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Chapter Text

The Senior Adjunct sat quietly in his office in the wretched city of Ul'dah, looking out of his windows at the moon. He could have set himself up nearly anywhere in the world, but he always preferred to find himself in a city with a distinct and greedy cruelty. It reminded him of his sacred mission, bestowed upon him by his Master. It reminded him of all that would be swept away once the Star was made whole once more.

His gentle Master Elidibus was now late for the Senior Adjunct's report. The Paragon was never late to hear the summaries he crafted from the favored servants of Elidibus that the Senior Adjunct oversaw, and for the first time in millennia he feared the worst had happened. Fandaniel would never be allowed to run amok this long if the Emissary was free to stop him. The whispers that the last of the Unsundered was slain may yet be true.

He conjured his mask, plain, worn and black, and holds it in his hands. It was more his face now than any of the myriad of bodies he had worn over the years. Even more than the one he had been born with.

He still remembered his first life. While many of his brethren chose to forget who they had once been as mortals, the Senior Adjunct held to the lessons that life had taught him. He had once been something of a hero ages past. Not one that really ended up in any stories that lasted, he'd slain a few monsters, recovered a lost treasure once and returned it to its rightful place, helped defend a village against bandits, but nothing that still left a mark. Elidibus recruited two kinds of people to serve him. The first were power hungry brutes that could be directed to cause trouble as needed, and otherwise kept from causing meaningless harm. They rarely lasted long. The second were people like the Senior Adjunct, who acted as the Paragon's eyes and ears in the world. It was said that Elidibus could hear when a champion's heart broke, and sometimes he would come to offer succor to those that called to the Emissary's nature. Not all got the offer the Senior Adjunct had. Fewer took it.

The Senior Adjunct still remembered what had broken him. A missing child, slaughtered for naught but amusement by one of her own people. He'd put the monster in hyur form down like the beast they had been, and brought the poor girl's corpse home... the wails of her parents still haunted his dreams all these years later.

He'd almost taken his own life that night, unable to bear a world filled with such senseless sorrow.

And then his Master had come. Told him he was right, that the world itself was a broken thing... a Sundered thing. That once it had been a kinder place. Elidibus had held the Senior Adjunct's weeping face in his hands and asked him if he wanted to help mend the Star's shattered form. That the path would be hard, and full of suffering. But in the end it would all be made right.

How could he have said no?

The Senior Adjunct was not the cleverest of those who wore the black masks. He could not claim the most powerful of magics and nor did he possess a silver tongue like some of his peers. But he was steady, loyal and did not let ambition ruin his work. There had even been times he had given his reports to the Convocation itself. Once he had even pleased another of the Convocation, Emet-Selch, well enough that he had been offered a reward. He suspected the Paragon had expected him to ask for power or some other form of honor. But there was only one thing he had craved...

"My name, my lord. Do you know who I was a part of, when Amaurot still stood?

"Is that truly what you want?"

The Senior Adjunct had simply nodded, and Emet-Selch complied, closing his eyes with a faint sigh.

"Perseus. He worked under the auspices of the seat of Pashtarot. I remember he was one of many who battled to safeguard the Convocation during the summoning of Lord Zodiark. And one of the few to survive. A good legacy for you to try and uphold."

Emet-Selch was gone as well. First Lahabrea, and now at last Elidibus. And all likely by the same hand.

In a world facing the Final Days, Perseus wept for the world that could have been.

Perseus only realized days later after the event that he had felt Lord Zodiark die. There has been a tremble through the aether of the world. If it had been something mortals ears could hear, he would have described it as a mournful wail of a child who had lost its beloved protector. But he had not known what it meant at the time. That realization came when he received reports from his contacts in Radz-at-Han, the capital of the distant land of Thavnair. Monsters were devastating the city, the source of which were the people themselves undone by their despair.

The skies themselves were aflame.

He teleported there to look upon it himself, and realized some long buried part of himself recognized the burning sky. He'd seen it before in ill-recalled nightmares. His very soul had seen this before.

When he saw the monsters, the blasphemies as they would later be called by the survivors, he realized he had unconsciously summoned his sword and shield to his hands. He had never faced these beasts in this lifetime. But the long dead man he had been part of had given his all to face such horrors. As an Ascian, his purpose may yet still drive him to bring devastation to these people in the future, to bring suffering to fix a far greater wound. The smart thing would be to flee and wait for a path forward to present itself. A plan crafted by his betters to follow in this end of days. And yet... and yet if this was to be the End Times come again, he would die as he had lived. He would follow the legacy of both his lives.

A defender of this Star.

Perseus heard people scream from where the blasphemies were trying to break into the building they sheltered within. He raised his blade, and charged.

He returns to his home covered in the smell of fire and blood, clothes slick with gore and with a heavy heart. Even an Ascian like himself had limits, and while the monstrosities had been beaten back for now, they would come again. Would anything he could do make any difference?

Perseus doesn't even bother to try and salvage what he had been wearing, instead destroying the garb and trying his best to wash the ichor from this body's skin.

He reaches out to his brethren, and finds them at more of a loss than he. No instructions, no direction. Some wondered if this was a botched attempt as a Rejoining like the tragedy of the thirteenth reflection, he disabuses them of that notion. Reminds them that their mission remains the same, the restoration of this Star to its true state, and that includes safeguarding the Source until that can be accomplished.

Some listen, some do not.

Fandaniel hasn't been seen since the presumed destruction of Lord Zodiark. Normally the likely death of one of his kind's Overlords would have been a cause for even more mourning, even for one rumored to be unstable. But, well, Perseus has his suspicions, and hopes the man rots in the seven hells.

For those of his kind who are still listening to his suggestions, he has them gather information. If they can learn more of what is going on, through their own scholars or through listening in on what the governments of the Sundered plan, perhaps they can find some path forward. Sharlayan would be the best possible source for leads, but, Hydaelyn always had some influence on that nation, making it hard to get well placed agents there. The best agents in that city of scholars had been some of Lahabrea's devotees, but they had perished nobly while attempting to avenge their Master's death at the hands of the Warrior of Light.

Good deaths, but he mourned their loss nonetheless.

He awakens to someone gently shaking his shoulder. Blearily, he realizes he must have given into this body's exhaustion while trying to organize his notes.

Perseus feels a flush of panic when he realizes it is not one of his brethren checking in on him, but the woman his mortal persona hired as a part time housekeeper. Normally he keeps his study locked and off limits.

The woman smiles at him, pulling at a thin scar that looks like it had almost cost her an eye. "Hey, sorry to startle you. It's just well into the afternoon and the door was open. I was worried you were unwell."

The Senior Adjunct draws himself up and does his best to look alert, "Thank you for your concern. It has just been a long week. I must have lost track of the time."

"You look half dead, have you eaten?"

"I would not wish to impose upon you for something that lies outside of your duties."

"Please, you are the nicest of the people I work for. It is no bother."

Considering the fact that he hardly ever talks with the woman, to the point where he isn't entirely sure of her name, he has to wonder how bad the others she works for are. But she is right, he has badly neglected this body, the hands are shaking and he suspects it is badly dehydrated.

Over the course of her putting together a light lunch, for the both of them after he insists she should eat as well, he does confirm her name. Ida. She is oddly easy to talk to, with a pleasantly practical outlook on life in this cesspit of a city. The entire conversation is a welcome distraction and indulgence on his part. He can't even remember the last time he'd just... made conversation. With anyone.

Ida invites him over to her home for tea the next day, he suspects to make sure he actually remembers to eat, and he surprises himself by saying yes.

His daily visits with his brown haired housekeeper are the one bright spot in the unholy terror that is the Final Days. He learns Ida is one of the refugees from Gyr Abania, and has a daughter, Beth, that he suspects isn't hers by blood. She'd hardly be the first of her people to take on the children of dead strangers. The daughter is sweet, but skittish, and rather on the quiet side. He doesn't think it's him, war orphans often carry their scars on the inside. He starts to bring little pastries the girl likes when he comes to visit.

Everything else he does is a lesson in failure. Every scrap of information comes to him too late. He hears about the Radz-at-Han refugees fleeing to a lunar sanctuary by way of a teleporter in Garlemald, only to arrive after a blasphemy attack had slaughtered some of them, forcing them to flee. He hears too late to do anything to help the efforts of those brilliant Sharlayan madmen to finish building a ship that can travel to the stars. (How had his agents missed that?) A ship they then proceed to launch to send the same 'hero' who had slaughtered so many of his brethren, had slain his very God, out to do the same to the mysterious cause of the apocalypse.

The Warrior of Light returns victorious. Of course.

A Sundered and imperfect being has defeated a threat that had wiped out the venerated and whole of soul Ancients. And done so with just the help and support of other broken people in this ruin of a world.

The only thing of value the Senior Adjunct, who had devoted his life to returning the Star to the way it should be, has done is lend his blade against the monsters. And that is something any mortal could have accomplished.

Even Ida had offered someone like him kindness in a city where none had been shown to her. When had he last done anything for naught but the kindness of it?

The darkest of heresies seeps into his mind. Was there any point to any of it? Elidibus had spoken of bringing salvation to the Star. Had it really needed saving? Had he blackened his hands in the blood of innocents for nothing? Was he no better than the beast he had struck down as his last worthy act as a mortal? Was he, a wraith riding a stolen corpse, worse?

Either way, it is over now. The Paragons are gone. Zodiark gone. What was the point of the Senior Adjunct still being here?

Perseus had once been a hero, so he knows what the fate of monsters should be.

His sword arm is trembling, and he can't blame the frigid winds of Coerthas for it. It took some time to track down the Warrior of Light. To wait until the hero was tracking some beast out in the wilds with no one else around... and no corpses for Perseus to flee to. Well, one other living creature is around, but Perseus hardly thinks one small blue bird is going to make any difference here.

He watches the Warrior battle one of the left over blasphemies with a greatsword as dark as a pitiless night. The monster is a seething thing of mouths, twisting in the air like a demonic child's morbid kite. The wise thing to do would be to attack the moment the beast is dead. But there is no wisdom in what he plans this day.

The beast is dispatched with ease by the hero. Good, then let the rest of this be done.

He waits until the slayer of the Paragons has recovered himself before announcing his presence. He teleports in, black mask firmly in place, his robes covering his armor, to leave no doubt as to his nature. "Champion of Hydaelyn! I demand satisfaction from you for the deaths of my brothers and sisters." He raises his blade in a salute, "Defend yourself!"

Perseus didn't expect the Warrior's voice to be so soft and full of sorrow, "Hydaelyn is dead too. By my hand at that, albeit by her will. Is there really any point to this?"

His grip on the hilt of his sword wavers. "No, there isn't. There isn't any point to anything anymore."

Perseus charges.

He does slightly better than the blasphemy. That beast had managed, perhaps, only a strike or two before the Warrior of Light gutted it open from stem to stern. Even with his shield, he tries to dodge that black blade. He isn't sure how any mortal can swing something so large so quickly. It isn't long before he is forced to use Ascian tricks, teleporting away from a near strike, over just his own skill at swordplay.

He realizes too late that what had looked like an opening after a particularly wide swing was just a feint by the Warrior of Light. At last forced to block, he feels his shield and the arm behind it buckle at the force of the hero's strike. Pain shudders through him as he leaps back and uses his magic to dismiss the tattered remnants of his shield off his arm. There isn't much point in summoning another shield, he is pretty sure the arm is broken.

The blood of his stolen body stains the snow red.

The Warrior of Light waits and watches.

He can't manage any words, certainly he has nothing worthy to offer up as his last ones. So he just screams like the wounded animal he is, and attacks once more. A heavy impact to his gut stops him. Looking down, he can see that pitch black blade buried in his belly. A simple twist to the side would sever his spine, a tear upwards would sunder his heart. Perseus drops his sword, to grasp feebly at the Warrior's blade. As if that could stop his end.

There is no pain yet. This body's heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He can't get enough air and tears are blurring his vision. For the first time in eons, the body he is wearing feels like his own. This pending death feels like his own. Everything feels real.

Oh.

Like a man who chose to plummet to his death off a cliff, only to change his mind as the ground races up to meet him, he suddenly realizes he wants to live after all.

Perseus's legs give out beneath him, and the Warrior kneels with him rather than let gravity tear the sword through Perseus as he falls. He finds himself staring into the small eyes of the little blue bird he'd seen earlier. It sits still upon the Warrior's shoulder, staring right back at him.

The Warrior of Light reaches forward, gently pulls Perseus's mask from his face, letting it fall to the ground, and briefly closes his own eyes. Opens them, and meets Perseus's gaze.

Like Elidibus had in ages past, the man before him cups his face in his hand. A hand wet with Perseus's own blood rather than his tears.

The Warrior of Light's voice is soft and gentle, "This world is a scarred and battered thing. Full of sorrow. But it still has worth. There is joy there, if you look for it. This Star and its people are still worth fighting for. It will never be what it was, but that doesn't mean we can't make it better together."

"Perseus." The Ascian gasps at the use of his name. "Yield, please, and live."

Perseus yields.

Chapter Text

They ended up in a cave nearby.

The Warrior of Light was, by his own admission, not a great healer.  Not that it mattered much anyway, all Perseus really needed to survive was sufficient aether to repair the shocking damage to this body, time, and to not succumb to the pull of the underworld while he did so.  The man did have a surprisingly good bedside manner.  It was also a strange thing to know that the bane of Ascians liked to sing while he worked.

The little blue bird was still there.  It watched him with a gaze far too knowing to be any mortal beast.  It should have been unnerving but Perseus had no sense of malice from it.  At one point he stretches out his unbroken arm and the little thing hops upon his hand.  He pets its feathers awkwardly with one finger.

The Warrior looks up, and smiles.  "She likes you."

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes.  She'll tell you herself if she wants to."

The Warrior of Light pauses, considers something for a moment, and then asks.  "Do you have a way to contact the surviving members of the Convocation?  I'd like to try and talk to them.  Tell them what happened.  Perhaps find a path forward...

Perseus can't tell if it's a strangled laugh or a sob that tears its way out of his throat.  "Honestly it seems like you have a much better chance of getting their attention than I.  For all I know, I may be one of the most senior of us left on the Source, assuming Fandaniel is indeed dead as well.  And I am... was but an assistant to Master Elidibus."

The little blue bird almost looks to flinch, flies off his hand and out of the cave, as the Warrior replies, "Fandaniel is dead."

"Your hands?"

"No.  His own."

"I have no right to impose, but, I may not be a Convocation member, but, I would like to know what happened.  To the Paragons that is."

The Warrior of Light nods, "You have that right."

And begins his tale.

Perseus weeps the most for the final fate of his Master.  After everything Elidibus had been through.  After all he had lost, all he had suffered...

Let this be my final act.

He should be glad that the last of the Paragons died helping to save the Star.  A noble end... and yet.  And yet.

Perseus wished the man who had saved him long ago had met a kinder end.

Perseus wished Elidibus hadn't had to die at all.

The fallen Ascian finds himself sharing some of his own stories with the Warrior of Light.  The civilizations he had seen over the eons.  The little bits of gossip those of lower rank such as he would indulge in about their superiors.

The Warrior of Light can't quite hide his interest in the Unsundered.  Not their strengths and weaknesses, but little stories about who they had been as people.  Lahabrea and his fierce bond he had with his devotees.  Odd little stories of the escapades Emet-Selch got up to while living amongst the mortals, building up civilizations.

Perseus ended up sharing a story of Elidibus that he'd never shared with anyone.  After Lahabrea fell, the Paragon had hesitated to fetch the eyes of the dragon Nidhogg, the instrument of his peer's destruction.  The Emissary's grief had been a subtle thing and rarely shown to others.  Only millennia of association had let Perseus see it, and he had been honored to be so trusted.  And so Perseus had offered, unprompted, to go in the Paragon's stead to help guide the Warriors of Darkness through the frozen depths where the wretched things had been cast.

He'd asked his Master, after the eyes had been passed on to serve the Rejoining, if there was something the Ancients would do when one of their own passed on.  Elidibus had confessed that he couldn't remember if their people had had their own rites or not.  And so Perseus had offered up the rites he'd adhered to himself, once upon a time in his mortal life.  They'd stood silent vigil together under the moon and stars, from dusk until dawn, in remembrance.

Once his body's wounds are healed, the Warrior of Light just... lets him go.  So the former Senior Adjunct crawls home.

He can't even call him a fool for letting a threat like him go.  Perseus feels purged of everything, his insides scraped clean like a melon, leaving only the rinds behind to rot in the sun.  He doesn't even know what he is anymore.  Even hate seems beyond him at the moment. 

The Warrior of Light?  A better man than he.

Fandaniel, traitor to them all?  He should feel loathing and disgust.  But all he can wonder about is if Amon had had his own regrets after his own 'leap' with the ground rushing up to meet him.

Hydaelyn?  He'll never forgive her for what she did to her people. And yet... she had perished knowing she was the last of her kind.  Dying while, in her own way, trying to defend the Star, without ever knowing if the sacrifice was worth it.  Even for her, hate feels beyond him right now.

The bed creaks when he sits upon it.  Movement catches his attention in the corner of his vision, he looks up, startled, only to realize it is naught but his own reflection in a mirror.  He finds himself strangely captivated, meeting the reflection's gaze with his own, as if he could see his soul peeking out of this stolen body.  See something of himself in his own reflection for once.

He stands to get a closer look, walking over to the mirror, laying one hand upon its surface while trying to connect with what he sees.  A narrow, thin face with pronounced cheekbones.  He looks gaunt and pale, no wonder Ida is always trying to feed him.  The hair is long and black, marred only by streaks of silver at the temples.  Pale grey eyes stare back at him.

He scowls at the beard and mustache this face sports.  The body had facial hair when he'd found the previous owner dead, and he'd just kept it up without thinking.  But right now, it bothers him.  He is fairly sure he'd always gone clean shaven as a mortal. It takes but a moment to dig out a shaving kit and washbowl, and he carefully lathers up his face and removes the offending hairs.

Better, he thinks.

Perseus finds himself consumed with the idea that he'd lived in this body for so long without properly seeing it.  At first he strips off his shirt, using the mirror and his hands to explore his torso.  He runs fingertips at the long red scar the Warrior of Light's sword had rent through him.  He could repair that and make it disappear with time.  However, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.  He counts his ribs wondering again how long he'd been neglecting himself.  He twists to glimpse his back and shoulders in the mirror, catching sight of a mole on the small of his back.

His back.  Did he have a right to call this form his own?  Did he want to?

He strips further, drinking the sight of this naked form in full.  Examining bony hips critically.  Staring at his hands wondering which calluses had existed on them before, and which had he added during his stay.  He hops, briefly and awkwardly, to try and look at the calluses at the bottom of his feet, before giving in and sitting on the bed to do so more easily.

He lays back on the bed, feeling the scratchy blanket on his bare back while laying one hand on his belly, just feeling it rise and fall as he breathes in and out.

Perseus listens to his own heartbeat.

Alive.

Perseus, still completely bare, jolts awake when he hears a frantic knock at his bedroom door, along with a muffled voice calling out.  His first reaction is to summon his sword to his hand, and then realizes that, perhaps, pants would also be appropriate when he recognizes the voice as Ida's.  His clothes are, at least, still laying on the ground and he struggles to get them before the woman decides to walk on in.

He isn't quite fast enough.

"Look I don't care if the owner hasn't been seen for a couple weeks, I'm not going to let you bastards rob... oh.  Oh by the Twelve, I am so sorry Mr. Grey."

It says something about his recent mental state that it takes him a moment to even recognize the alias he has used in Ul'dah for years.  He notices that she is brandishing a surprisingly fine pair of slim daggers, and from her posture she admirably knows how to use them.  She is also blushing quite profusely.  Perseus sits himself on the bed and tosses a blanket over his hips.  "It is fine Ida, how were you to know I was home?"

The brown haired woman rallies at that, tucking her blades away in... sheaths on her wrists.  My... he had to admire how quite well hidden those were, you couldn't even see them under her sleeves.  Had she had them on the entire time he had known her?  "Quite right, how was I supposed to know!  The only hint I had that you were gone was when that damned courier showed up at my door with five years worth of pay for me, with a vague message telling me that you'd let me know if you needed my services again in the future.  I thought one of the cartels was after you.  But then I came in and found nothing packed up, which didn't fit the story at all.  If you had time to see me paid a small fortune, you'd have packed something."

He tilts his head curiously, "How did you get in without a key?"

She glances down with a nervous expression, "I picked the lock."  She takes a breath and meets his gaze again, her brown to his grey, "It isn't that uncommon a skill, and don't think I didn't notice you trying to change the topic.  I thought... I thought we were more than just employee and employer, I thought we were friends.  If you were in trouble, I would have helped.  Beth has been crying herself to sleep again because she thought that someone else she cared about was just... gone."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't in a fit state when I... left town."

"You don't look in a fit state right now!  Gods, what happened to you?  I could play your ribs like a xylophone, you look half dead."

She reaches out with one hand towards the red scar from the Warrior, and, while almost tempted to let her touch it, he catches her wrist with his hand to stop her instead.  He swears he can feel her pulse quicken beneath his gentle grip.  Had he touched her before this, skin to skin?  For an answer, he goes with the closest thing to the truth, and to the magnitude of it, that he can manage, "I found out about the... deaths of many of my kin, and they were not kind ends.  I did not take the news well."

She turns her hand in his grip so that she can grasp his hand with her own.  He can guess that she had assumed that they, like so many others, were victims of the blasphemies.  "Oh Mr. Grey, I am so sorry.  Are you all alone?"

"Not quite, though those I felt closest to are lost to me."

His Master.  His purpose.  His God.  Gone.

And yet he still endures.

He doesn't stop her when she reaches forward to embrace him.  In fact he clings, burying his face where her neck meets shoulder.  Perseus knows it is a weakness to cling to someone who will be gone in what, to him, will be a blink of an eye. 

He doesn't care.

Things are inexorably changed for Perseus after that.  Where before his habits leaned towards solitude outside of the performance of his Duty, he finds himself craving contact with people more.  He 'renegotiates' Ida's contract, converting sections of his home to private quarters for her and Beth.  Considering that her own duties to him hardly increase, he is well aware that their relationship isn't really... transactional... anymore, but rather something more domestic.  The only extra thing she is doing is feeding him, perhaps a little to excess.  He doesn't mind.  They enjoy one another's company, and simply share resources to make both of their lives more comfortable.  She doesn't have to spend as much time working other jobs, meaning she has more time with her adopted daughter.  He joins Ida on her trips to the markets and finds the throngs of people there slightly more tolerable in her presence.  He finds time to help Ida teach Beth more of her numbers and letters.  It is... quite pleasant.

Sometimes, late at night with Beth asleep, they sit out on his rooftop garden and talk under the stars while sharing a bottle of wine between them.

He still dislikes Ul'dah, and thinks that perhaps it is time to move to somewhere he finds less repellent.  Perseus has been watching Radz-at-Han's reconstruction efforts progressing with interest.  Thavnair is a beautiful country, with a vibrant capital, and the people there have been admirable in how they have worked together in rebuilding.  Part of him wants to be part of that.  If Ida also wished to go, there would be nothing holding him back from leaving.

It's interesting watching how the peers he has access to react to the lack of guidance from the Convocation.  Some seem stuck in a holding pattern, waiting to see if a survivor comes to take the reins and begin the Rejoining anew.  A few of those who wear the black like him, mostly younger to their ascended state, give in to the lure of ambition and stir up trouble for no goals but their own power.  A pathetic waste of the gifts they had been given.  A few are like him, feeling the shift in the world and searching for a new purpose.

He has sounded out a few of the other Ascians, ones that he trusts and who hold him in reasonable regard, at the idea of a shift in their Duty.  There is no Zodiark to resurrect anymore, no point in causing Calamity upon Calamity to bring about a Rejoining.  There is no golden age to return the world to.  But the core of their work was always, like the great Zodiark himself, rooted in protection and preservation.  Perhaps their work remains the same, just with a change in method.

Perhaps it can be thought of as a simple return to form, servants of the Convocation acting as Stewards of their Star.  And perhaps as defenders of those who call it home.  He thinks of the original Perseus, a ragged surviving defender of a dying age.  A legacy who Emet-Selch said would be a good one for him to uphold.  He wonders if such a course would have made the Ancient proud?

One compatriot of his, who meets him not in robes and mask but the worn and battered magitek armor that marks her as part of the Garlean forces, seems especially interested.  Emet-Selch never had many senior bearers of the black masks serving him, but those he had favored were often worldly and cunning.  Living deep within the societies Emet-Selch molded, this particular one was something of a specialist in seeing that there were some survivors on the Source left to rebuild once a Calamity had been done.  That had likely to have been her purpose should the eighth Rejoining have occurred as planned.  But instead of seeing Garlean survivors through the aftermath of a light-soaked Calamity, she had survived the nightmare their capital had become, and had endured in one of the worst hit lands in Etheirys by the blasphemies.

Julia tol Evander is what she goes by these days and she has quite obviously 'gone native' in the aftermath of the second Final Days.  Once that would have been a cause for concern, a time to suggest that a break from her Duty was required, willing or not.  These days it simply means they have a common cause.

She is quite bitterly complaining, while drinking some of his better wines up on his rooftop garden, about some renegade Legatus who fancies himself a candidate to be Emperor.  "Here we are, trying to build New Garlemald so that the few living civilians left actually have somewhere to live and restart some form of economy, and the damn bastard is blowing up aid convoys from the Alliance.  Not even stealing them, blowing them up, because it would be "traitorous" to take aid from the so-called barbarians.  There is never going to be another Emperor, not any time soon at least.  The people are tired of all that fucking crap, and the reformed senate hasn't gotten too corrupt yet.  That Jullus pyr Norbanus kid, who still will not change his damned middle name, despite having some of the saner legates listening to him and being in the running for speaker of the new formed senate one day, isn't a piece of shit.  He is one of the few the Alliance likes to deal with, and despite all that, would still tell anyone asking him to be Emperor to go screw themselves.  If Emperor Varis came back from the dead and tried for the throne, the people would riot.  Solus... eh... maybe, maybe not?  They still tell stories of the old man's glory days even with all the shite his great grandson pulled."

Julia takes a criminally large swig from her glass of a very fine vintage that deserved more respect than that.

"Surprised you haven't taken that rogue Legate out yourself Julia."

"He has his uses."  She mutters under her breath, looking embarrassed.

Perseus stares at her, one eyebrow raised, until she answers.

"While everyone is worried about the persistent idiot, they aren't fighting with one another.  I've gotten more cooperation out of some of the finest assholes of grand Garlean stock with something to prove, just by pointing out the common threat, than I ever did prior to his crawling out of the woodwork.  Ugh, I still don't know if I like the idea of dealing with a republic again, there is something damn fine about being able to look some son of a bitch in the eye and tell them they need to shut up and do what you say because the Emperor commanded it."

"Surprised you aren't trying for the job yourself then.  You worked for Emet-Selch building empires since, what, Allag?"

"Longer than that, by a lot.  But, no, I don't want that job.  I don't want to be the boss of anything.  I'm looking after the Garleans as a favor to Emet-Selch.  Because despite everything, outside of sacrifice in the name of Duty, ol' Uncle Hades was a sentimental bastard, and would have wanted them to live."

He pauses in taking a sip of his own drink.  "Who?"

"Damn Persy," he grimaces at her pet name for him, regretting once again telling his real name to her in a moment of weakness, "sometimes I forget how tight lipped your boss was, even to his favorites."

"It wasn't his fault."

"Like hell it wasn't..."

"He held the Duty close to his heart.  There was not much room for anything else.  I..." he hesitates and remembers the man is dead, there is little betrayal in this, "I think he forgot things that weren't tied to the restoration of the Star.  Most didn't notice, but the few of us who had been with him for the most time did.  The longer things went on, the less he had.  We covered things for him, names, places, order of events."

"Fuck, I guess I really did serve the sanest of the Paragons didn't I?"

He scowls,"Don't be so glib about it.  They carried the heaviest burdens.  Had lost the most.  And don't distract from the question, Uncle Hades?"

"It was Emet-Selch's real name.  From before."

His breath catches in his throat.  "You knew one of the Paragon's true names?"

"Well, I guess since it is a night for secrets... you know I'm old-old right?  I mean I know you've seen a good chunk of the Calamities, but me, I've seen them all.  I'm not saying I was the first or anything fancy like that, but I'm one of the oldest left at this point.  And I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest of those who wear the black.  It took them a while to realize that many hands made lighter work, for a bit they focused on just having the thirteen of them.  And then the whole mess with a whole Reflection being lost to the damn Void happened.  And folks realized the work needed more help.  But I was ascended before that."

"Why?"

"Because Emet-Selch is a sentimental bastard, as I established previously.  Back in the good old days, he had two people he cherished more than any others.  One was Azem, the glorious and shining fourteenth seat... who refused to play a part in the summoning of Lord Zodiark and buggered off to find some other option.  Jack all came of that, as you can imagine, and Emet-Selch was pretty upset at that.  Especially since the other, Hythlodaeus, whom they both cherished, chose to offer his life and very soul to the summoning of our savior that saved everyone from a sticky end."

"Emet-Selch never said if he found shards of his Azem.  And I never asked.  Hythlodaeus was part of lord Zodiark so nothing to find there.  But he did find me.  Hythlodaeus had family you see.  His parents, long after he had grown into a man and had made his place in the heights of society, decided to have another child.  Who was just a tiny little thing when the world ended.  And so when Emet-Selch found a tiny little shard of that kid he once let ride on his shoulders, what did you think he did when faced with that tiny little reminder of all he'd lost?  He made me what I am and tried to make a memory crystal for me, ha, I don't think he tried that again for anyone else other than the Convocation.  Not a lot to build off of when you are that damn young I guess.  Mostly all I remember is her death, with a man with lavender hair crying while trying to heal her, over and over."

She waves a hand and puts on a voice, "Pain, pain go away."

Julia flicks her own, distinctly lavender hair.  "The color never mattered to me, but I always changed my vessel's hair to it whenever I found a new one.  It made Uncle Hades smile sometimes, you know?  I wasn't really her, I wasn't really family.  Hades didn't raise me, I was a grown woman when he stumbled upon me.  But sometimes I think he forgot that, and it eased his pain for a little while.   You aren't wrong, they all carried such burdens."

She leans back, staring up at the stars, "And now he is the dead one.  And since I have nothing better at all in the world left to do, I'll keep the last thing he built alive.  Since I'm a sentimental bastard too."

Julia takes another drink and sighs, "You've told me what you learned from the Warrior of Light.  And while it is a bitter thing to consider associating with my Emperor's killer... I don't think after everything else Hades would want me wasting my life trying and failing to take him out.  Especially if he really is a shard of Azem.  And even more so if the boss recognized him as such."

She laughs, a long, hard and bitter thing.  "And if the Warrior of gods-damned Light has used his own memory stone, and if he really is at least once more rejoined than any of us, then he is technically the closest thing to an Ascian Paragon we have left at this point, isn't he?"

Chapter Text

Julia's comments on the Warrior of Light linger in Perseus's mind like smoke in the air after a wildfire.  He wonders if that was the point, if she is manipulating him to test out the waters of how such an interaction would go.  They are both, after a fashion, students of their fallen Masters, and if she has learned her lessons, well, he may be no Emissary, but he knows enough to play the part of open handed envoy.

It was one thing to not work to oppose the slayer of the Paragons, but to consider working with the man?  Helping Hydaelyn's Champion would once have been a vast and terrible heresy for any Ascian.  But both of the Gods are no more, and from what Perseus has seen of the man's work, and from the Ascian's own personal inclinations, they have a common cause.

May the memory of Master Elidibus forgive him, but Perseus suspects his own work would be far more effective if done in tandem with the Champion rather than left as a singular pursuit.

A situation comes up with one of the younger Ascians who had been growing more problematic as time has gone on.  The fool has set themselves up as some form of petty crime lord in Vylbrand, just far away from Limsa Lominsa to avoid drawing too much attention from the Yellowjacket peacekeepers of the city state.  That alone would not be quite enough to draw Perseus's ire, but, they are openly wearing Ascian attire during the endeavor, capitalizing on the mythos behind their order to strengthen their position.  The more Perseus digs, the worse things are.  It would be one thing if it was but smuggling and thievery, but the "Black Hand" gang are kidnapping people and demanding ransom.  Including children.  There had been deaths.

The fool has ignored warnings to stop.  Perseus could attempt to take care of it himself, or perhaps try to convince others of his brethren to help.  But would they, times being what they are?  No, this is a worthy trial case to see how such a thing would go.

He tells Ida he will be away for a few days, and then secretly teleports himself to Ishgard, where it is said the Warrior of Light's primary residence resides.  Perseus knows who in the city might have a way to contact the man, and it doesn't take long to leave a package with information on the "problem" and a link pearl for communication.  He waits, and is rewarded for his patience with an invitation to the man's home.

The house looks like it was recently constructed, with parts of it obviously still in work.  The place is not terribly ostentatious, certainly not what the savior of the Star could have demanded.  The main indulgence seems to be a large space that looks like it will be turned into a garden at some point, with stout walls separating it from his neighbors.  So much land is valuable indeed in a city such as this, but it may be as much for the sake of his neighbor's safety as a desire for the Warrior of Light's own privacy.  It doesn't show it, but this place is obviously built with defense in mind.

Perseus approves.

It's rather pleasant that the Champion greets him without a blade in hand, though he strongly doubts the man is unarmed.  He even comments that Perseus is looking better since last they met.  No blue bird this time around, he wonders what happened to her. 

Perseus is shown into a study where mountings for weapons have been installed into the walls.  Most are empty, but a very familiar black blade hangs over the fireplace.

Noticing where his attention is drawn, the Warrior asks if he'd rather talk in the kitchen.  Perseus should avoid showing weakness, but it's not like the man hasn't seen him at his worst already.  "Please, if it is not much trouble."

It is surreal to have Warrior of Light pour him a drink, and he realizes part way through the man is making enough of a show of it to make it clear it was sealed and offers him his choice of glass after they are poured.

Perseus assures him, "Please, I don't fear you poisoning me, you don't have to go to so much effort."

The man laughs, "It's nothing new, and naught to do with you.  I've had enough woes caused by people slipping things into drinks that it is a habit of mine by now."

"Ah, I recall hearing something about a scandal with the Sultana in Ul'dah?"  He scowls, "The Monetarists are a scourge to that city, not that the Sultanate and their Royalists have not had their own problems over the centuries, but their avarice blackens the soul of that place."

The Warrior's tone is neutral, with a touch of curiosity, "Not of much use to the Ascians then?"

He grimaces, "Honestly, I just hate them for my own sake.  There is nothing wrong with being a clever man of business and earning your fortune, but they do so while grinding their boots into the backs of their fellow Spoken.  Their coin is soaked in the misery of the people..."

Perseus sighs, "But we are not here to talk of their follies.  We are here to talk of an Ascian's foolishness instead."

"Fair enough, though I will confess... I hate those bastards too."

The two of them share a smile, and Perseus opens the notes he has brought on his problematic (and likely soon to be former) peer.

The joint operation is a resounding success.  The rogue member of Perseus's order is lured out and vanquished, and without their leader's support the brigands swiftly crumble.  Any who surrender are turned over to the Yellowjackets for justice.  They were even able to recover some of those still being held for ransom and return them to their homes.

It becomes a regular habit to bring the Warrior of Light in over the following months to deal with threats to the Star.  Perseus still has plenty of agents that report to him, some Ascian, some mortals having no idea of whom they serve.  One memorable time that involved a group of Tempered sahagin stealing crystals to summon Leviathan.  The Warrior brings in others of the sahagin people to help subdue them and a young Elezen woman named Alisaie leads a team to cleanse them of their Tempering.  He recognizes the former Scion of course, but is somewhat shocked when, in private, the Champion asks if he can introduce Perseus to her "properly," saying it would be good if some of his allies knew about him.  Knew he was not a threat, but an ally.

He should say no.

He should absolutely say no.

"If you think that would be for the best, I have no objection."

He watches as an amazing number of expressions cross Alisaie's face as the Warrior of Light cheerfully explains to her that Perseus was the source of some of his best leads recently... because he was an Ascian.  Polite interest, to curiosity, to incredulous shock, and at last to exasperation.  She sighs, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand.

"Why am I not even surprised anymore..."

The Warrior of Light, esteemed hero of the world, gives her a cheeky grin.  "It's fine Alisaie, we had a little tussle when we first met, and now we are friends."

"Tussle?"  She looks to Perseus with a glare, "If you hurt him..."

Perseus gives the woman a courtly half bow, "I assure you my good lady, there was absolutely no risk of harm to the Warrior of Light in our... brief conflict."

"Ugh.  Fine... fine.  So which one are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Which, err, seat?  Please don't say a new Nabriales... I'll have to punch you for Urianger's sake."

Feeling somewhat awkwardly embarrassed, he manifests his black mask and holds it out for her inspection.  Alisaie turns it over in her hand, "Oh!  So you are one of the little Ascians then... the ones sent out to cause trouble and such?"

"... Not quite?  I was one of the esteemed Elidibus's assistants.  I managed information gathering agents, collated their findings and helped derive conclusions from them.  And 'little' may not be quite accurate, I'm almost five thousand years old."

She hands back the mask and says with a faint smirk and tilt of her head, "I've met older.  And you could just say you were his spymaster."

Laying one hand over his heart, he gives her the best innocent look he can manage, "But that sounds so very nefarious, madam."

That gets a halfway snort of laughter from the young lady, "Wouldn't that be something of a plus for an Ascian?  Goes with the spikey robes, shadowy teleportation everywhere, and whatnot?"

"Goodness, I am missing so many opportunities for a proper aesthetic, I don't even have a mustache to twirl anymore."

She rolls her eyes, "Alright.  Fine.  So I don't have to do the obvious if you do anything to the Warrior of Light I'll make it my mission in life to make your life hell speech, right?"

Perseus nods, "Let's not, and say you did."

When Perseus felt the wardings of his home tremble, signaling that intruders had passed the threshold, his first thought was that some of his less understanding brethren had discovered his rather heretical alliance.  While he had had some luck convincing some others, such as Julia, that there was a common cause shared, he knew that some would never would give up on the Ardor.  And even some of those that would be willing to change course would never be able to accept working with one who had championed Hydaelyn's cause and slain the Paragons.

But as he creeps down his stairs, sword and shield in hand, it is not enraged Ascians he finds below.  Five local thugs are loosely spread around Ida in the main hallway of the ground floor.  She looks harried, both blades in hand.  He sees her glance briefly in his direction and then redirect her attention back to the five before her.  The thugs do not appear to have noticed and their backs are to his line of approach.

Slowly Perseus begins to quietly move to close the distance between himself and the biggest one who looks to be their leader.

"Look lady, I know you've got yourself a pretty cushy situation here.  And our boss doesn't mind you keeping that.  All he is asking is that you put your skills to use for him too.  You'll get yourself some good pay out of it, and he doesn't have to let slip to the people of little Ala Mhigo that you didn't just used to be one of the Gyr Abania freedom fighters, that you were one of the Griffin's best killers back in the day."

"I've given Big Laurence my answer before, my services are not for sale.  Now get the hell out of my home."

"That is a real pity miss.  A real shame.  Maybe we'll have to take that girl as collateral to make you reconsider.  Or gut that man of yours.  Sultana's guards might just believe rumors about you being a cold blooded assassin if something like that..."

The thug's voice cuts off with a sudden gasp and gurgle as Perseus drives his blade through a chink in the man's armor, up into his heart.  With a well-placed kick he knocks the dying man off his sword and into two of his fellows.  He spins to the other pair, raising his shield only to see one already down, grasping feebly at their cut throat as their life's blood gushes out.  The other is grasping at Ida's dagger in their belly and a swing of Perseus's sword takes the man's head off.  It takes little time to mop up the rest after that.

The aftermath leaves Ida panting, her eyes full of fading ferocity and a growing panic. 

"Ida, are you alright?"

She shakes her head.  "I... gods... I am so sorry.  I should have told you months ago.  I should never have brought this to your door.  I don't know where you learned to fight like that but thank the Twelve you can.  If you had died I would have never forgiven myself Grey."

The name just fell out of his lips, despite it not remotely being the right time, "Perseus."

"What?"

"You aren't the only one who has secrets they should have shared.  That... that is my real name, if you still want to use it when this is done.  But, right now we need to go, I doubt this crime lord will stop at just this one attempt."

"I'm sorry, you... you shouldn't have to do this. The only aetherytes Beth would be attuned to are in this city and Gyr Abania.  I don't know if it would be safe in the country of my birth.  Closest city state is Gridania, I don't know if it would be safe to take a carriage there or not."

He hesitates.  If he does this, there will be no going back.  "I have another way out of the city.  Wake Beth, gather up what neither of you can bear to lose, and meet me in my study."

Perseus almost starts to head upstairs to gather his own things, and pauses when he sees Ida's slightly trembling hands.  Briefly setting down his weapons, he walks back to her and carefully wraps his arms around her in an embrace.  "It will be okay, I promise."

It is surreal hearing her say the words to him which echo with the fears he has been keeping in his own heart, "I never wanted you to know, I thought you'd hate me for what I was."

"Oh love, I could never hate you.  You were and remain the best thing that has happened to me."

Ida looks up at him, leans forward and gives him a brief, chaste, kiss on his lips.  It is the first time she has done such a thing, and something within Perseus trembles at the act. She pulls back with a sad smile, "It is a terrible night for such confessions, isn't it?  It... it sounds like we both have a lot to talk about."

Neither of them take long to gather the basics.  Beth, still half asleep, questions why he is having her bundle up when it is a warm Ul'dah summer's night.  The girl doesn't seem too rattled; Ida must have managed to keep her from seeing the corpses then.  Good, the child doesn't need more nightmares. 

He scoops the girl into his arms, "Now hold tight, and don't look, okay?"

Ida looks at him, "What exactly are you planning on doing?  I was half way expecting some kind of hidden escape tunnel, but..."

"I promise I'll tell you all the details later.  Do you trust me?  If so, hold on, and close your eyes."

Ida wraps herself about them both, and rests her head on his shoulder.  "I trust you.  Do it."

Perseus pulls the three of them into the darkness.

The rift based teleportation of three instead of just himself leaves him drained.  Perseus sets Beth down and struggles to pull out an ether potion.

Ida looks around the dark basement he'd brought them to.  "Where are we?"

The potion goes down easily, though his reserves of power still feel woefully low, "An empty house in Ishgard that an ally of mine purchased and set up as a transit point.  My brethren and I's form of teleportation can't really pass as aetheryte-based."

"Ishgard... no wonder you had us bundle up.  Does your ally have a name?"

"Many names, many titles.  But, the one you would know best is the Warrior of Light."

Ida blanches, "The Griffin tried to have that man killed several times... do you think he'd actually be willing to help me?"

"Ida... I swear to you, if he helped someone like me, he'll help anyone that wants to walk a better path."

It isn't far to walk from the empty house to the Warrior of Light's home.  He is grateful that no guards happen upon the three of them so late at night, while he has papers to allow him passage into Ishgard, Ida and Beth do not.  Luck is doubly with him this night, the Warrior is actually at home, answering his frantic knocking quickly."

"My apologies for the lateness of the hour, but my companions and I must beg for sanctuary.  Will you grant it?"

The man doesn't even hesitate, "Of course, come in, I was just making tea."

They are gently shuffled into a large and, thankfully, warm kitchen.  One of the boilmaster contraptions made by the Garlond Ironworks is making a strange gurgling sound on the countertop.  There are two empty mugs waiting to be filled on the table, but, the only other 'guest' Perseus sees is a familiar small blue bird.  He hasn't seen her since, well, since his ill-fated duel against the Warrior.  Despite knowing how strange it might look to Ida and Beth, he politely greets the bird nonetheless.  She nods back.

The Warrior, while digging out more cups, asks Beth her name.  The girl's reply is punctuated by a wide yawn.  "Perhaps you'd like to get some sleep little one.  I have guest rooms?" 

Their host looks over at Ida.  "She'll be safe here, I promise you that.  Its just down the hall."

Ida nods, "That would be best."

Perseus sits at the table, as his once sworn enemy leads the two people who matter the most to him to see Beth to bed.  He slumps as the reality of what is about to happen seeps in.  He can already guess at the shape of Ida's tale, and at how hard it will be for her to tell it.  But after that... he'll owe her his own and he fears that which will follow.

He startles at feeling a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.  A quiet female voice speaks behind him.  "I'm glad you are doing better.  It will be alright you know."

He turns his head to see the speaker, a young woman with a hair a very familiar shade of blue, with what looks like wings sprouting from her head.  The bird is missing from its perch, it isn't a stretch to guess who this is.

Perseus rallies, and manages basic pleasantries, "That is kind of you to say miss, my apologies for interrupting your tea with our mutual host.

"It is quite alright.  Thank you for helping him, he always feels so much better when he can actually save people like us."

"People like us?"

She gives him a sad smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "A story for another time perhaps.  Goodbye for now Perseus, may your journey for answers continue to be fruitful.  My name is Meteion, and I look forward to seeing you again."

With that, she opens the kitchen window and with a whisper of power, returns to the form of a bird and flies out into the night.

Chapter Text

Perseus asks Ida if she'd like to sleep first before sharing her story. She turns the offer down almost before it is out of his mouth, "After all this, I don't think I'm currently capable of sleeping. I'd rather get this over with."

Perseus can tell when she notices that she has a vice like grip on the steaming cup of tea their host had provided her, since she forcibly pries her fingers off the mug and lays her hands on the table. Perseus reaches out and holds her hand. She grips it back painfully tight.

Ida glances up at the Warrior of Light, and then looks down at their intertwined hands, "I was part of the Gyr Albania resistance back in the day. At first it was simple stuff, teenagers acting out. Minor acts of sabotage, helping someone hide from the Imperial occupiers, ha, making leaflets expounding on the cruelties of Garlemald. A bunch of my friends got caught. Executed. I stopped doing 'little stuff' after that. After I managed to survive taking out the officer who made an example of my friends, I got noticed by some of the more hardliner rebels. Got training."

Their host speaks up, "Was it the Griffin's splinter group?"

She nods, "He said everything I wanted to hear. That we'd free our country, avenge what had been done to our people, our loved ones. That it would be worth it, no matter the cost, that we were building a better world. I was good at what I did for them. I've always been deft at seeming harmless, just one of the help. No one ever cares about servants. I was practically invisible. Assassination was the work mostly, Garlean officers at first, but eventually they sent me for collaborators as well. I was quick, quiet, and careful whereas a lot of others let it get personal. Others, they'd want the target to suffer, or have too much collateral damage. I just got it done."

Ida makes herself look the Warrior in the eye, "I wasn't part of Ilberd's work with the Crystal Braves directly, but eventually my services did get... loaned out to his financial backers in Ul'dah during that time to ensure their support. Building up favors for the resistance so that they'd fund our cause, and his puppetry of the Braves, by taking out their rivals. And I justified that to myself too. That the targets there were rich bastards getting rich off the Gyr Abania's refugees. That if I just got through that, we could all go home one day. By the Twelve, I was such an idiot..."

Her voice breaks, and she has to take a nervous glup of lukewarm tea before continuing. "As for Baelsar's Wall. Gods, Baelsar's Wall... I knew about the false flag plan there. That the resistance would hit the Imperials wearing Alliance colors and restart the war. Make the city states of this land finally start helping us... but all of that was a lie wasn't it? Almost ended up there myself, but I had a bad turn, a target's bodyguard was a bit too canny and almost managed to take me out instead. So I was laid up in Ul'dah when I heard the news of what the Griffin's real plan had wrought."

Ida sucks in a breath and lets it out with a sob. "A god's be-damned Primal. Born of the deaths of the Imperials slain in the attack but mostly the deaths of the rebels, our people, people who believed in the cause with all their hearts, who were lead to that meat grinder. To die and let their lives, their dreams of home, their hope, their despair, fuel the summoning. I guess Ilberd, the bastard, believed in the plan enough to die in the final execution of his grand design too, but..."

Ida shakes her head.

"It was madness in the refugee camps after that. So many people had left to join the Griffin, so many people never game back. Beth's parents... I'd... I'd talked them into joining up. They'd left her with her surviving grandmother, but when the woman heard what had happened to them, her heart gave out. Woman died that night and Beth didn't have any other family. I couldn't just leave her there, there were so many orphans, so many at risk of starving. And people were getting so angry, anyone thought to have been one of the Griffin's could find themselves the target of a lynching by the grieving families of those who'd been slain... sacrificed... butchered. No one realized my involvement, but Beth, it was only a matter of time."

"I couldn't bear the thought of trying to go home, even after the Alliance did get pulled into the war. After the Griffin's damn plan actually ended up working... how could I enjoy the benefits, the freedom, of what so many of my people had been slaughtered to buy? After all the blood that was on my hands? I was going to save up enough money so that, when Beth was old enough, she could go home and start the life she deserved."

"I burnt through what petty cash I had on me pretty quick, I couldn't stomach the idea of killing again. Especially not after what that work had bought. And like hell I was going to reach out to those left of the Griffin's people. But, after you've played at being a servant for long enough, its not all that hard to do it for real. Plenty of folks don't want full time staff, just someone to come in and clean once a week, pick up goods for them at market. Most treated me like trash and honestly I felt I deserved it."

She leans on Perseus and rests her face on his shoulder. He can feel the cloth getting wet from her tears. "And then there was you. You were so... decent. Never demanding more than what the contract called for, never insinuating that if I joined you in bed that I could earn a little extra. And then I saw you that day, passed out on your desk, when everyone thought the world was ending. I said you looked half dead, but, I recognized the look in your eyes. That something was horrifically wrong and you were trying to hold it together. But everything was slipping like sand between your fingers."

Perseus leans his head on her's, "And so you invited me over for tea."

"I liked helping you. Liked being your friend. Keeping you company when you seemed so lonely. You were just so sweet, and didn't push Beth when she got spooked and acted standoffish. You made me feel like a person again, that I might have a future. I should have told you when you invited us to stay with you. Especially when one of those Ilberd had me do favors for figured out I was still in the city."

The Warrior of Light slides back and stands up from his chair. "Big Laurence is the name of that one right?"

"Yes... aren't you going to turn me in to someone? For what I have done? I know Ilberd wronged you and the Scions pretty badly."

The man smiles, "No, I am not. I am no judge, I would never wish to be one. We are simply three people talking of pasts that pain us this night. I think you are already punishing yourself more than I would ever want to see. What I am, is someone who deals with that which brings suffering to others. Are you planning on doing such things in the future?"

She shakes her head.

"Then that is enough for me. Everyone should have a chance to change their path. Now pardon me, for I do have some calls to make, and a crime lord's empire to see ruined."

The Warrior of Light starts to walk out of the kitchen, and pauses, looking over his shoulder. "Best of luck Perseus."

The Ascian isn't sure how long the two of them sit there in the kitchen. He just holds Ida while she silently cries.

At last she collects herself. Rebuilding her composure, taking deep breaths and rubbing her eyes clear. Takes a final sip of her tea that went cold long ago. "Well, you now know the worst of me. And you are still actually here, amazingly enough. You said there was something you wanted to tell me?"

Ida is still holding his hand. Perseus gives it one last squeeze before reluctantly slipping it out of her grasp.

He is silent too long while he struggles to find the words. Concerned, Ida asks, "Gre... Perseus?"

He bows his head, "It is hard to break the habits of, well, a very long time. Please forgive me. And I will beg you, if you cannot forgive me what I am about to impart, please, let me at least see you safe in our parting. The Warrior is right, you deserve your second chance and the chance to see Beth grown. Allow me one last service to you, even if you turn away and call me monster."

"I would not..."

"Please, I don't know if I would be able to continue if I stop now. Do not make blind promises, especially to something like me."

He takes a deep breath and continues. "You spoke of how I made you feel like a person again. I would have you know that you have done the same for me. But, unlike me, you never weren't a person. I... I think I lost the right to consider myself such for a long time, and now struggle to reclaim that mantle."

"Once upon a time, or so I have been told, so long ago that almost no memory yet remains of that age, barely even a myth, this Star was a very different place. It was spoken of to me as a golden age, where much of the strife in the world did not exist. Children did not go hungry. War even as a concept did not exist. Mankind was the gentle Stewards of the Star. Bringing forth wonders to fill it with magics of unimaginable might. Death was not an inevitable doom, it was a choice when one's purpose was complete. But, a terrible calamity fell upon those gentle people. The first End Times."

"Their story ended differently than ours. There was no questing hero that could strike out against the heart of the disaster. The Ancients didn't even have time to comprehend what the source of the doom was. As their people experienced a previously incomprehensible slaughter, the most learned among them came up with a plan to save the Star. Using the willing sacrifice of the very life and souls of half of those who remained, they created a god... a..."

He hesitates, reverence for his God warring in his heart with the desire to tell Ida only the truth. "Well, I suppose you could say they summoned what you could consider to be the first Primal. Zodiark. Whose power shielded the world from that point on for millennia after millennia, holding off our end. Only upon the event of Zodiark perishing did the End Times come upon us once again in this modern age. But the world of the Ancients was dead. The ground salted. The seas a morass of death. And so the Ancients went once more unto Zodiark, and half again of their remaining number offered up themselves unto their protector. With their sacrifice, the flowers grew once more, fish swam, birds flew."

Perseus can see that Ida has raised her hands, to cover her mouth in what he imagines must be horror. But he forces himself to continue on.

"But for a people who had never known grief, how could they live with so many lost? And when some of the survivors began to plan to ask Zodiark for a boon yet again to trade some of the newly sprung life for the return lives of those who had given of themselves unto the deity, others questioned. And so they plotted, and schemed and in the end... they summoned the second Primal to exist. Hydaelyn. Created to confine the savior of them all. And she struck him down while he struggled to defend himself, while he still yet endeavored to safeguard our Star."

"And so Zodiark was bound, along with all the souls of the lost within him. But in doing so, the Star itself was shattered, deliberately, in the final throes of the battle. Thus there came to be Source, this world we live in, and its thirteen reflections. And with the Star shattered, so were the souls of mankind. Souls shattered into fourteen shards, one for each world. Death and suffering came into the world. The paradise that was, lost forever. Only three survived whole, unsullied, with their power and memory as an Ancient intact. And until recently, those were who I served in my own quest to regain what had been stolen from us all."

He still speaks the names with reverence. "Lahabrea. Emet-Selch. Elidibus."

Perseus bows his head, "It is a pretty story, isn't it? It seemed such a noble goal. Ah, but the cost. Oh Ida, the cost."

"The three Unsundered, and all who served them, sought to free Zodiark and rejoin the shattered world. Mend our shattered souls. But, to undo the work of a Primal of Hydaelyn's power is no simple thing. It required confluences of matching power on both this world, the Source that the other thirteen had been rent from, and one of the same element on the Shard to be rejoined. That is the truth behind the worst disasters found on the pages of the history books. Artificially created Calamities to force the Star back together one fragment at a time. Seven times the Paragons succeeded. Seven times the people of the Source were rejoined with a fragment of their lost souls. Seven times there was destruction wrought upon the land. The last was the fall of Dalamud, the second moon which held the horrors of the Primal Bahamut within its shell."

"As for my own role, almost five thousand years ago, many years after the fall of Allag, I was but a mortal man like any other. My heart full of despair at the suffering in this world, and a momentous longing to some how make it right. And I was offered a chance to do what I then believed was exactly that."

"For millennia I have aided in the downfall of civilizations. I have caused the deaths of untold multitudes. I have lied with a false smile upon my face. I have existed in stolen corpses, restored by my power to a mockery of life, to replace the mortal frame I shed so long ago. My hands are not red with blood, they are black and oozing with it. I was something out of myths and fairy tales. A scary monster mothers scare their children with to make them behave. I was one of the Shadowless, the Ascians, bringers of forbidden knowledge, heralds of woe, and servants to the eternal darkness of Zodiark."

He looks up to the ceiling and closes his eyes, "You know, I don't even remember what my original face looked like? I've worn my black mask for so long, its more my face than one of flesh, skin and blood."

"And always, always, whenever I doubted, I would remind myself that this was but a transitory suffering. That this work would bring back a time of gentle wonder where these horrors would be nothing but fading nightmares. That... I could go back to the home I yearned for my entire existence. A home I had only been to in my heart."

He still can't quite make himself meet her gaze, bringing his own back to the floor. "But then... my Paragons were dead. My God was dead. And suddenly I realized, not only was that dream now unattainable, it never had been possible. There are some things that cannot be undone, and the Sundering of the Ancient world is one of them. I had inflicted so much suffering for nothing. I had nothing. I was... nothing."

"I sought an end to my existence at the hands of the Warrior of Light. And instead I was shown mercy."

"I don't think I can ever make up for my sins. I have been trying since then, and I will continue to do so. But even if I live another five thousand years, it is not a banker's ledger. You cannot strike out the red."

He wringes his hands, "And do not think have not thought about how easily what I once had been could have brought suffering unto you. Unto Beth. As I learned just tonight from your own tale, I already have. From times eternal one of our greatest tools to bring about calamities was granting others the knowledge of the summoning of Primals. Your once leader, Ilberd, was instructed on the art of summoning by my very Master. If it brings you any peace, and if it lightens the guilt you feel for the death of Beth's parents, do not hesitate to blame me instead. Zodiark knows, I deserve your hatred."

"And the worst of it? I do love you. Desperately, fervently. You have been the brightest thing in the entirety my life. I selfishly want you to stay by my side. Even if I am doomed to lose you to death's hungry grasp one day, I would know you as long I can. You made this broken tool feel. I had thought I'd never feel anything again. You give me hope that, perhaps, I can strive be worthy of the life I have been given."

Perseus finally lets himself look towards her face. He can't read anything in Ida's near blank expression. Her eyes are still red from her tears earlier, hands still covering her mouth, but they are just dull and blank right now.

Finally, she shakes her head as if to clear it. Reaches out with both hands to capture his fingers with her own and gently squeezes. At last, she finds her voice again, though the words seem to come to her with a struggle, rough and quiet. "I... it... it is too much right now. Can you give me time? Is that alright? I should... I need to think about this. And I should sleep, we both should, its almost dawn. I'll figure this out in the morning. Please?"

Dread fills his heart, but Perseus puts on a brave face, "Oh. Of course. Would you let me show you to our host's guest room?"

Ida gives a brief nod. She can't quite meet his gaze as he leads her down the hallway. She sits on the bed, managing to kick her boots off but after that, she just sits. Still. Quiet.

Perseus excuses himself, "I'll... see you tomorrow then."

"Wait."

Perseus turns back. She is finally looking at him again. While he can't read what is in her eyes, he can at least say he does not see hate. Nor fear. "I don't know what to think or what to say. But... please... don't go."

"I can rest in the chair, if you'd like?"

She shakes her head, and looks down with a bitter smile on her face. "Its too cold in this land for that. I don't want to sleep alone. Just sleep. But stay, please."

He toes off his shoes and stands at the end of the bed, "Are you sure?"

There is a sharp look in her eyes, "Are you? You may dismiss my mortal sins as less than your own, but they still have weight."

Taken aback, Perseus stutters, "I... I don't dismiss them. I think its more I understand them, but it seems unfair to... I..."

As he struggles to articulate his thoughts, she reaches out and pulls him down to join her. Pulls the covers over them both.

She sighs, "Go to sleep, love."

Hours later, a knock at the door startles the both of them awake. Their mutual host cheerfully calls through the door that there will be breakfast available shortly.

The morning sunlight is streaming in through the window, warming Perseus's back. Birdsong can be heard in the garden outside. The two of them, clothed in what they had been wearing last night, find they are still still are clinging to one another upon waking. Perseus sighs softly into Ida's hair, clutching tighter, he doesn't want this little quiet moment to end.

Ida pats his side, "We should get up. We both should change into some of the clothing we stuffed in our packs before we fled."

"I assume you would like me to leave the room while you dress?"

He feels a unexpected tiny flicker of hopeful satisfaction when he sees her hesitation at accepting his offer and the internal debate in her eyes. Desire was something he hadn't experienced for a long, long time. He hadn't even been sure if he was still capable. It's pleasant, even if he fears it is inappropriate.

She leans forward and gives him the second kiss they had ever exchanged. It is rather less chaste than the first that they shared the night before.

Perhaps his thoughts are not as inappropriate as he thought.

Ida pulls back with a sigh, "You probably should."

"Agreed."

As Perseus leaves the room, not only can he smell the food cooking, but he can hear the Warrior of Light giving baking instructions to Beth in the kitchen. A small flicker of power sees himself clean, and shifts his clothing to a new form. He'd thought about offering to do the same for Ida but had hesitated, unsure if she would be comfortable with it, especially before they finished their conversation.

It continues to be a surreal experience to eat breakfast at the table of the Warrior of Light. Who apparently is both a rather excellent cook and quite good with children? Beth is chattering at the Warrior, asking if she can visit a market offering honey cakes he apparently told her about earlier in the day.

As Ida joins them, the Warrior asks with the straightest face imaginable if the two of them had slept well. There is the very faintest glint of amusement in his eyes while doing so, which is enough to slightly fluster Perseus.

Their host then mentions that he had luck last night dealing with their problem. When Ida asks for details, the man shrugs, "Honestly I pointed Tataru at the man, she used to be the Scion's quartermaster. She enjoys bringing down people of that nature using their own tricks... especially one with ties to the Monetarists. For... personal reasons. And once the man hasn't two gil left to rub together, his former peers will not care much if the Sultana sees him prosecuted with the evidence of misdeeds Tataru finds along the way. It might take a little longer to get everything resolved, but I'd imagine you'd prefer a cleaner path for this Ida?"

The Warrior of Light waits, expectantly. Ida nods, "Yes. Either way he'll just be replaced by another just like him though."

"For now that is the case. In the future, well, we'll have to see about that." The Warrior's grin is sharp after that statement.

"You both are welcome to stay here as long as needed. At least take this day to recover. If you like, I can take young Beth here to a festival going on in the Firmament. Give her some fresh air, and the two of you time to figure out where you go from here. Would that be acceptable?"

Ida visibly struggles with this offer. The child obviously wants to go, the girl is practically vibrating in her chair at the mere thought, but Perseus knows why Ida hesitates. Apparently the Warrior guesses as well. "Fear not, I'll bring her back into your capable hands before sundown. As I told you last night, I am no judge for those seeking a better path."

And so at last, it is just the two of them again.

They are back in the room they shared last night, Ida sitting cross-legged on the bed cradling her third cup of tea, and Perseus on the chair across from her.

Ida takes a sip, "I'll be honest, I'm not even sure where to start. I had figured you had your secrets, but my guesses were not exactly terribly close to the truth. The stupid part, even as I've given the whole story time to sink in, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it probably should. That is the way things like this go in the stories, right? The truth is revealed and the blushing maiden runs away. Part of me says I should care, but... all I feel is relief. Because you understand too. Understand what it is like to go past that moral line in the sand. To cause harm and justify inflicting it with the righteousness of your cause. You get what is like, at the end of it, to realize it had been wrong, and feel the urge to somehow make things right."

"It is kind of you to draw parallels between the two of us Ida, but the magnitude..."

"If you are going to call yourself a monster, you have to call me one too. And maybe you'd be right to."

"Don't say such cruel things about yourself Ida, I know you blame yourself, but, as you said, you were young. You thought you were doing the right thing and were in a terrible situation. You had the strength to walk away from that."

"And you thought you were doing the right thing too, didn't you? We both spent the majority of our adult lives doing awful things in the name of a greater good Perseus. Just because the time I've lived is shorter doesn't mean it weighs less. And you are choosing something different now, after being at it a much longer time."

"The leaders that might have brought me back into the fold when I began to stray are dead."

"So are mine, Perseus. Both of us were cut off abruptly from the path we were on. Both of us might be still walking that path to this day if things hadn't fallen apart. I still recognize that weariness in your eyes, because I feel it too. I'm tired, and I want to try and be better. If that is what you want too, why shouldn't we do it together?"

"But there is one thing I do need to know Perseus. Tell me, do you see me as an equal? Or something... less?"

"Not less, I promise. I swear. Different perhaps, but less different than when we first met. I have been, or at least felt like, a tool of things far greater than myself for a long time. I lived to serve. My meaning was salvation of the Star and I was content, if not happy, with that. I had made my choice and felt as though I had no right to change it. But now, I am as adrift as any other soul. But also as free as any other. I feel that I have choices again, and it is a struggle to know if I am making the right ones."

Perseus sighs, "You are one of the few things I feel certain of."

Ida nods, setting down her tea on the bedside table, "What do you want, going forward Perseus?"

He can't remember the last time he had been asked such a thing. Or even when he had even properly thought about having aspirations of this own. "I... I want to leave Ul'dah and find a place that I want to call home. I want the both of you to come with me, if you are willing. I want to see what it is like to live again. Still working to safeguard this world is something I need to do, there is a debt there and I am glad to repay it. But I don't want that to be all I am. And... perhaps most importantly, I want to know, what do you want?"

There was something in Ida's gaze that quite took his breath away. "What do I want? Long term, I want the same as you. But right this second? I want to see you properly."

"Wha... what do you mean?"

"You said that mask was more your face than anything else. If I'm going to be with you, for the rest of my life, I need to have seen you. I want to see you. I want to know you to the same degree as you said you wanted to know me last night."

It is a simple matter to summon his robes, to don his mask. It is something he had done countless times before. But this, this feels new. Raw. Like it would be less intimate to be nude before her.

Ida rises from the bed to stand before him. Her fingers run over his own, testing the tips of his clawed gloves against her skin.

He is finding it hard to remember how to breathe.

Her exploration travels up his chest, tracing the sigils branded upon his robes. Up further still, to touch the pulse in his neck, to feel the bones of his jaw. Higher, until she reaches the border between mask and flesh.

He gasps, heart stuttering in his chest, as she gently lays a kiss there.

Still she explores, along where the mask lays upon his cheekbones, touching its brow. Reaching further back to dig her fingers through his hair.

Ida pulls his head down, meets his lips with her own for a third time, and Perseus feels something ignite within him.

She pulls back and meets his gaze, "Even after this, all I see is you. What I want... is you, if you still want to have me too."

"Always."

She pushes him down upon the bed. He looks up to say, "I will confess, I cannot say I remember much of how this goes. Show me. Please."

And she, so gloriously alive, so very mortal, and yet so etched into his being, gives him a heated smile. "It would be my great pleasure."

In the lazy aftermath, bare to the world save for his mask, he finds himself exploring her scars. He finds himself wondering about the story behind each one. The most impressive is a knot of scars on her left shoulder. She tells him that was the one from the cunning bodyguard that almost cost her life, and yet, ultimately saved it since it spared her Baelsar's wall. Perseus lays a soft kiss of gratitude upon it.

She'd ended up wearing one of his own gloves, and traces the scar on his belly, that almost was his own end, with a metal claw tip. "I remember this being more raw. This is from when you tried to end it, fighting the Warrior, isn't it?"

"Yes. I could try fix it completely, but, I find it good to have a reminder."

She cups his face with her gloved hand, he can feel the prickle of the claws on his scalp, "Promise me you'll not do something that foolish again."

"I shall endeavor to try."

"So tell me, where are we going?"

"What do you think of Thavnair?"

Chapter Text

Perseus steps back to look at the mural he is close to finishing painting on his basement wall. Its been a slow, intimate process getting this shrine quite right. Faintly glowing chips of aether crystals create the mirage of a night's sky in the ceiling and carved purple lightning aspected crystals mounted in the walls can be brightened to illuminate the walls when so desired. The floor is stone, but soft rugs mean he, or visitors, can comfortably sit or kneel. The murals, inspired in part by descriptions he'd heard of those found on the First reflection in Qitana Ravel, depict the history of his people. The Golden Age of Amaurot. The End Times. The Sundering. Each and every Calamity. The fall of Zodiark.

He'd left space open for the last chapter. The Warrior of Light had promised him the details of that story one day, of that final battle in the space between the stars. Should Perseus's suspicions prove correct on that, then one day he'd be asking the source of the End Times herself to help finish the wall. It was her story as well, after all.

He felt no ire towards her. He still finds there is no hate left within him any more.

Perseus still has his faith. Even a dead God could still be holy, and nothing had erased the fact that Zodiark had protected this Star for eons. No matter what was done in his name, that service should be honored. Even though he'd never seek to return his God back to this world, he still found Zodiark worthy of veneration. Of remembrance. Perhaps this place is less a shrine than a memorial. It brought him peace. Perhaps that is enough.

He had heard of the Night's Blessed on the First, who, on that once light-blighted world, worship a soft, gentle version of the darkness. One day he'd like to make a pilgrimage there to learn from them.

He had not come to regret coming Thavnair and its vibrant city of Radz-at-Han. His original intent had been to simply live hidden, as had been his wont for centuries. After disaster has befallen this place, there was a desperate need for investors, even foreign ones, and it wasn't hard to buy his way into one of the merchant alliances. The Warrior of Light, of course, had had other ideas. Told him that it would be both rude and personally risky for him to live in a land claimed by one of the First Brood without permission. Perseus had tried pointing out that Ascians and Dragonkind had a terrible history... the Warrior had just cheerfully told Perseus he would make introductions, and that good will could be built up by passing along the reports he had continued to put together for the Warrior along to Vrtra as well.

It worked better than it should have

Vrtra... was a fascinating and benign being. Where most of the surviving First Brood tended to avoid the Spoken, Vrtra lived with them almost exclusively. Loved the people of this land like they were his own children. While still not fully trustful of the information Perseus passed along, he'd been invited to speak with the dragon several times over the years. It was rather comforting, almost nostalgic, to live in a land whose gentle guiding hand was a being who naturally took the long view.

With one exception, the closest being to a fellow dragon that spent time with the wyrm was the former dragonslayer Estinian. If Vrtra was a dragon who acted like a man, Estinian was a dragon housed in the flesh of one. Perhaps literally, if the implications of the stories of he and Nidhogg had any truth to them. Another 'former' Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the dragoon had made it clear that if Perseus ever betrayed Vrtra or the Warrior of Light, it would be he who hunted him down and ended him. Perseus couldn't really complain though, beyond that one 'shovel talk,' Estinian had been a surprisingly agreeable sort. A man who once spent every waking moment hunting the dragons who had slaughtered his family, who had now chosen to ally with so many of them, was hardly the sort to hold grudges over one 'retired' Ascian. The bond Perseus saw between the man and dragon was fierce. Perseus wonders if the two will end up like Shiva and Hraesvelgr, mortal devoured by dragon so that the souls of the two could live on together. Though he wouldn't be surprised if the elezen dragoon holds enough of Nidhogg yet to not face death by aging. Perseus looks forward to finding out.

Ida loves this land as well. She'd signed up with the radiant host, the peacekeepers of this land. Her role with them was, well, unusual though. When you demonstrate your skills by infiltrating the palace, walking up to Vrtra himself and telling him that his security had a few holes that needed to be worked on, you get offered some odd opportunities. She enjoyed the challenge of it, and Perseus was just happy to see her doing something she obviously loved.

Away from all the reminders of what she had lost, Beth does well. While still too young to consider an apprenticeship, she has taken an interest in the Thavnairian variant of alchemy. He'll encourage that if she continues to enjoy it, such a skill could see her welcome in just about every city out there. The work of the Thavairian alchemists on the creation of wards against Tempering have made them one of the more respected schools after all. And if she loses interest, he'll support whatever she is ultimately drawn to. After all, his only goal is to see her happy and able to look after herself. He looks forward to seeing what she'll become.

Perseus never imagined he could have found himself in a life such as this. One with filled with quiet little joys, with a beloved wife who understands him, knows his depths, and loves him still.

He hears a faint thump and giggle from the stairs. And there is his younger daughter. He should be stern about this, she isn't supposed to be out of her little play room, but he can't help be proud of how determined and clever the little one could be. "Did you make it down those all by yourself? Did you get the door open again?"

The pale haired girl just giggles again, mischief in her blue eyes, holding her arms up. He, of course, obliges and lifts her up into his arms. "Did you come to see my paintings?"

He takes her on a little tour of them. She always likes the one with Zodiark and Hydaelyn fighting the best for some reason. The colors are quite vivid on it and he figures she finds it exciting.

His and Ida's child is, well, he supposes all parents find their children a bit special. He never had particularly good aether sight, but there is a weight to what he can sense within her. He knows the souls within Zodiark had found their way into the lifestream. If one found its way to his and Ida's life, well, just like he planned for his adopted daughter, he help this little one find a satisfying path for her life as well.

That evening he makes his way to the Warrior of Light's home in Ishgard. They intermittently meet up to discuss news of import. Sometimes it verges upon essentially meeting up for tea and gossip honestly. Enough of his brethren have quietly joined up to this little alliance, either for common cause or the protection it grants, that these days he has insight to much of what is going on through the world. Perseus honestly has been glad to see things get progressively quieter. The city states and various other Spoken nations have a far better handle on their own troubles as the years of peace settle in. The Warrior wanders more, and has been found ways into more than one of the reflections as time has passed. Again, Perseus's aether sight is perhaps not the strongest, but, well, he thinks the former Champion of Hydaelyn may have take a few more steps closer to having a whole soul like a Paragon.

The man hasn't aged a day since Perseus met him, and he has hopes that means he may be working with him for a long, long time.

Where once he would have had to knock at the wall gates and wait for the Warrior of Light to take down the wards, wards he himself taught him the use of, now he is trusted enough to pass through unasked. Not to say the man isn't alerted by the wards of his entrance, but, still, it is a pleasant feeling.

As he approaches the Warrior's study, he can hear the man singing a lullaby softly inside. While he has heard the music the hero has crafted before, this is the first he has heard a tune like this. He finds the man is not alone within. A dark haired boy of Garlean stock, fast asleep and perhaps five years of age, is held in his arms while he sings.

The Warrior speaks softly, "I thought he'd be asleep before you arrived. He just needed a little help. I'll get him to bed and we can speak."

Perseus is briefly startled when a blue feathered form follows the two of them out.

Perseus settles himself down to wait, and it is not long before his host returns, sans Meteion. "I didn't know the Garleans still needed help fostering orphans from the fall of the capital."

The Warrior's reply is a somber one. "They don't. He is the son of Legate Maximus, and I made him an orphan today."

"Oh my, unpleasant business that. I'd heard about that fellow, one of my peers is always complaining about him. Well, now I guess I should say that she was formerly complaining about him. I suppose it would be bad for the child to be adopted in Garlemald, either he'd end up with supporters of Maximus who try to use him for their own gain, or worse, with some looking to punish the dead by proxy. I know of people in Thavnair who wouldn't hold the boy's heritage against him, should he need a home?"

"Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I've already got the paperwork in order to adopt him myself. It helps to know the right people in New Garlemald."

Perseus can't quite hide the shock, "Do you think that wise, loved ones of yours could still find themselves with a target on their back?"

"The protection I can offer young Claudius will outweigh that risk. Besides, I have a promise to keep."

"Did his father really have that many enemies outside of Garlemald?"

His friend shrugs, "Likely not. This is a different kind of situation. Perseus, what I am going to tell you can't leave this room. I don't know if I'm doing you any favors bringing you in on this, but, if anyone is going to hear about trouble coming his way, it will be you. The child is the reincarnation of the former Fandaniel, and he is under my protection."

Perseus takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. And then takes another. "Well... I suddenly have more sympathy for what your introduction of me to Alisaie must have felt like for her. Does he... remember anything?"

"Not yet, though that may not last. Perseus, like I told you before..."

"... everyone deserves a second chance. I know. And it is another life for his soul, still... I do not envy you this burden my friend."

"He will not be a burden, he will be my son."

The evening passes quickly, Perseus walking the Warrior of Light through the highlights of the latest news. As he makes to leave, he asks, "Have I ever thanked you properly, for what you have done for me? The debt I owe you..."

"There is no debt. That isn't how I chose to work. As a good friend of mine like to say, I act for those we have lost, and for those we can yet save. I still regret what happened with your once Master, Elidibus. And I am grateful that I was able to help you."

"You know, if you wished it, I would properly swear myself to your service, you know. You've earned that right."

"I've no wish to be anyone's master. I'd rather get down into the muck and help pull others out of it than stand to the side offering up empty words of encouragement. Heh, did you know, when I first got into all of this, I just wanted to be an adventurer? Wander the world, revel in the glories of nature, learn of all the peoples that there were to find on this Star."

"And yet here we are. You know I don't think I've ever heard anyone call you by name. Doesn't seem terribly fair."

The Warrior smiles shyly, "Ah, admittedly, I'm not all that connected to the name of my birth anymore. It mattered for a while, but, as I've wandered, as I've come to travel with other parts of myself... none of our names really fit anymore. Even the one our soul once held so long ago in Amaurot. But there is one name that feels comfortable to all of us, and maybe, when folks have forgotten about the Warrior of Light, I'll start using that."

"Are you going to leave me dying of curiosity, friend?"

The man gives him a grin, and a wink. "I'd have thought that would be obvious, Azem, of course."

Perseus nods, bids him farewell, and begins his journey home. He cannot help but feel a wash of contentment come over him. Master or not, there is joy to be found in having a worthy Paragon at your side.