Hopefully Ashe was recovering just as well.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you forever!” Strahl continued. “At first I thought you were just ignoring me. But you really couldn’t? Balthier, what happened?”
“That’s… a long story.” Balthier said, the words flowing with ease from his mind to hers. “Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it.”
Balthier knelt by the engine box. The purpose for his visit here came back to him, shattering his good mood. Balthier scowled as he inspected the modification to the familiar machinery.
Strahl sighed in his mind. “Oh, you’re mad, aren’t you?”
“I am not mad, Strahl,” Balthier replied, keeping his tone level. “I am upset. There is a difference.” He rested his hands on the technology, studying it careful. “I don’t see how you’re not upset,” Balthier continued as he worked. “Who knows who those mechanics could tell what? I promised to keep you away from YPA, and I intend to do just that.”
“Balthier, you should be leaving now!” Strahl said with a frustrated sigh. “You are the leading man, remember? Don’t you have something to do? Unless you stopped Vayne and your father already. But I think you’d want to talk about that.” 
Balthier heaved a sigh. Again with that? “We’ll leave,” Balthier said, ignoring Strahl’s annoying analogy. “After I check this.”

…

Balthier left Strahl’s engine room mostly satisfied. Not quite, but he’d realized his expectations would never be met by the crude jagd shielding.
The hanger bay roof was open, letting glorious sunlight wash over the hanger inside. As Balthier walked down the few stairs from Strahl’s door, he found his party waiting below, all ready to leave, swords and staffs and arrows gathered. Princess Ashe and Captain Basch, Vaan and Penelo, Fran- and Reddas.
“It’s all to your liking?” Reddas asked, nodding to the ship. Balthier sighed as he stepped down onto hanger’s stone floor.
“As good as can be expected,” Balthier replied. “And it… probably will work.”
“Good. Then we leave,” Basch said. “No time to waste.”
Balthier nodded. “Well then,” he motioned to the ship behind him. “All aboard.”
They all filed by, up the stairs and into Strahl’s hold. Balthier made sure to study Ashe as she came by. She seemed better than yesterday, less pale, at least.
Finally, the only ones left in the hanger were Balthier and Reddas.
“You’re not coming?” Balthier asked, arching an eyebrow at Reddas. “Lost interest in the nethicite already?”
“I wish I could come, but I’ve other business to attend to,” Reddas said. His face grew grave. “Besides, Cid’s words rang hollow to me.”
Balthier frowned. “What, you have another lead?”
“No. No, you go on,” Reddas said, shaking his head. He turned back to Balthier with his usual placid smile. “Good luck in Giruvegan, lad; you’ll need it.” Reddas clapped a hand on Balthier’s shoulder, then turned and walked off. Balthier stared after him a few moments, surprised and confused. He turned slowly to the ship, shaking it off, but paused. Something did seem familiar in Reddas’s words, in his face, and his voice… Yet Balthier couldn’t place it, however hard he tried.

Balthier rejoined the others as they entered the cockpit.
“Fran,” Balthier said, stopping her before she could sit in the co-pilot’s seat. “Are you sure we haven’t met Reddas before?”
Fran cocked her head. “I have not,” she replied. “I can’t say if you have.”
Balthier sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.” He was about to take his seat in the captain’s chair when heard a gasp. Balthier spun around to see Ashe on her knees, hands clenched at her chest, gasping for breath, everyone startled around her.
“Ashe!” Balthier rushed over to her, stopping himself before he knelt and took her by the shoulders. She looked up at him, face pale.
“No, d-don’t worry, I’m fine,” Ashe said as everyone crowded around her. She stood, sucking in a deep breath. “See? Fine.”
Balthier sighed, unable to pull his gaze from Ashe’s pained face. “Princess-”
“I’m fine!” she said, turning her stubborn gaze to him. “It was days ago. I’ll be okay; I’m just fine!”
“What happened to you guys, anyways?” Vaan asked, sighing in frustration. “Balthier’s hands are all burned up, Ashe can barely stand; and you didn’t tell us a thing last night! What happened?”
“Oh.” Ashe looked at the ground, then back up to the expectant gazes of all their companions. “Well, we… We escaped from the Alexander, then Judge Bergan attacked us. He…” Ashe glanced hesitantly at Balthier. “We didn’t have any weapons. We tried to fight, but he had his nethicite, so… he won and brought us back to the ship. And that was it.”
“Bergan’s nethicite did that to you?” Basch said, studying the princess. Ashe’s head drooped. She nodded, but slowly, doubtfully, like it pained her. Balthier met her blue gaze for a moment…
Balthier sighed, almost a groan. “No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s… not what happened.” Balthier managed not to flinch at the looks of confusion that crossed his companions’ faces. Ashe jerked his gaze up to him.
“Balthier?”
She looked concerned, almost alarmed.
“Balthier.” Basch’s voice was dark as his frown. “What are you trying to say?”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “That I’ve hid things for far too long and it’s never gotten me anywhere. This is going to come up sooner or later, so we’d better to get it out of the way now.” Balthier looked away from the bewilderment growing over their faces, reluctant to begin the explanation. Where do I even begin?
“Bergan did find us after we left the Alexander,” Balthier continued, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “And we did fight him, without any weapons, against his nethicite. Or rather, I did.” Balthier drew in a breath, willing himself to continue. “But he didn’t even try to bring us back. That madman wanted to fight. Because he knew something I’ve always known. That I’m not… exactly normal.”
Vaan and Penelo looked blankly confused. Basch’s eyes grew narrower. Fran simply listened. Balthier hesitated.
No tiptoeing into this. You wanted to explain…
“I fought Bergan and won, because apparently…” Balthier sighed, “the powers I hold are greater than even nethicite.” He scoffed, adding under his breath, “If I can control them.”
Basch’s frown grew even more gravely confused, something Balthier didn’t think was possible. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m a very dangerous man,” Balthier replied. “And Bergan didn’t hurt Ashe.” He closed his eyes, with a sigh. “I did.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Two

Over the Feywood
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

The flight to the Feywood was dominated by a question-and-answer period. Putting into words the cold, burning power that had plagued Balthier his whole life, to admit he didn’t even know what he was, to friends he knew already didn’t trust him like they once did, was a long and grueling process. Basch asked most of the questions; the captain was mostly concerned with what Vayne and Dr. Cid wanted, and honestly, Balthier was happier to talk about his father than his powers. Vaan was as sullen as he’d been since Bur-Omisace, and Balthier had never expected Penelo to step up and ask him a boatload of questions.
Balthier felt horribly exposed, like he’d just leapt from cover into enemy fire. Tearing open his bravado to bare his soul to the world…
Why am I doing this again?
Because I’ve already lied to them once. I can’t expect their trust if I keep hiding until the last possible moment.  
After the long flight and the silence that followed when every question had been asked, the Strahl glided over the Feywood. Balthier peered out her windshield, frowning at the sprawling forest below.
Giruvegan. That was their goal, and a very good distraction from what had just happened. Branches reached like skeleton fingers through a thick fog that obscured any view of the woodland beneath. The Feywood seemed to stretch on forever, but honestly, the fog made it hard to tell.
“How much farther are we going?” Vaan broke the fragile silence. He gripped the back of Fran’s chair, peering over to get a view out the windshield.
“Who knows?” Balthier replied, rolling his eyes. “Until we see something that looks relatively Occurian-city like.”
“Balthier?” Strahl’s voice flowed into his thoughts, a nervous tone.
“What’s wrong, Strahl?” Balthier asked, not breaking his gaze from the fog-soaked forest.
“The shield’s been working fine so far and all, but the myst is getting a lot thicker, quickly. I…” She broke off; in his mind, Balthier heard her suck in a gasp. Though their bond he could feel the sting of heat. “I think we need to stop soon,” she said.
“Right.” Balthier nodded slowly. He focused back out the windshield. “Fran, that clearing over there; you see it? Think we can anchor there?”
“Anchor?” Fran glanced at him, confused. “We may. Why?”
“The jagd’s getting pretty thick,” Balthier said as he reached up to flip switches on the panel above him.
“How do you know that?” Penelo asked.
“Oh, did we not cover that?” Balthier sighed. “Airships are alive, I can talk to them, Strahl says the myst is getting too thick for the shielding, and we need to land now.”

…

Balthier could see his breath frosting in the air as he surveyed the Feywood from the forest floor. Snow scattered sparsely here and there, leaving the greyish earth mostly exposed. Massive trees stood a good distance apart from each other, bare save for moss and lichen dripping from their branches. Though the trees didn’t provide a thick canopy, swathes of fog like cobwebs blocked the sky from view. Flowing around tree trunks were strokes of glittery golden light that faded in and out of reality, hovering just on the edge of perception. The myst in this forest was so thick it could be seen; no wonder it overloaded Strahl’s jagd shielding.
“Something feels… weird about this place,” Penelo said, holding her staff close to her as she stared through the misty woodlands.
“The myst here is dense and untamed,” Fran replied. “It is much thicker than you humans are used to. Thicker far than Golmore or Bur-Omisace.” Fran closed her eyes and breathed deep. “Very thick.”
“Will you be alright?” Penelo asked, glancing at Fran.
“The myst here is… cooled,” Fran began slowly.
“It’s not like… on the Leviathan, right?” Vaan asked, glancing with worry at Fran.
The faintest smirk crossed Fran’s face. “Do not worry; I will behave myself.”
“Well, anyone have any guesses as to which way to go?” Balthier asked. He glanced over the group; no one looked like they had any idea. Then he noticed someone’s absence.
Balthier turned to see Ashe standing a few yards away from the others, staring into the ominous woodland with wide eyes, hands clasped at her chest.
“Ashe?” Balthier called to her, frowning. “Something wrong?”
“It’s… it’s this way,” Ashe said, so quiet it was nearly a whisper. Her eyes drifted closed, and she pulled in a deep breath. “Can’t you feel it?”
Balthier heaved a sigh. He walked to Ashe, standing beside her with his hands on his hips.
“You’re worrying me again, princess,” he said. Ashe opened her eyes with a start, turning her head to him as if pulling from a daydream. She let her hands fall.
“Oh.” She looked away from him. “I’m sorry.”
“You said it’s this way, Highness?” Basch said, nodding to the forest ahead.
“Yes,” Ashe said, lifting her gaze back to the cloudy path ahead. “I’m sure.”
“And what makes you so sure?” Balthier asked, frowning at Ashe. The dazed look in her eyes troubled him. It was that same look she’d had as they sought out Raithwall’s tomb.
“I…” Ashe trailed off, struggling for words.
“The Occuria are in Giruvegan, are they not?” Fran said, walking up beside the princess. “Perhaps they call to Raithwall’s blood.”
Ashe looked at the ground.
“But you know the way, Highness?” Basch said. Ashe nodded. The troubled look that had come over her disappeared as she fixed her gaze on the path ahead. She started walking without a word.

…

It was past noon, or so Balthier guessed. He couldn’t tell the sun’s position through the dense fog, but they had traveled for an hour or two at least. Often they’d heard growling or crackling from the undergrowth, making Penelo squeak and Vaan jump. However, they’d yet to be attacked, or even see the residents of the Feywood. A very strange thing that only unnerved Balthier all the more. If the forest was like this, what was waiting in Giruvegan?
“So, the Viera never come here?” Penelo asked Fran.
Fran shook her head. “No. This forest is a forbidden place to my people.”
“I can see why,” Vaan said, glancing into the misty forest of ancient trees. “This place is creepy.”
Balthier wasn’t listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ashe. She hadn’t spoken since they left, hadn’t even jumped at the shapes creeping through the shadows. Fran’s theory of Occuria’s call wasn’t very reassuring.
Ashe stopped abruptly, then pointed ahead with a gasp.
“Look!” she cried. Balthier followed her pointing finger. The fog vailed the path ahead, but Balthier could see the trees opening up.
“I see,” he said. “I think. Assuming that clearing is what you’re talking about.”
“No. It’s…” Ashe broke into a run, disappearing into the soup of fog ahead before Balthier could stop her.
“Ashe!” Balthier jerked a hand after her, then followed as quickly as he could.
Balthier stepped out of the fog, surprised by the sudden light of day. The sky was pale blue overhead, the sun hovering halfway to the western horizon. Ashe stood in the clearing just a few feet ahead of him, staring at a massive gate carved of stone, moss and lichen dripping off it, veiled in a lace of golden myst.
“Well, well…” Balthier breathed, taken aback by the sight. He was vaguely aware of Fran, Basch, Vaan, and Penelo emerging from the fog behind him.
Ashe glanced back over her shoulder, eyes resting on Balthier and widening as if she was surprised to see him there.
“Balthier!” She spun around. “Oh, I… I’m sorry.” She glanced back at the gate. “Are we…? Is that… Giruvegan?”
Balthier frowned at the princess, then turned back to the gate.
“I’d assume so,” he said.
They all crossed the clearing to stand before the great stone gate. It looked like it was supposed to lift off the ground, but there was no mechanism Balthier could see to lift that massive slab of stone.
“How do we get it open?” Penelo asked, staring up at the ominous gate. A rumbling in the ground answered, and the gate rose with a great grinding of stone-on-stone, until it stood just high enough for a person to walk through. Balthier stared at the gate, brow furrowed. What…?
“It… opened,” Vaan said. Balthier nodded slowly in dumb acknowledgement. Within were only black shadows. However hard he looked, Balthier couldn’t make out any shape in the darkness. Ashe pressed a folded hand against her chest, staring into the dark, such a look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes Balthier suddenly felt he couldn’t possibly ask her to go one step farther. But Ashe walked forward of her own accord, vanishing all at once into the shadows. Balthier followed.

Blinding white flashed in Balthier’s gaze, a split-second of sudden, startling heat and surging light. The flash lasted for only a moment, and Balthier found himself stepping into a place as dark as he’d expected. A city made of cold, ancient stone, a dome overhead cutting it off from the sky, casting down the faintest bluish glow. A stone pathway led away to the left, arching out and down, edged always by a wall on one side and a drop into empty darkness on the other. Ashe stood, staring down the pathway with wide, almost wild eyes, breathing quickly and heavily.
“The myst grows thicker still,” Fran said, speaking slowly. She rested a hand on her chest. “This place bears… a shadow.”
Fran was right that something wasn’t right. The place made Balthier’s skin crawl. There was something in the air altogether unsettling, yet some part of him said, eerily familiar.
“Are we… going inside?” Penelo said, her staff practically shaking in her grip.
Balthier frowned a moment. “No. No, it looks like Dr. Cid hasn’t arrived yet. We’ll wait out at the entrance.” Anything to get out of this place.
“Um…” Vaan’s voice came, uncertain. “What entrance?”
Balthier spun around, along with the others. Behind them, where the gate should have stood, was a wall, plain and bare save for a few strange runes. Balthier felt a sinking dread.
“Oh, dear…”
“We’re stuck in here?” Penelo said, pulling her staff against her like it was a shield.
Fran studied the wall. “The Occuria have allowed us entrance, but deny us exit.”
Balthier sighed. “And why would the Occuria do a thing like that?”
Fran looked at him, then simply turned her gaze to Ashe. The princess hadn’t moved at all, still staring off into the dark. Balthier’s frown deepened.
“Ashe. Are you alright?” he asked. She didn’t look back as she answered, voice shaky.
“We should… go. Don’t you think? They’re… waiting.”
Balthier walked over and stood beside the princess. “Ashe?” She didn’t respond at all. “Ashe! What’s going on? Who’s waiting for us?”
Ashe turned slowly to look at him, with wide, glassy eyes. She seemed just about to speak when she jerked her gaze back to the path, like she’d heard something. Ashe whispered, her lips barely moving.
“Rasler.”
Ashe tried to bolt, but Balthier grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt.
“Ashe, what’s wrong with you?” Balthier said, deep worry welling up inside him. “Don’t tell me you’re seeing ghosts again.” Ashe just stared at him with that wild look, then turned back to the pathway.
“Balthier, please,” Ashe said, voice quivering and feverish. “We have to go!” She tried to run again, but Balthier’s grip on her arm held her in place. Balthier stared at her, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach growing.
“Hold on, princess,” he said. “I don’t like the look of this.”
“Are we just going to stay here?” Vaan said. Balthier pulled his gaze from Ashe to face the rest of the party, but didn’t release her arm.
“He does make a point,” Basch said. “We must do something.”
“There is no other way then forward,” Fran said. “We are left with no choice.”
Balthier hated the thought of going deeper into that place, especially with how Ashe looked, but Fran was right; they had no choice.
“Fine.” Balthier let go of Ashe with a sigh. “What are waiting for, then? Let’s go.”

…

After traveling for several hours, the light coming down from above grew dimmer, and everyone’s tired limbs agreed that night was falling. They set up camp, then Balthier and Vaan went scouting to make sure none of the small yet vicious creatures that had plagued them during the day hung around. Or worse, something larger.
The cold, damp stone floor made faint scuffing noises under Balthier’s shoes. He scanned every shadow; they’d already made a good ring of the camp, and the promise of a warm fire and a night’s sleep spurred Balthier to hurry. He held his rifle out, just in case. Vaan stuck his sword behind a pillar against the wall. Nothing.
“If it’s small enough to hide back there, it’s probably not going to bother us,” Balthier said.
“Whatever.” Vaan shook the dust off his blade and stuck it back in its scabbard.
“Something wrong, Vaan?” Balthier asked. arching an eyebrow at him. Besides me being one of your hated Archadian conquerors and the wielder of some perilous power.
“I just… don’t know what to think anymore,” Vaan said, his sullen glare fixed on the ground off to the left. “You’ve been lying to us for months. How can I trust you?”
Balthier sighed. “You’re entitled to that opinion. I doubt arguing will do much good.” Balthier stuck his rifle back into its holster and turned to walk away. “Come on, Vaan. We’ve made a clean enough sweep.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?” Vaan said. Balthier stopped with a sigh and looked over his shoulder. Vaan stared after him, brow knit, lips set in iron frown to rival Basch’s.
“Is there something I can say?” Balthier said. “You’re right; I wouldn’t trust me either.” Balthier kept walking, mumbling under his breath. “It’s probably what I deserve, at any rate.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Three

The Ancient City, Giruvegan
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“But it just ends,” Penelo said, peeking over the edge where the stone pathway dropped away to the depths of Giruvegan below. She pulled back, looking around for an answer. “What do we do now?”
“Did we know what we were doing before?” Balthier said with a sigh.
Balthier walked over to the edge, staring down it and stroking his chin as he thought over this newest predicament; it was a very long way down…
Thoosh! A snapping whoosh cracked the air, and Balthier nearly jumped as a pathway, made of disks of green energy, surged out from the platform at his feet. The road of emerald energy arched away from the wall into open air.
“What is that?” Vaan asked, eyes wide.
Balthier carefully tapped the path with one foot. Seems solid enough…
“The way forward, I think.” Balthier walked out a few paces; the green energy held him up. He nodded back to his companions. “Come on.”
The others followed warily onto the path. Balthier couldn’t say he found it comforting walking a road of strange, crystalline energy over a drop that must’ve been hundreds of feet.
The pathway led them away from the wall, into a fuller view of the city. Stone pathways ringed the walls on all sides, and in the massive city’s center rose an enormous shape.
“Look at that!” Vaan stepped out precariously closed to the path’s edge.
Balthier stopped, narrowing his eyes at the wondrous sight.
“Now, isn’t that impressive…”
A massive crystal. The stone stood as high as the palace in Archades, its outer shell dark, sending the faintest golden glimmer into the air around it. The energy pathway they walked wound straight towards the great crystal. Eyes fixed on that stone, Balthier felt a strange chill ripple through his body, just for a moment, the same chill he’d felt in the air of this place the second they stepped inside.
For a moment, everyone stopped and just stared.

Penelo drew closer to Vaan. Even though he stood dangerously close to the pathway’s edge, Penelo felt better near him. The great crystal was breathtaking, yet terrifying, like everything else in this ancient city. Shaking under such unease, she felt better near her big brother.
“I can’t shake the feeling we’re somewhere we’re not supposed to be,” Penelo said to Vaan. “It’s…”
“It’s exciting,” Vaan said, eyes still locked on the crystal far below.
“Exciting?” Penelo said, turning to her brother wide-eyed.
“Sure,” Vaan said. “Who knows what’s down there?”
“It’s scary,” Penelo said. She sighed, studying the green, crystalline energy under her feet. “I just want everything to be peaceful again so we can go home.”
“Yeah,” Vaan said. He sighed. “Don’t worry Penelo; we’ll beat all those Archadians.” Vaan glanced, briefly, over at Balthier, who talked with Ashe a little ways down the path. Penelo followed his gaze, then came with worry back to her brother.
“Vaan, you’re not still mad at him, are you?” Penelo asked.
“So?” Vaan said, voice hot in his way. “He lied to us, Penelo. The whole time!”
“I know you looked up to him,” Penelo said, “and I know… it shook all of us! But he’s only human like the rest of us, Vaan. You can’t stay angry.”
Vaan opened his mouth to object, but Penelo cut him off.
“And it’s not his fault he’s an Archadian, either. He can’t do anything about that. It shouldn’t change anything. I know you know that, Vaan.”
Vaan turned and stared down at the great crystal; his fists tightened, then relaxed.
“I… guess so,” he started hesitantly, then sighed.
There was a moment of silence; Penelo found her thoughts wandering.
“I wonder how Larsa’s doing,” she said absently.
“Penelo?” Vaan glanced at his sister. Penelo felt her cheeks grow warm; it suddenly seemed a silly thing to say.
“Oh, nothing. Sorry.”

Vaan and Penelo talked about something at the path’s edge, but Balthier wasn’t interested. The great crystal was stunning, but he didn’t care about that either. Ashe stood apart from the others, staring down the pathway that seemed to lead straight towards the crystal. She clasped her hands at her chest, eyes fixed ahead. Balthier walked up to her, stopping beside her with a sigh.
“I’ve seen you act strange before, princess, but not like this. You’re like Fran when she’s high on myst. What’s wrong with you?”
At first Ashe didn’t reply, then she turned her face to him. Her eyes held less of that glassy, dazed look and more a growing fear.
“Balthier, I… Oh, I don’t know.” Ashe closed her eyes a moment, then opened them again. She raised a hand, resting it gingerly on her forehead. “I can’t… think properly. My feet move before I tell them to. I…” She broke off, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. Balthier studied her troubled face for a few moments.
“At least you can talk properly now,” he said. “Whatever it is, it seems to be getting better,”
“It… is,” Ashe replied. She shuddered. “But I can still feel it. Like I have to go forward. Balthier… Do you think Fran was right? It is the Occuria?”
Balthier let out a sigh, turning from Ashe’s troubled gaze to the massive, faintly glowing crystal ahead.
“I… don’t see any other explanation.”
“But what are they? And what do they want with us?”
“Who knows? Maybe they’ll tell us when we meet them,” Balthier said with a shrug. For a reason he couldn’t fathom, the thought of meeting the Occuria sent a chill down his spine.
“Oh, I just…” Ashe sighed. “I just want to finish what we have to do and leave this place. Do you think Dr. Cid is somewhere down here?”
“I hope so,” Balthier said with a sigh. “It’d be a shame if we went through all this only to miss him entirely.” That confrontation was already far overdue, Balthier knew. You’d better be here, Father.
When Balthier turned back to Ashe, she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her gaze was fixed ahead, a hand at her chest, that wild, possessed look replaced with one of fear and fatigue.
“Balthier,” she whispered. “We’re close. We have to… keep going.” She closed her eyes, blocking view of that shining display of pain. Balthier studied her gravely face a few moments, then nodded.
“Right.”
He turned to the others, calling for them to get moving.

At the end of the energy pathway stood a warp, like the kind at the outside of Raithwall’s tomb, only this one was older and more ornate. Beyond it the path of green disks ended, and there lay only open air between them and the great crystal, which now stood very near.
“I suppose we use this, now,” Balthier said, stepping up onto the warp’s platform. The device lit up before he could touch any of its controls, a reddish glow hovering around its lamp-like top.
Balthier signaled for the others to come up on the platform.
“This may be it,” Basch said.
“Wait, you think the Occuria are on the other side of this thing?” Vaan asked, eyes wide.
“We haven’t seen any other warps. And we’ve come quite a ways,” Fran said.
Balthier frowned at the ornate device. “I suppose it does look rather ceremonial.” He glanced at Ashe. She seemed to know where they were going. 
“Princess? You think so?”
“I… don’t know,” Ashe said. “Maybe.”
Balthier sighed. Not very reassuring. If there were Occuria on the other side, he wanted Ashe where he could see her. Who knew what they’d want with the princess?
“I suppose we’d better find out, then.” Balthier turned one of the warp’s ancient dials, making sure to keep one eye on the princess. The device pulsed, and runes etched in its platform lit with a red glow. There was a flash of warm light, and the next thing Balthier knew, he was standing somewhere completely different. 

Ashe blinked as the light faded, trying to see her surroundings clearly. Rather than the dark of Giruvegan, she saw sky all around her, a strange, grey-blue color, clouded with myst and filled with floating, tooth-like stones. Ashe gasped. She stood on a stone platform, floating in this strange sky. Around her sat four statues in thrones; the statue she faced sat beneath a pillar of stone, atop which rested a blood-red crystal, pulsing a faint light.
Ashe looked around, panic growing as she realized none of the others were there.
“Hello?” she called out. “Where is everyone?”
The only response was the echoing of her voice. Ashe was alone save those four statues, each a distinctive human form. The figures confused her; they all looked barely older than Vaan; two young men, two teenaged girls. She glanced over their chilly marble faces, then up at the pulsing red stone. Where am I?  
“Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca. You follow summons well.”
Ashe jolted at the sound of her name, spoken in an eerie, rattling voice. Above the four statues materialize four ghostly figures. They were each painted with their own foggy colors, each with a face shrouded in shadow, piercing yellow eyes glowing out of the gloom.
“We Occuria speak with you alone, Ashelia,” continued the ghostly figure in front of her, beneath the great pillar, his form shimmering silver. “Welcome, heir of Raithwall.”
Ashe stared at the creature, eyes wide in terror. “W-What? Who…?” The Occuria? They look just like… Dr. Cid’s Venat…
“You desire power for your people’s freedom, Ashelia,” the Occuria continued, “and power we shall grant you. Seek the Sun-cryst; in tower on distant shores it dreams, on the sea’s farthest reach. That stone, mother of nethicite and giver of its power, is your birthright.”
Ashe felt her eyes widen. “What?”
“Centuries ago, we gave Raithwall the task to unite your world, and the nethicite as his sword. His deeds and his pact with us flow through your blood. You feel it, Ashelia?”
The sudden shudder rippling through her limbs surprised Ashe. She swallowed hard. “But, the Sun-cryst,” she said. “That’s where Raithwall cut his shards from? With the Sword of Kings?”
“That sword is the symbol of an old pact,” the Occuria said. “A new treaty we forge with you, with your blood… and with this sword.”
A great sword of shining silver materialized in the air, encrusted with sapphire gems along its hilt. It drifted down to hover in the air just in front of Ashe. She stared at it.
“This Treaty-blade marks our pact with you, Ashelia,” the Occuria said. “With it, cut your own shards. With their power, destroy Venat!”
Ashe tore her gaze from the sword to look up at the wrath-like being before her. “Venat? But… isn’t he an Occuria? Like you?”
“Venat betrayed us!” the Occuria shouted. A rush of wind punctuated his fury. Ashe raised her hands to block the gust, sucking in a gasp. “With your nethicite,” the Occuria continued, “you will destroy Venat, and the empire that has thrived off his forbidden knowledge. Thus, you attain your vengeance, as well.”
“What? No!” Ashe let her hands drop, staring up at the Occuria. “War is what we’re trying to stop! I can’t destroy Archadia!”
“You have your stone and your task,” the Occuria said, his rattle growing lower. Ashe felt a jolt rush through her body, and she sucked in a gasp at the electric shock of pain. “You will fulfill your duty!”
“Gerun, the little one wants only peace.” Another of the Occuria spoke up for the first time, a shadowy figure in shades of rich red-brown, her rattling voice with a female tone to it. “Must Venat be destroyed?”
“You know he must, Tainra. He has left us and our purpose and must be punished,” the first Occuria, Gerun, hissed. “The humans as well. The knowledge they hold is far too dangerous.”
“But… wait,” Ashe spoke up, forcing her way into this discussion of ancient ghosts. “Just what is Venat trying to do?”
“Venat seeks to revive the ancients and their civilization of old,” another Occuria, shadowy blue and female voiced, rattled. “To that end he seeks the power spawned of them, the scourge of elder days.  Your world’s emperors he only toys with as he grows closer to this goal.”
“Once awakened, the sleeping ancients will surely work their vengeance upon the high races that betrayed them,” the fourth Occuria, golden-hued and deep voiced, said. “Nux and her spawn will lay waste to your nations and establish anew the kingdom of old.”
“We once thought to keep Ivalice from such horror,” Tainra said, “but as millennia pass and our bond with the mother stone fades, we are powerless to-”
“Enough,” Gerun rattled. “Ashelia, you understand your task now? Take the blade, work your vengeance, and free your people. Destroy Venat and his threat to your world.”
Ashe stared a few moments at the sword. On the other side of the suspended blade, another ghostly figure took shape: a figure she knew well.
“Rasler…” Ashe breathed. Rasler rested one hand around the sword’s hilt. His gaze met hers, and he nodded. Ashe reached for the hilt, then hesitated.
She knew what Rasler would want. She could see him clearly in her mind’s eye, not the phantom before her but hale and whole, the day the news of Nabudis’s fall came, jaw set, a hand clenched on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His eyes burned, lips barely moved as he breathed the words to Captain Basch…
“I swear, on my honor… and my father’s spilt blood, Archadia will rue the day she raised her sword against house Nabradia!”
Ashe stared into the ghost’s eyes. Something was so very empty there, nothing like the Rasler she’d known. She remembered what Balthier said; he thought the ghosts she saw had something to do with the nethicite. Ashe didn’t want to take that sword. But what else could she do?
Ashe rested a hand around the Treaty-blade’s hilt, feeling the icy chill of its metal against her palm. A flash of light surged around her, with a rush of heat she felt burning through her being. Ashe gasped as the light faded…

…

“Ashe!”
Finally able to move his legs, Balthier ran to Ashe’s side. When they appeared on the platform, he’d found himself, along with the others, rooted to the ground by some force, unable to move. Ashe couldn’t even see them. Balthier could only listen while those Occuria surrounded Ashe, their rattling voices grating over his mind. And Venat… Venat was an Occuria? My prey come crawling straight to me… Venat’s words at Nabudis raked over Balthier’s mind, suddenly making a spine-chilling sense. The scourge of elder days, the ancients, the powers spawned of them… Confusing words, but they sent a chill though Balthier’s veins.
Then Ashe grabbed the Treaty-blade, and she cried out as a light flared around her. The Occuria vanished, and Balthier finally found himself able to move again. The princess now held the blade, bent over, breathing hard. Balthier forgot for a moment his confusion over the Occuria and rushed to her.
“Princess! Are you alright?” he asked.
Ashe looked up, stunned. “Balthier!” She straightened and looked around with a gasp. “Everyone! But-”
“We were here, Highness,” Basch said. Everyone crowded around the princess. “We heard everything.”
“Will you do it?” Vaan asked. “Destroy the empire?”
“I… Oh.” Ashe dropped the Treaty-blade with a clatter, bringing a hand to her forehead. She swayed, nearly falling.
“Ashe!” Balthier caught her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I… Sorry. I’m just… dizzy.” Ashe shook her head. “I’m alright.” Ashe met Balthier’s worried gaze. “Really.”
Balthier felt her shoulders tense under his hands. Ashe stepped back, and Balthier let her go.
“So, um…” Penelo spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. “What about Doctor Cid? Wasn’t he supposed to be here?”
“He should have arrived by now,” Basch said. 
Balthier pulled his gaze from Ashe. That had been troubling him. Now, as Basch mentioned it, it all fell into place. Oh, no…
“No, I should’ve realized sooner,” Balthier said. “Dr. Cid isn’t coming at all. He laid out the bait, and we bit. That’s why he lured us with bits about Giruvegan, flaunted his nethicite. This is what he wanted all along. To bring Ashe to the Occuria.” Balthier felt his hands draw to fists. “I can’t believe I missed it.”
“But if we get nethicite, wouldn’t that be bad for Archadia?” Vaan said. “Why would he want us to come here?”
“Who knows? He probably has some master plan,” Balthier said with a sigh. “Or maybe he just wants to see what happens when two nethicite-wielding forces collide. That’d be just like Doctor Cid.”
“I think we should discuss this elsewhere,” Fran said. She glanced at the warp, sitting behind the ring of statues.
“Agreed.” Basch gave a single nod. “Highness?”
“Oh. Yes,” Ashe replied.
Everyone turned to walk away; Balthier lingered a moment. His mind still whirled with the rattle of the Occuria’s voices as they hissed out Venat’s plans. Balthier couldn’t help but wonder if his father knew Venat’s true objective… He remembered something Dr. Cid said, in the Formidable’s hold just before the bombing of Nabudis.
“Don’t worry, Ffamran; you’ll have your role to play.”
Balthier felt sick.
“Balthier?”
Ashe’s voice brought him back to the present. She still waited, watching him with worried eyes.
“Princess,” Balthier said. “I was just… thinking.” A moment of awkward silence followed.
“Balthier,” Ashe said at last. “The Occuria said Venat sought… the scourge of elder days. Balthier, is… is that…?”
“You’re smart, princess,” Balthier said with a chuckle; it came out bitter. “I think so.” He sighed. “I suppose that should be made common knowledge. The captain will want his strategic elements all in place. Oh, come on.” Summoning up his outer air of confidence, Balthier beckoned to Ashe; the others already gathered around the warp. “Like Fran said, we’ll discuss this elsewhere.”
Ashe nodded, coming up beside him. Balthier just turned to leave when a rattling voice sounded, stopping him in his tracts.
“Wait, little ones.”
Balthier spun around to see Tainra materialize over one of the statures, a ghostly form of red-brown shadow.
“What the…?” Balthier nearly jumped at the sudden appearance. Ashe gasped. The others were several feet away, around the warp, but Balthier could see they saw the Occuria.
“What do you want?” Balthier said, frowning at the wraithlike being.
“I speak only a word of caution,” Tainra replied. “Venat is no weakling. Be wary, scourge-bearer; you may not be so fortunate a second time.”
Balthier stiffened. “How do you know what happened the first time?”
“Only be cautious,” Tainra said, ignoring the question. “And… I would have know, Venat…” Tainra breathed a tried sigh. “Venat was a child of but eight summers when we came to this place. He has seen nothing but all life’s horrors for millennia. Stop him, do what you must, but do not hate him. It was only our folly that made him what he is.” Her ghostly form flickered, Balthier called out before she could vanish; this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
“Wait! This… scourge.” Balthier drew in a breath. “Just what is it? I’d assume you know.”
Tainra was silent a long moment.
“That… is yet lost to the tides of time,” she said, finally, quietly. “Not to be spoken. Gerun would not have it.”
“But-” Balthier tried to object, but Tainra continued.
“Hurry, prove scourge sings not only darkness, and prove worthy to that first name-bearer, Ffamran…”
Balthier stiffened, and Tainra faded away. After a few confused, frustrated moments, he heaved a sigh.
“Well, wasn’t that informative?”
“Are you two alright?” Fran called from the warp.
“Yes, we’re coming!” Balthier called back. He beckoned to Ashe, who still stared at Tainra’s statue; the woman sculpted there looked remarkably young for the ancient Occuria of old. Her hair flopped in a braid over her left shoulder, her marble eyes weary.
Venat was a child of but eight summers…
What does that mean?
Exactly what is says?
“Come on, princess,” Balthier said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Four

The Imperial City, Archades
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“Restore Dalmasca’s sovereignty and make amends with Lady Ashe; that’s the only way to stop this war!” Larsa said, all but begging. His brother didn’t even seem to hear him. Vayne said nothing as he stood before his throne, deep in thought. The room was sparsely lit, and the darkness of the evening seemed to lend to the shadow Vayne’s long, black hair threw across his face.
“Vayne!” Larsa’s voice was nearly a shout now. Still, Vayne said nothing.
Gabranth knew when Larsa requested to be brought to his brother’s chambers that the conversation wouldn’t go well. The prince would never convince Vayne to back down.  
Gabranth set a hand on Larsa’s shoulder. Larsa glanced at him, but turned back to Vayne, unheeding of the silent message to be wary.
“This is a war of necessity,” Vayne said at last. “Archadia cannot be seen to show weakness. And don’t you see, Larsa? Your Lady Ashe lost her husband, her father, her nation; she desires revenge, and will not rest until she attains it.”
“No!” Larsa said, stepping away from Gabranth to face his brother. “Princess Ashe wants peace more than she wants revenge; she told me as much, and I believe her.”
Vayne shook his head. “Larsa, you are young,” he said, simply.
“And you presume too much!” Larsa shouted.
“Presume?” No emotion crossed Vayne’s cold face. “This war is necessary. And we will win it with ease.”
Larsa breathed hard a moment, swallowing his frustration. “You’re still going to attack Dalmasca, then?”
“As soon as the necessary preparations are completed,” Vayne replied.
“I know Princess Ashe, brother,” Larsa said, still unwilling to give up. “I trust her.”
“Really?” Vayne arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Very well; we’ll see if you’re correct. Judge Gabranth! You’ll accompany Dr. Cid on this next mission, observe the Lady Ashe. Be the eyes of our empire, and judge whether she means peace or war.”
“And if I read war, I am to put her to the sword?” Gabranth asked. He hoped so. To get to the princess would mean taking out her guardians, among them, Basch. Gabranth’s jaw tightened at the thought of his twin brother, that traitor who fled when Landis fell, rather than submit to Archadia. It had been their duty to protect their family, and what a failure that had proved… Basch couldn’t protect their home; why should he be allowed to protect Lady Ashe?
“It will not come to that,” Larsa said, without a trace of doubt. “I have faith in her. Faith in you both.” He nodded to Gabranth with that confident smile. “On you, Gabranth, will I wager all our fortunes.”
“You hear that, Cid?” Vayne said, looking over his shoulder at the old man, who stood gazing out a window. “You’re to take Gabranth with you.”
Cid’s only response was a distant mumbling that didn’t seem to be directed at Vayne.
“Very well then, our plans are made,” Vayne said, nodding to Larsa. “Now get some sleep, brother.”
Apparently content with Vayne’s measures, Larsa nodded.
“Come then, Lord Larsa,” Gabranth said, gesturing to the door. He’d escort Larsa back to his chambers, then prepare for this mission.
Prepare his blade for Basch’s blood.

…

“That so sweet a child could be your brother is difficult to believe,” Dr. Cid said with a scoff, once the door had closed behind Larsa and Gabranth.
“Larsa is as he should be,” Vayne replied, staring after his brother.
Cid turned his head to one side, staring into the empty air.
“Ah-ha,” he said with a smile. “Taken the bait already, have they? Splendid.” Cid turned back to Vayne. “Our friends the Occuria have given the princess her Treaty-blade.”
Vayne nodded slowly. “They have their new scribe, and given her fresh nethicite.”
“Oh, what good is a power that can’t be harnessed?” Cid said, waving a hand absently. “Baubles, suited for study and nothing more.”
Vayne raised an eyebrow at his friend. “I conquered two kingdoms that you might study those ‘baubles,’ you know.”
“Oh, yes, well, I’m grateful for the sacrifice,” Cid said. “Without those, we’d have never achieved manufactured nethicite.” He cackled. “Yes, now that is our true power! But I suppose I wasn’t alone. I’ve been a fine pupil, haven’t I, Venat?”
Venat’s shadowy figure materialized beside Dr. Cid.
“I did but guide your able hand,” Venat replied. “Your years of effort brought about your stones. You have made great sacrifice, Cid, but I trust you remember our task is not yet complete?”
Cid sobered instantly. “Yes, Venat,” he sighed. “I know that very well.”
“Vayne, all our plans draw to their completion,” Venat said. “Soon, I shall hold the ancient power, and you will take your mantle as dynast king. Ivalice’s new history shall begin.”
Vayne nodded. “I trust I have earned it.”
“Cid, we must leave,” Venat said, summoning Cid from his gloom. “The Occuria’s scribe will not be long is searching out the Sun-cryst. We must make ready for our final plans.”
Cid nodded. “Very well.” He marched towards the door, Venat’s smoky form vanishing as he moved. “Ah, and, Vayne,” Cid said, stopping as he reached the door, “you may want to swing by Draklor sometime. Though I regret I won’t be able to attend to you myself, given the circumstances, the… treatment you requested is ready.” A smile grew over Cid’s face. He eased out a breath as the faintest blue haze touched the air around him with a crackle of power. “I give it my highest recommendation.”
Vayne nodded. “Many thanks, my friend. The best of luck to you.”
Dr. Cid nodded, and pushed out the door.
Now alone, Vayne sat in his throne, steepling his fingers in front of him. He’d seen his father sit here so many times, but now it was his alone. This throne, the Archadian Empire, and that manufactured nethicite, a power he planned to hold very close, very soon.
Vayne smiled.

…

The warp on the Occuria’s platform brought the party directly to outside Giruvegan’s gate, where the sun sunk into the Feywood’s dense mists. Balthier welcomed the frosty, lung-stinging air of the Feywood after the dense darkness of Giruvegan. He struggled to banish the disturbing echoes of Tainra’s last words and swallow his frustration at the lack of answers he’d received.
“Highness, what’s our next move?” Basch asked. “Will you do as the Occuria ask? Seek out the Sun-cryst?”
Ashe didn’t reply. She lifted the Treaty-blade, studying it; its silver surface caught the sun’s setting rays.
“The Occuria said this Sun-cryst is the source of all nethicite’s power,” Fran said. “If that is true, by breaking it, we might render the three Shards lifeless.”
“Yes.” A hand at his chin, Balthier nodding as he thought. “That could work. Who knows about the manufactured nethicite, though.”
“Wait… But what about Dr. Cid?” Ashe said, looking up from the sword. “If he’s not here, where is he going?”
“Well, if there is a motherload of nethicite out there, and Dr. Cid knows about it, which we can assume he does, since Venat’s with him,” Balthier said, “I’d wager he won’t be far from it.”
“If he is searching for the Sun-cryst,” Basch said, “why would he send us to the Occuria, knowing they would send us after him? Unless-”
“Unless it’s a trap, I know,” Balthier finished for him. “We have to find him, either way. Only thing we can do is be prepared.”
“Then we have to go,” Ashe said. “To the Sun-cryst. Only… where is it? Gerun wasn’t very clear.”
“No, I doubt those Occuria can say anything clearly,” Balthier said, thinking of his own unanswered questions. “What did he say? A ‘tower on distant shore?’” Balthier turned to his partner. “Ring any bells, Fran? Some disturbing yet helpful Vieran poem?”
Fran shook her head.
“Why don’t we go ask Reddas?” Vaan said. “He’s got ships and pirates from all over, right? I’d bet he at least knows someone who’d recognize that.”
“I’d rather stay out of that pirate’s debt if I can help it,” Balthier replied.
“What’s wrong with Reddas?” Vaan said, frowning. “If you can’t trust your own kind, who can you trust?”
“Oh, and you’re an expert of sky pirating now, are you?” Balthier arched an eyebrow at Vaan, who only cringed in response.
“I think it would be wise to seek Reddas’s help,” Basch said. “As Vaan said, he has many contacts, and we’ve no solid reason to distrust him.” He said the last line looking directly at Balthier.
“I don’t want to trouble him again,” Ashe said, “but, I think you’re right, Basch.” She turned to Balthier. “Captain Basch is right; we really don’t have a reason not to trust him.”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “Fine. Back to Balfonheim it is.”

…

Vaan suggested that camping in the Feywood might not be the safest option, and everyone concurred. They made it back to the Strahl and were on their way back to Balfonheim Port by nightfall. Though the skies were dark, Balthier had no trouble keeping awake as he flew north towards the port; his mind hummed with Occuria’s words. The disturbing knowledge that Venat had only every wanted his power hardened Balthier’s resolve. For Reina, Vossler, his father, everyone who’d lost themselves in this ridiculous clash of empires. It was his duty, as Zecht had said. Judge Zecht had been on Balthier’s mind a lot recently, though he couldn’t think of why. Though Zecht’s mentorship of him lasted only a few days, hardly long enough to even count, those few days were something Balthier couldn’t forget. This image of Zecht’s retreating back in the aerodrome, the sound of his words… “I know what I have to do.” Zecht’s genuine confidence and utter certainty in those tumultuous moments was something Balthier had come to envy over the years.
When the group reached Balfonheim, long after sunset, they headed straight for Reddas’s office. As Balthier pushed open the door, the sound of Reddas’s raised voice fell immediately on his ears.
“Send fishing boats if we have nothing else, just hurry!” Reddas stood behind his deck, barking at three subordinates: a shirtless man, a woman with gold curls, a short Nu Mou. “Leave the ships that have sprung; I want souls saved, not driftwood! Go!”
The three underlings nodded hurriedly, then rushed out the door. Balthier stepped aside to avoid the trio as they ran past.
“Trouble?” Balthier asked, quirking an eyebrow as he stepped in. Reddas dropped into his chair with a sigh.
“Our fleet ran into foul waters in Jagd Naldoa, near the Ridorana Cataract. I expected airship trouble, not a fleet floundering in the waves!” Sighing, Reddas stood again, looking over the party of travelers. “Tell me what happened in Giruvegan. I can see by your eyes all did not go well. Cid- was he false as I feared?”
Balthier sighed. “Yes, a stronger warning on that would’ve been nice.”
“And you would have listened?” Reddas said. Balthier sighed and didn’t reply.
“Dr. Cid wasn’t there,” Ashe said. “But… we may know where he really went.”
Reddas nodded. “Do tell.”
Balthier was content to lean against the wall, arms folded, and listen while Ashe explained her encounter with the Occuria. Reddas listened intently, sitting, a grim look over his annoyingly familiar features. Balthier tuned out Ashe’s story and tried to place that man’s face, without success.
“So the Shards are only a fragment?” Reddas said when Ashe had finished, frowning gravely. “And you say you could destroy all the nethicite?”
“Perhaps,” Ashe said. “I guess we don’t know for sure. But if Dr. Cid is there, the shards will be as well.”
“There is another way,” Basch said. “We could cut our own shards, as the Occuria asked. With nethicite, Dalmasca could combat Vayne and his armies.”
“You want to know the best use of nethicite?” Reddas said, rising. “Yes or no, I’ll tell you. You pick it up-” he raised a hand. “-and you throw it away.” Reddas flicked his hand, as if discarding the offending stone. Balthier frowned. And does he know so much about nethicite?
“I think I’ll have to agree with Reddas on that, Captain,” Balthier said, setting aside his suspicion of Reddas to shoot down Basch’s suggestion. “I’ve never seen anything good come out of those stones.”
“Either way, we’ve gotta find this Sun-cryst, right?” Vaan said. “So… what was it? A ‘tower on distant shore?’”
Reddas nodded in thought. “I saw something like that in documents I chanced upon in Draklor; they spoke of the Pharos Lighthouse at Ridorana. I sent my fleet to fish out the truth behind those words, but we caught nothing but trouble.”
“The Pharos Lighthouse?” Balthier frowned, raising a hand to his chin. “I suppose that would constitute a ‘tower on distant shore.’”
“The myst of Jagd Naldoa is another sign,” Fran said. “If this Sun-cryst is as powerful as we believe, it may draw such myst to it.”
“That is all the proof we need,” Basch said. “The Syn-cryst is there.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Ashe said. “Vaan’s right. We have to find the Sun-cryst.”
“I’d assume you’ll want to sleep and prepare,” Reddas said. “Ridorana is deep in jagd, untrodden ground. I imagine great dangers wait, besides Dr. Cid. You’re free to use the inn you stayed in last time you were here. Stay as long as you need.”
“I’d prefer not to wait at all,” Balthier said. “We’ve wasted enough time running in circles.”
“But you’ve been traveling for days on end, scurrying from one edge of our world to the other,” Reddas replied. “You were in dire straits when I found you, and Giruvegan doesn’t seem to have freshened you any. Take a few days and rest. At least restock your supplies.”
“That’s a very generous offer,” Ashe said. “You don’t have to do so much for us.”
“On the contrary,” Reddas said. “The fate of our world and its nations hangs in your grasp. The people of Balfonheim only do their part.”
Balthier sighed. “Well, the decision’s in your court, princess. I’d prefer to get this over with, not let Dr. Cid get any more of a head start than he already has, but that could just be me.”
“We would be better equipped to face what trials await with some rest,” Fran said. “And our provisions are dangerously low.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow, before noon, once we’ve had time to prepare,” Ashe said. “I don’t think we can spare more time than that.” Ashe raised her gaze to Reddas. “If you’re sure.”
“You are most welcome here,” Reddas said, nodding. “And, another thing, princess. If you would allow it, I would like to accompany you to the Pharos.”
“You?” Balthier frowned. “Aren’t you Lord Reddas? Don’t you have responsibilities here?”
“I have full faith in my people,” Reddas replied evenly. “Balfonheim will fight even without me.” Reddas’s gaze darkened. “And I would like to confront Dr. Cid myself.”
Ashe frowned. “Why?”
Reddas sighed. He studied the floorboards to the right.
“For the sake of Nabudis,” he said, meeting Ashe’s gaze.
“Nabudis was… your home?” Ashe asked. Balthier frowned. No, the man’s obviously a Bhujerban. Why…?
“No,” Reddas shook his head. “But it is a memory that clings close to my heart.”
It struck Balthier with those words. His eyes widened. It can’t be…
“Off with you. There will be much to arrange in the morning,” Reddas said. “I will see all of you then.”
Ashe nodded. “Right.”

…

Despite the long day behind and the long day ahead, Balthier had no desire to sleep. As soon as he was sure no one would notice his departure, Balthier left the inn and returned to Reddas’s office. A guard stood in front of the door, some gruff pirate fellow with no semblance of a uniform.
“Reddas still in there?” Balthier asked the guard, jerking his chin at the door.
“Depends on who’s asking,” the guard replied.
Balthier sighed. “Tell him Balthier wants to talk to him. Right now.”
“Sorry. Lord Reddas is not to be disturbed.”
“I don’t care; this is urgent.”
The guard scowled, studying Balthier a moment.
“You’re with the princess, ain’t you?”
Balthier returned his narrow-eyed glare. “That’s right.”
“Fine. I’ll ask him.”
The guard pushed through the door, leaving Balthier alone. The muted splashing of the tide on the otherwise silent pier whispered through the manse’s walls, drawing out the moments of waiting. Balthier debated what he should say. Part of him wanted to be angry that Reddas had kept this secret, but he couldn’t find it in him. Balthier done the same thing, after all. Did Reddas even remember him? Balthier wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. They’d only known each other for a few days, after all, and he doubted those days of catastrophe made as great an impression on Reddas as they did on Balthier.
At last, the door opened, and the guard emerged.
“He said he’ll see you,” he said with a shrug.
“Thank you.” Balthier strode into the room.
Reddas sat, hands steepled on the desk in front of him, watching Balthier approach.
“There’s something you wanted to talk to me about?” he said.
Balthier narrowed his eyes, studying Reddas’s face. It was undeniable, now.
“You’re Judge Zecht, aren’t you?” Balthier said.
Reddas nodded.
“I wondered how long it’d take you to realize, Ffamran.”
“You knew all along?” Balthier said, eyebrows lowering in a frown.
Reddas nodded. “Aye. From the moment I laid eyes on you at Draklor. Yours is not a face easily forgotten. That must be inconvenient for you, with such a high bounty over your head.”
Balthier scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, yes. Terribly inconvenient. Now, are you going to tell me how you got here? When you said you ‘knew what to do,’ all this is not what came to mind.”
“Balfonheim is a place where men need not fear Archadia or dread the past,” Reddas said. “My hand in creating it was only what I felt was my duty, for taking the freedom of so many.” Reddas rose. He left his desk and stood by the window, his back to Balthier. “And that duty is why I’m accompanying Lady Ashe tomorrow. I imagine my reasons are much the same as yours.”
Balthier stared at his back, still struggling to comprehend that this was his old mentor from the Archadian Judges; two years later, and Zecht hadn’t changed; still not giving up. A twinge of bitterness rose up inside of Balthier, taunting him that he’d never done as well.
And that they’d be traveling up the Pharos Lighthouse together. Balthier suddenly felt quite uneasy about that.
“I am curious how you came to this point,” Reddas said, looking back over his shoulder. “I never thought of you as a sky pirate.”
“I hardly imagined you as Lord Reddas of Balfonheim, either,” Balthier replied.
“Hm. Others gave me that title,” Reddas replied. “So? What of your story?”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “Well, when the war ended, I didn’t see much reason to go back to Archadia and all that madness. I stole an airship, a few years later I met a beleaguered princess with nethicite, and the rest is history.”
Reddas studied him a few moments. “What happened to your fiancée?”
Those words caught Balthier off-guard.
“She… died during the war,” he forced out, avoiding Reddas’s gaze. He’d avoided thinking of Reina recently, but now the image of her crystal-green eyes and innocent smile flashed over his mind, condemning ever feeling, thought and action he'd taken those past weeks.
“Ah.” Reddas grew grave. The almost sympathetic look on his face set Balthier bristling.
“Look, does it matter?” he said. “It was all a long time ago. And it’s not really any of your business, anyways.”
“I see. My apologies.” Reddas turned back the window. The air was silent again save the whispering of waves outside. “You should turn in, I think,” Reddas said after a while. “We’ve all a long day ahead.”
“Right. Right, that nethicite’s not going to smash itself.” Balthier turned and walked to the door. He rested a hand against it to push it open, but Reddas’s voice stopped him.
“You’re alright with all this? We’ll very likely have to fight Dr. Cid, you know. He is your fa-”
“All I know is there’s a power-hungry madman out there quite bent on destroying the world,” Balthier said, sucking in a deep breath. “And that’s all I need to know.” Not waiting for a reply, Balthier shoved through the door and marched away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Five

The Port at Balfonheim
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

In Strahl’s engine room, fuel bubbled happily through tubes, and the walls hummed with life, a musical, familiar sound. The homely smells of oil, lubricant, metal and magicite floated in the air, strong and soothing. Balthier knelt on the floor, wrenching the screws that held the coolant tubing together. He’d come down here to do maintenance before they left for Ridorana and found a lot more work than he expected.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this,” Balthier said to Strahl. “Oh, I knew that jagd shielding would never work properly.”
“You were busy flying,” Strahl replied. “I didn’t want you to worry. Besides, I wanted to get you as close to Giruvegan as I could. You’d have made me stop if you knew.”
Balthier sighed, gritting his teeth as he twisted the stubborn bolts. “You do realize that myst overload literally shatters skystones, right? Sends airships plummeting out of the sky?”
“I had everything under control,” Strahl replied. “I can resist the myst pressure, you know. A little.”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “When you stopped us, I was under the impression the shields had just started leaking, not that your engines had already overheated so much that it literally curdled your coolant! I didn’t know that was even possible.” Balthier sighed again, studying the pipe’s clear surface. Cloudy clumps of congealed gel clogged the tube, blocking the pathway to the main engines.
“How on Ivalice did you get us back to Balfonheim like this?” he asked. “If Difor’s myst overloaded your engines that much before, how hot did it get without coolant?”
“I never said it was comfortable,” Strahl replied. “It was… really hot.” Balthier could feel her cringe at the memory. “But I’m fine, alright? It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”  
Balthier sighed, frowning despite Strahl’s cheery tone. “You’re sure you’re alright? I can check the main engine battery-”
“I’m fine, okay?” Strahl said, growing annoyed. “Perfectly alright and not shattered and everything! Just hurry up so we can fly!”
“I don’t want you pushing through like this, alright?” Balthier said, setting down his wrench and frowning at the airship around him.
“But-” Strahl started.
“I didn’t take you from YPA so you could go and shatter yourself in some jagd,” Balthier continued. “I want you to tell me if something like this happens before it gets out of hand. Understood?”
“I just want to help you.”
“Strahl…”
Strahl sighed. “Fine.”
“Uh, hey. Whatchya doing?”
Balthier turned to see Vaan standing in the doorway.
“Some minor repairs,” Balthier replied, picking up his tools and turning back to the piping.
“Oh.” Vaan stood there and watched while Balthier continued removing bolts. The kid was unusually quiet, a stiffness about him that had been all-too present lately. Balthier sighed. This is getting old.
“Still feel like throwing me out in the harbor?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Vaan.
“Eh…” Vaan stiffened a moment. “Nah.”
Balthier arched an eyebrow. “What, a sudden change of heart? What happened to your hatred of all things Archadian?”
“Uh, just… I’ve been thinking,” Vaan said, shrugging uncomfortably. He looked at the floor. “I… I guess I was a little unreasonable. Sorry.”
Balthier turned back to the pipe but didn’t move, taken off guard by Vaan’s genuine contrition. He remained silent several moments.
“Well, if you’re not fuming anymore,” he said, picking up the wrench again, “feel like lending a hand?”
“Really?” Vaan perked instantly. “You mean, with your airship? You’d let me?”
“If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty,” Balthier replied, starting on the last bolt. He made note to move out of the way before the pipe fell open and the slimy residue inside spilled out.
Vaan lit up. “Sure!”

…

Balthier wrenched the last screw back on, glancing over the complete, thoroughly cleaned piping system with great satisfaction. Vaan knelt on the floor beside him.
“Better?” Balthier said to Strahl, sitting back to inspect his work.
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Whew!” Vaan sat back, sighing with relief. “Are we done?”  
“I believe so,” Balthier said. He nodded to Vaan. “At least you’re not as clumsy with tools than you are with social graces.” Vaan opened his mouth to object, but a new voice cut him off.
“That looks promising.”
Balthier looked over his shoulder to see Reddas coming into the doorway. How odd to think that man was really Judge Zecht…
“Your Viera friend said you were down here,” Reddas said. “The others are waiting upstairs.” He tapped the wall. “So? Can she fly?”
“Yes, she can,” Balthier rose, glad to stand after that hour’s crouching. “Come on, Vaan, we’ve got places to be, haven’t we? No reason to wait.”
Vaan stood as well, walking out the door, past Reddas and up the stairs beyond. Balthier followed, noticing the way Reddas watched him.
“What?” Balthier said, stopping to frown at Reddas as he passed him.
“Basch has been informing me of… some things he believes to be tactically important in understanding our enemies’ goals,” Reddas replied. It took Balthier a moment to understand.
“Oh,” Balthier sighed. “My life was so much simpler before I started telling people that.”
“It isn’t what I expected, but the pieces fit.” Reddas nodded, still studying Balthier. “I believe it.”
“Good for you,” Balthier said, rolling his eyes. He walked away before Reddas could reply.

Up in the cockpit, Ashe, Fran, and Penelo talked, Ashe and Penelo sitting while Fran stood. Basch sat in the opposite row of passenger chairs, silent.
“Captain.” Balthier walked over to Basch. “Sorry to leave you alone with the ladies. By chance, did you think to ask me before filling Lord Reddas in on those particular details?”
“It’s become vital to our situation,” Basch replied, stonily. “He had to know.”
Balthier sighed, lamenting the fact that he couldn’t really argue. He turned to address everyone.
“We’re ready to go?”
Ashe nodded from her seat. The Treaty-blade rested in her lap.
“I think so,” she said. She frowned at Balthier. “Balthier, were you down there all morning?”
“There was a lot to fix,” Balthier nodded to the airship around him. “Jagd wasn’t kind to her engines.”
In truth, with Reina on his mind, Balthier been avoiding the princess, though he’d noted from afar, and with pleasure, that Ashe had regained the sanity she’d lost in Giruvegan.
 “I hope you don’t mind putting her through it again,” Reddas said, settling into his own seat.
“I’d prefer not to,” Balthier said with a sigh, “but I don’t see there’s much choice.” He walked towards the captain’s chair. “Enough chatter; let’s fly.”

…

The Ridorana Cataract was beautiful from the air, an island perched on the great waterfall at the edge of Ivalice’s oceans. The seas on the other side stretched on forever, waters undisturbed. At the island’s center rose a massive tower, a mysterious ruin known by mariners’ tales as simply the Pharos Lighthouse.
The resting place of the Sun-cryst.
On the island’s rocky shore, Balthier, Ashe, Reddas, Fran, Vaan, Basch, and Penelo stood, Strahl hovering above. A salty tang washed the air, and silence reigned save for the distant roar of water streaming over the falls. Balthier stood by Strahl’s anchor, which sunk securely into the ground.
“A tower on distant shore.” Fran gazed up at the tower rising above the island’s rocky heights. “And about its peak, a piercing myst.”
“Can’t we just fly the all the way in?” Vaan said, glancing up at the Strahl.
“Did you not see her engines, Vaan?” Balthier said. “I’d like to avoid that happening again, if at all possible.”
“It’s not that far to walk, Vaan,” Penelo said, looking up the ancient pathway that led to the tower. “And I don’t hear anything like monsters out there.”
Vaan sighed. “I guess.”
“Balthier, you know I could-” Strahl’s voice came, but he cut her off.
“Forget it; we’re walking.”
Strahl sighed.
“It isn’t that far,” Ashe said, taking a few steps farther. “The Sun-cryst is right up there.”
“I hate to break it to you, princess,” Balthier said, “but while the entrance isn’t that far away, I imagine climbing to the top will take quite some time. A day or three at least.”
Eyes still on the trail ahead, Ashe sighed.
“I… I just want to get there and get it over with,” she said. She rested a hand absently around the Treaty-blade’s hilt, sheathed at her hip.
“Why are you so worried?” Vaan said. “We’re just gonna smash some nethicite. What could go wrong?”
Ashe looked at the ground. Balthier heaved a sigh.
“Ivalice is depending on us,” Reddas said, looking at Ashe. “We’ll simply do our best for that, Lady Ashe.”
Ashe nodded, swallowing hard.
“Come on, let’s be off.” Basch gruffly put an end to all conversation, striding forward. Everyone started off; Balthier lingered a brief moment.
The Sun-cryst, and Venat, and my father. Not looking forward to that. That look in his father’s eyes atop Draklor still haunted him. Balthier had seen something there, something familiar, something not quite as insane as he’d expected. Perhaps it meant there was something of the old Dr. Cid left? Or maybe just that it was the old Dr. Cid who was willing to do all those terrible things. Still, Balthier clung to the small, perhaps even childish hope that both he and his father would survive their next encounter.  
“If you won’t let me fly you, at least be careful, won’t you?” Strahl’s voice came to Balthier’s mind just as he was about to start off. “You’re the leading man, remember? You have to come back.”
Balthier heaved a sigh. “This whole ‘leading man’ thing of yours is not easy, you know.”
“Just come back.”
“Mm.”  
Strahl’s presence reluctantly slipped from his mind. Balthier looked up at his airship. If he didn’t…
The others were walking away, Vaan tailing the group, unaware Balthier lingered.
“Vaan,” Balthier called, and he stopped.
“Balthier? What?” Vaan said, turning around.
Balthier glanced back up at his airship. “Vaan, if something untoward happens to me, I want you to take the Strahl.”
“Wait, what?” Vaan’s eyes went wide. “Untoward? What are you talking about?”
“You never know,” Balthier said, walking to join the group with deliberate nonchalance. “Might have to do something heroic. I want to make sure she’s in good hands, just in case.”
Thankfully, Vaan didn’t press once they’d rejoined the others. The group proceeded along the trails of the Ridorana Cataract, up the stairs and roads of the still, ancient ruin. After a half hour’s travel inland, they reached the longer, wider staircase leading up to the massive tower’s base. The stairway crested onto a terrace made of sandy stone. At the top, Balthier stopped.
The Pharos Lighthouse towered overhead, breathtaking in its width and sheer height. Its top disappeared into the clouds far above. Balthier frowned. And I thought this place looked intimidating from far off.
Ashe stared at the tower, eyes wavering. Her hand rested on the Treaty-blade’s hilt, in a habitual way it had since she received it. She seemed connected to that sword, in the she seemed connected to the Dawn Shard, and Balthier didn’t like that.
“Oh, wow, it’s… tall,” Vaan said, gawking at the tower.
“Inside,” Ashe said, quietly. She walked towards the door, a towering gate to match the towering lighthouse. She stopped before it, staring up at the gilded patterns over its surface. She didn’t look possessed, Balthier was glad, but she did look scared, and uncertain. Balthier came to stand beside her, studying her face.
“Princess-” Balthier began.
“No, Balthier, I’m alright.” Ashe put on a brave smile. “We just- let’s get this door open.”
Balthier sighed, then turned to study the door. There didn’t seem to be any mechanism to raise it.
“Hey, there’s something carved over here,” Vaan said. He looked up at the pillar beside the gateway. Balthier turned from the gate and studied the figures etched in the ancient stone.
“Some sort of ancient text…” he said, frowning. “Fran? Can you read this?”
Fran approached the wall. “The tongue is quite old,” she said, resting her fingertips against the text. “But I believe I can.
‘Blade-bearer, sent ones, beware. The tower is unkind, and her paths are set with the trials of the stone-birthers, to prove those appointed. Test of might, test of wit, test of will. To those who follow, I speak caution, for deepest fears arise. You without power, want it not. You with power, trust it not. You with sight, heed it not. Rend illusion, cut the true path. In blood, Raithwall.’”
Ashe gasped. “The Dynast King?”
“Does that surprise you?” Fran said, cocking her head at the princess. “Raithwall cut his Shards here, didn’t he?”
“He must have known the Occuria would send others after him,” Basch said, gravely. “And if he thought it was necessary to leave a warning, these ‘trials’ he spoke of must be great indeed. We should take care.”
“Oh, come on,” Vaan said. “How can it be worse than anything we’ve already been through?”
“I don’t think it has to be worse to get us killed,” Penelo said. She hugged her staff to her, frowning at Vaan.
“At any rate,” Balthier sighed, “why don’t we focus on getting this door open?”
“Lady Ashe, what about your sword?” Reddas said. He’d been silent for a while, staring gravely up at the tower with his fists on his hips.
“The Treaty-blade?” Ashe looked down at the sword tied at her waist.
“The Occuria gave it to you, didn’t they?” Reddas said. “It’s proof they sent us for the Sun-cryst; perhaps that’s the key.”
Ashe pulled out the Treaty-blade; the long, glittering sword caught the sun’s rays. Ashe stepped closer to the gate, holding the Treaty-blade in front of her. A faint, blueish glow formed around the sword’s blade, and Ashe’s eyes widened. Balthier, standing beside her, could feel the shiver of energy from the blade. The gate rose with a tremendous grinding, dust from its ancient frame clouding the air. The rushing of water echoed from inside.
Ashe let the sword fall. She breathed out shakily.
“Look at that,” Balthier said. He sighed. He dreaded facing his father, but a determination welled up inside him to set things right in that meeting, whatever it took.
“Well, princess.” Balthier turned to Ashe. “Shall we?”
Ashe looked into his eyes, breathed deep, and nodded.

The corridor from the doorway opened up into an enormous, circular room built of bluish stone. In the center, the floor fell away to reveal a column of water, flowing miraculously upward in a whirling spiral. The water pillar stretched up, and down, as far as Balthier could see.
“What was that?” Penelo jumped at low growling noise coming from one of many doorways along the outside wall. The room inside was dimly lit, but Balthier could see a shadowy shape slipping away.
“I think we found Ridorana’s wildlife,” Balthier said.
“The myst is thicker in here,” Fran said. “It likely draws the creatures to it.”
“Means we get to have some excitement.” Balthier drew out his rifle with a sigh. “Come on; let’s find some stairs.”
What part of their journey wasn’t taken up with fending off myst-crazy monsters, Basch spent grilling Balthier on what Tainra had meant by ‘the last time’ he met Venat. The captain hadn’t had a chance to ask yet, and Balthier could tell that bothered him. Balthier ended up telling, though clenched teeth, the story of Nabudis, that, yes, he had met Venat before, and yes, he had been entirely unsuccessful in fighting him off, and no, he didn’t feel he’d improved terribly much in controlling his power since then. Balthier made sure to leave the other Judge on that mission anonymous, for Reddas’s sake.
When the small windows found occasionally along the Pharos’s walls showed views of starry black sky, they stopped and made camp for the night.

…

The red glow of a crackling fire chased the shadows into corners in this dim room, high in the Pharos Lighthouse. Reddas breathed in the scent of burning wood, thankful for the warmth on this rather nippy night. Penelo stood off in a corner, swinging her staff with grace as she practiced her dancing. Vaan, Balthier, and Ashe all sat around the fire, resting their feet. Vaan and Balthier argued lightheartedly, and Ashe listened with a smile, hands stretched over the fire. Reddas stood farther from the fire, with Basch and Fran, people whom he’d identified as the most mature members of this ragtag group. Ffamran- well, Balthier- and the princess, they managed a good enough appearance, but Reddas knew there were some lessons only years could teach.
“I have been thinking,” Basch said, his face graver than usual. “Venat’s goals ultimately revolve around his controlling Balthier’s power, if we can trust what the Occuria said. And from what Balthier has told me, if we meet Venat here, he may not be able to fight him off. If Venat gets ahold of this power, we can assume stopping him will be difficult, at least.”
Fran frowned. “What are you saying?”
Reddas remained silent and listened. He’d kept quiet most of the day; he could see that this group were closely knit friends, and he couldn’t help but feel he was upsetting a delicate balance.
“I only mean this as a last resort, but-” Basch said “-if things get out of hand, we must be prepared to take drastic action. If Balthier is no longer an option, Venat’s plans will be foiled.”
Fran studied Basch but said nothing. Her taciturn face was hard to read.
“You can suggest that without it pricking your conscience?” Reddas said.
“Only as a last resort,” Basch repeated. “I think even he’d agree with it.” Basch turned his gaze to the princess, who contentedly warmed her hands over the fire. “I have a duty to Dalmasca,” the captain said, “and I will not allow that to be endangered.”
Reddas sighed. “There should be a way to settle this with no more death.”
“What about Dr. Cid?” Basch said, turning back. “You don’t honestly think we can settle him diplomatically.”
“I know war has casualties,” Reddas said. “But if must kill our enemies, I’d like to make it through this without killing our friends.”
“When I first met Balthier,” Fran spoke up, “I could see he was… different. The myths of my people…” Fran shook her head, then continued. “I only came with him with the intention of killing him when the opportunity came. But as time went on, I realized he posed no danger. I understand what you mean, Basch; we could end all this simply, easily, instantly. But, I think Reddas is right; we mustn’t stoop to that dark road.”
Basch was silent a long while, then only grunted his consent.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Six

The Pharos at Ridorana
Year 706 of the Old Valendian Calendar

“How much longer is this gonna take?” Vaan moaned. Balthier glared at him.
“If you think you can do better, be my guest.”
Vaan just mumbled, and Balthier turned back to the door; the ancient gate blocked any farther progress up the Pharos Lighthouse. Though he’d been inwardly annoyed by the overabundance of self-opening doors in the past few days, now Balthier longed for Ashe to simply wave her sword and this stubborn obstruction to rise out of their way. The locking mechanism was similar to those used in many ancient ruins, though this one seemed deliberately designed as a puzzle. As he shifted the ancient stone pieces, Balthier wondered how Raithwall managed to get through this. Though with the warp technology at Raithwall’s tomb, perhaps such devices were more common in his day…
But I was raised in the most advance technological institute on Ivalice, Balthier reminded himself. This device is no match for me.
At last, the click came. Balthier’s scowl morphed into a satisfied smile.
“There we go.”
Fran and Penelo looked up from whatever they’d been talking about. Ashe stood from kneeling on the stone floor.
“Shouldn’t it be open?” Vaan asked.
“Well, it’s unlocked,” Balthier replied, “but whatever mechanism raised it is long since out of commission. I think we’ll have lift it.”
Balthier, Vaan, Basch, and Reddas all worked together to lift the gate. The stone’s weight strained at Balthier’s muscles, but thankfully it stayed in place once they’d forced it up. Balthier flapped a hand to clear the stone dust as he stepped through.
Beyond was yet another dimly lit room of bluish stone. Several passageways wound off from the far wall. The column of water couldn’t be seen, but its rushing din permeated the walls.
Ashe walked though, coughing from the dust left by the ancient door.
“Oh. Where do we go now?” she asked, looking over the multiple passageways.
“Mm.” Balthier frowned. Not a single one of the passages led up, at least not as far as Balthier could see.
“We’ll have to scout down them one by one,” Basch said.
Vaan sighed. “That’ll take forever.”
“Not if we split up,” Balthier said. “I think-”
He broke off as a crash of stone-against-stone echoed from ahead. Balthier frowned.
“What’s that?” Penelo said, as more banging came. It sounded louder. Closer. A sudden rumbling shook the floor beneath Balthier’s feet.
“Everyone-” Reddas began, but a wall of stone rose from floor, blocking him and Fran from view. Another wall raised on Balthier’s right, cutting him off from Vaan, Penelo and Basch. Balthier spun and made to grab Ashe’s wrist and pull her to him, but yet another wall snapped upward, nearly taking off his hand and cutting off his view of the princess.
All was still again. The old stone groaned as it settled into place, protesting at moving again after hundreds of years. Balthier found the new room formed around him empty. A single doorway lay at the far end.
“Hello? Vaan?” Penelo’s terrified voice came muffled through the stone.
“Penelo? Where are you?” Vaan’s voice replied.
“Highness? Can you hear me?” Basch called.
“Basch? Yes, I can,” Ashe’s voice drifted back.
“Is everyone alright?” Reddas called. A chorus of affirmatives answered him: “Yes,” from Fran and Basch, “yep,” from Vaan, “uh-hu,” from Penelo, and an “I think so,” from Ashe. Balthier added his own “yes.”
“This must be one of the ‘tests’ Raithwall spoke of,” Basch said. Balthier heaved a sigh.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to keep going,” he said, raising his voice to be heard through the walls. “If this is just some test, we can assume all these paths lead to the top at some point.”
“What? We’re supposed to go alone?” Penelo said. “There are monsters in here.”
“Don’t worry, Penelo,” Vaan said. “You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about myself,” Penelo replied, indignant.
Vaan sighed. “Well, race you to the top!” Footsteps echoed from beyond the walls.
“Good luck, everyone,” Ashe called. “Be careful.”
“We will be,” Balthier replied, turning half to the wall at his left where he knew Ashe stood. Frustration welled up inside him that he hadn’t been fast enough to grab her. Footfalls signaled the departure of his friends. With a sigh, Balthier marched towards the single doorway that bid him climb farther up the Pharos Lighthouse.

Balthier’s pathway led out to a staircase that wound around the outside of the central column, the massive, empty cylinder at the tower’s center where the spiral of water rose. The ornate stone stairways stretched between ornate stone platforms, many with doorways leading back into the tower’s outer mazes. Balthier stuck to the stairways, spiraling endlessly upward.
Balthier marched up another flight of stairs. The din of roaring water filled his ears, and he could feel the spray on his face. He frowned up at the massive spiral of rushing water, wondering for the hundredth time how it flowed upward, and where it was going.
As he crested the top of the stairs, Balthier stopped.
“Oh, no,” he sighed. The platform was a dead end; no more stairs led off of it. Balthier walked over the far end. Another platform rested along the inner wall, distanced above and to the side. There were gaps in the railings on both platforms, like another stairway should connect them, only there was none. Balthier frowned up at it with his hands on his hips, contemplating his next move.
“Ffamran… Is that you?”
A familiar voice from behind sent ice through Balthier’s veins. He turned slowly, until he could see the owner of that voice. There she stood, on the cold blue stone, grey Draklor uniform tidy, brown hair pushed back over her shoulders, tears glossing her emerald eyes. Balthier blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
“…Reina?” Balthier’s heart pounded against his chest, and an inexplicable chill gripped his limbs.
“It is you, isn’t it?” Reina’s soft, familiar voice washed over Balthier’s senses. The tears in her eyes leaked out, forging shining trails down her cheeks.
“What?” Balthier couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He stared into her familiar eyes, that ache of guilt awakening with vengeance. “How-?”
“Don’t go, Ffamran,” Reina said. She stepped closer to him. “You know you can’t face your father. You can’t fight Venat, any more than you can control your powers.” Reina rested her hands on his shoulders. “Please don’t try; you’ll only get yourself killed. You know that, don’t you?”
“I…”
Reina’s touch was oddly cold. Her face flickered, and for a second Balthier could see the Pharos’s stone walls through her. Balthier started to step back from her, but-
“No, please don’t go.” Reina’s sweet voice and pleading, innocent eyes halted Balthier’s retreat. She looked just as he remembered her; the same Reina he couldn’t save. “Please, Ffamran,” Reina said, her eyes locked into his, “don’t go up the tower. I don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t win your father back, and you certainly can’t fight Venat.” She slid her hands farther around his neck.
“Just what is it you want me to do?” Balthier said. “Walk back to the bottom and leave?”
“Yes. Find some other way. Some way you can win,” Reina replied. “Oh, please, Ffamran. We both know you saving Ivalice is just an illusion.”
Illusions.
Raithwall’s warning.
Balthier studied Reina’s face again; her eyes were so familiar, but something was empty and deeply disturbing about the image. Perhaps it was the fact that Reina was dead and, however much he wanted it, couldn’t possibly be halfway up the Pharos Lighthouse.
“No, you’re… This is just some twisted test those blasted Occuria left here.” Balthier stumbled backward, pulling himself, with difficulty, away from the ghost’s cold hands.
“Ffamran! No!” Bright tears welled into Reina’s bright eyes once more. “I’m here because I don’t want you to get hurt. Ffamran-”
“Don’t call me that!” Balthier snapped, his breathing coming quicker. He couldn’t take her sweet, familiar voice a moment longer. “That hasn’t been my name since… since you died. You’re not Reina. Reina wouldn’t try and stop me. Now I’m sorry-” he turned away, tearing his gaze from her face “-but I have friends to find.”
“Fine, then,” Reina said, voice flickering with indignant tears. “Go back to your princess!”
Balthier stiffened. He looked back at Reina. “I’m helping Princess Ashe,” he said between deep breaths, “because our goals are the same; to save Ivalice and everyone on it from Venat and his twisted schemes. That’s all.”
“Really? You’ve told her things you never told Reina.” The illusion chuckled, cruel tones mocking Reina’s sweet voice. “She would’ve been terrified of you, you know. I wonder if Ashe is, deep down.”
“Why won’t you just be quiet?” Balthier said through clenched teeth, eyes shut against Reina’s face.
“You really think you can save your father?” Reina narrowed her eyes at him. “That you can stop Venat?”
Balthier sucked in a deep breath to steady himself, willing his lungs to stop shuddering.
“You know? I have no idea,” Balthier staring into the illusion’s familiar green eyes. “Maybe not. But I’m sure going to try.”
“Very well, then.” The illusion’s voice rumbled low, now. The figure flickered, warping from Reina to some shadowy figure, just on the verge of a recognizable form. Eyes, black yet with a piercing light, sent a wild gaze boring into Balthier’s.
“Climb onward, child of ancient wrath,” the figure hissed, pointing a shadow finger tipped with a black claw. “Your birthright awaits at tower’s top; fear not to claim it.”
“What?” Balthier frowned. “What did you-” He broke off as the image began to fade, black wisps melting from its edges. “Wait-!” Balthier reached a hand towards it, but the shadowy image vanished completely before he could even finish the word. Balthier closed his mouth, staring at the empty place, confusion whirling in his mind.
“Balthier!”
A faint, muffled voice, reached Balthier’s ears, barely audible. He looked around but saw nothing; only the torrent of water beyond the railing at the right, and the ever-rising wall of the Pharos at the left.
“Balthier!”
The voice grew louder, and Balthier recognized it this time. The sensation of hands shaking his shoulders suddenly reached him. The fuzzy image of a man’s face in front of him faded into reality. Balthier jerked back in surprise.
“Reddas?”
“Balthier.” Reddas released him. “You can hear me now?”
“I- Yes,” Balthier said, forcing his mind back to the present. If Reddas was here, that meant the pathways did intersect before they reached the Sun-cryst.
“You found any of the others?” Balthier asked, looking to see if Reddas had any companions.
“No,” Reddas said, shaking his head. “You’re the first. Though we can assume they’re all encountering the visions.”
“Then you’ve been seeing things, too?” Balthier asked.
“Mm.” A shadow passed over Reddas’s face. “It’s a cruel trick. I suppose the Occuria know nothing stings like the past.” Reddas shook his head. “You don’t want to talk about it, and neither do I. Let’s find the others.”
“Agreed,” Balthier said. The last thing he wanted to dwell on was that painful image of Reina, or ominous farewell from that illusion. Balthier planted his hands on his hips. “However, I think we’re going to have to go down before we keep going up.”
Reddas furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there are no more stairs,” Balthier said. He walked past Reddas. “See- Oh.”
On the platform’s edge, a stairway stretched up to the next one, in the place where there had been only open air a few minutes ago.
“Never mind,” Balthier said. “Come on; and let’s hope no more illusions toy with our senses.”

…

The cold of the Pharos’s stone floor seeped through Ashe’s dress and leggings as she sat, legs gathered to her chest. She’d wandered through dim, maze-like tunnels for what felt like hours, though she knew it wasn’t that long, and finally emerged onto a stone platform. The stairs spiraled around the upward rush of water, bridging between platforms, going up for as far as Ashe could see. Exhausted, Ashe took that moment to rest.
Ashe closed her eyes for a moment; she rested her head on her arms and listened to the monotonous swooshing of water. She wished Balthier had been able to grab her hand; she knew he’d tried, and she didn’t blame him, but Ashe hated wandering through the great lighthouse all alone.
“Highness.”
Ashe jerked her head off her arms, awake in an instant. She scanned the platform, the stairs leading up and down, and the doorway leading back into the outer mazes: no one. Ashe wondered if she’d imaged the voice in her half-asleep state. But it sounded familiar…
Ashe stood, still wary. Something felt very wrong all of a sudden. The hairs on her arms pricked, and a coil of unease tightened her stomach. She rested a hand on the Treaty-blade out of habit; the bare metal of its hilt set warmth tingling through her fingers.
Ashe walked farther out onto the platform, drinking in the cool air scented of wet stone. She breathed slowly as the atmosphere of clinging uneasiness grew. Ashe wished more than ever that Balthier was there. Or her father. Or Vossler…
“Over here, Highness.”
The voice came from behind. Ashe froze rigid, heart pounding, terrified to turn around.
“Princess Ashe? I’m over here.”
Ashe recognized the voice this time; she looked over her shoulder. Even though some part of her screamed that this was all wrong, her tension eased at the sight.
“Vossler?”
A smile flicked over Vossler’s lips, the kind Ashe had rarely seen but gladly noted every time she had.
“I’m so pleased you’ve finally come, Ashe,” he said.
“Vossler, but how…?” Ashe turned to face Vossler fully. Vossler’s… dead. The memory alone of that terrible moment sent a twinge through her stomach and stung her eyes with tears. “Vossler, what are you doing here?”
“I knew one day you’d be worthy to receive your own nethicite from the Occuria,” Vossler continued, totally dismissive of Ashe’s distress. “Dalmasca will surely benefit from fresh stones.”
Ashe frowning. “No! We’re going to destroy the nethicite, not take more.”
Vossler’s face darkened.
“What?” Vossler’s brow lowered in a frown. “Destroy it? You’re going to destroy the nethicite? How do you expect to rule Dalmasca without it?”
“I… What do you mean?” Ashe stepped backward, her breath coming faster. She knew something was wrong with her, wrong with all of this. Vossler couldn’t be… real. Yet his words struck on the real fears in her heart.
“Dalmasca’s rulers have always had the Dusk Shard at their disposal,” Vossler replied, empty eyes locked into Ashe’s. “Your father had it, all his ancestors had it; Raithwall himself was nothing without nethicite’s power. You could never be half the leader your father was; you’re weak, princess, and you know it. How are you going to handle an entire kingdom without nethicite’s power to rely on?”
“I…” Ashe stumbled for words. “But we have to destroy it! The nethicite’s dangerous!”
“You’re going to deny your people the strength they need because of danger?” Vossler shook his head and sighed. “I never thought of you as a coward, Ashe.”
“What? No, that’s… that’s not it.” Ashe shook her head. “It’s not! Vossler…” Ashe’s voice broke. Was it? No, the nethicite’s brought nothing but trouble.
“You could you the stones well, couldn’t you?” Vossler said. “For Dalmasca. For your father’s kingdom.”
“But, I…” Ashe swallowed hard. “I have to destroy it. There isn’t any other way.” Ashe looked away, closing her eyes on the image she knew had to be false. There isn’t. Not any other way…
“If that is your wish…” Vossler’s voice grew lower, the illusion of his image wavering. “Then let’s see how you fare without Dynast King’s power.”
Ashe opened her eyes. “What-?”
A shadow fell over Ashe from behind as Vossler’s form vanished. Ashe whirled around; she screamed at what she saw.