Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was exhausted, but something had pulled him back to consciousness—like when he had fallen asleep in places other than his own bed as a child, or when he would find himself blearily opening his eyes in the dead of night in the archives back in Tabor and would have to drag himself back to his room—the feeling of something undone, incomplete tugging at him.

The small candlelight flickering next to his bed clued him in immediately that he wasn't in any of those places, but was currently resting in a small inn in southern Sanbreque near the settlement of Lostwing.

“Have you not slept?” he murmured at the dark shape hunched over the table that was connected to the two beds in the room, his eyes flicking to the window to check the position of the moon. The hour was well past late and headed for morning, but his companion gave a slight smile that he could just make out in the shadows.

“You've been murmuring in your sleep, Your Grace. I am certain something in these medical texts will enhance the potency of my draughts and ease your pain more.”

He reached over to tug at her arm, causing her to fall out of her chair and onto the bed, nearly too small to accommodate them both. She let out an uncharacteristic squeak of surprise, but otherwise did not fight him as he tucked her in under the covers next to him and blew out the candle.

“Sleep, Jote,” he whispered, dropping a kiss onto her hair. She must have been more tired than she was willing to admit, because within moments, her breathing was deep and even against his neck, arms loose around his waist. Joshua only pulled her closer as he, too, fell asleep.

“Otto, prepare a stolas. Tell Gav to stay exactly where he is.”

“Understood.”

“Vivian—what’s the swiftest route to the free cities?”

Joshua had always been good with people, even as a child. There was something about the innocence of his face, his earnest blue eyes that drew them to him. He had found that as an adult, those traits still tended to work in his favor more often than not; there was no way he could convince Tarja otherwise, though she had glared at him the whole way, to help him walk out of her infirmary onto the deck and hear Clive taking charge like the natural-born leader he was after receiving news of his friends in trouble. Though his body was physically weaker than most, Joshua’s mind was his greatest asset alongside his Eikonic powers—and if they were to make for Kanver to rescue their friends, he knew, even before Lady Vivian spoke, what the safest and quickest route to the Free Cities would be.

“What a coincidence,” he said, announcing his presence by just walking straight into the map room and their discussion. “Tabor is exactly where I’m bound.”

Clive and Jill spun toward the doorway at the sound of his voice, both with disapproving looks on their faces. “Joshua, bed is where you should be bound,” Jill admonished, ever his older sister. Joshua gently eased himself from Tarja’s hold.

“You don’t think I told him the exact same thing?” their resident physicker asked, hands on her hips. Joshua just sent her a sheepish grin as he walked forward toward his brother.

“Were Tarja not such a talented healer, I would surely have been inclined to agree. But thanks to her ministrations, I feel I may safely rejoin my attendant who was to wait for me in Tabor if we became separated.”

“All right,” Clive conceded only after a moment. “We travel together.”

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his brother gave his agreement, relief washing over him and releasing the tension in his shoulders. He had to get back to Tabor, whether Clive and Jill were going with him or not—and of course he wanted them to travel with him, wanted all the time he could have with them after eighteen years of separation. But Joshua of twenty-eight was no longer Joshua of ten, and he had more responsibilities than either of them were aware of at the moment, people he was accountable to that he needed to see.

“Clive,” Jill hissed, turning to him. Clive only gave her a comforting smile.

“If he stays close to me, he’ll be fine.”

Joshua’s own smile was one of gratitude. Clive was ever his First Shield, even after all this time. Ever his brother. “Thank you, Brother.”

Jill, however, still couldn’t let go of her worry, evident in the way she ducked her head down.

“I’ll look after him,” Clive murmured to her. Joshua crossed his arms as his brother turned to him expectantly—he wouldn’t have missed Joshua’s anxious tells, silently asking why.

Why Tabor?

What have you been up to, Joshua?

But it wasn’t time for him to know everything just yet. Joshua wanted to wait until they were at least out of the Hideaway and on their own in the wilderness before he would tell Clive anything he wanted to know, only when it was safe enough to do so. As much as he trusted the people at the Hideaway, there were still too many eyes and ears for Joshua to reveal all of his secrets at once. Instead, he looked his brother in the eye and offered the one morsel of information he could. “My attendant was with me in the Dominion before I primed. She would have watched the battle unfold and witnessed its outcome.”

The streets were aflame, and bodies bled out where they lay as Bahamut continued his rampage. They ran out to the streets to see the Eikon in all its might descending on the city, Joshua's eyes wide with horror as he called out to the prince who could no longer hear him.

"Your Highness! Don't do this!"

Strong hands gripped him by his arms. "We must leave--now, Your Grace! I beg of you!"

The thinly-veiled panic in her voice was unmistakable, but he could not stand by as people screamed and died around them, as the city burned. "This is not what he wanted..." he said, his mind quickly considering anything that could have changed between their afternoon meeting and now. "Something's happened."

His resolve hardened as he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Forgive me, Jote...but I must put a stop to this."

“Joshua!”

She made it a point to never call him by name while they were afield in case anyone overheard them. But there was raw, genuine fear that he had only seen on several occasions, and all of them in relation to him. She had faced down impossible odds, terrifying monsters, and more close battles than he liked to remember or think about, but she had never been afraid of them—not like this moment.

He looked at her one last time before he ran toward the raging Eikon, calling on a power long hidden inside of him, and the Phoenix spread its wings for the first time in eighteen years in the skies over the Crystalline Dominion.

He forced himself to relax his posture, even as his memory brought him back to the moment he had crashed through the walls of the council hall as the Phoenix and reunited with the remainder of his family, the moment where he and Clive burned their twin flames in the skies above Twinside. She would have seen all of it and would have been worried sick, even knowing Ifrit and Clive were one and the same. “I trust she’ll be waiting for me in Tabor…where I can finally introduce you.”

There was a weight to his words that he couldn’t hide, obvious by the way Clive raised his eyebrows at his explanation. But there was nothing Joshua could tell his brother at that moment, not about the first thing he had seen after the fires of Phoenix Gate or the voice that had tethered him to the living while floating unconscious for five years, or even why Tabor was designated as their rendezvous point in all of Storm.

Not about the memories of the last eighteen years filled with flashing steel, sleepless nights poring over medical texts and Valisthean lore, blood and sweat and tears and stolen kisses and some not-so-stolen ones. Not about how Joshua had always been protected all of his life, first by his First Shield and then by his knight. Not about how this separation was the longest he had been apart from her since they had first met eighteen years ago.

Not about how desperately he hoped that she was, indeed, waiting for him in Tabor.

Torgal hadn’t left his side the entire journey to Central Dhalmekia.

Joshua more than appreciated the hound’s presence, giving him fond head scritches every so often—made easier now than Torgal’s head actually reached a comfortable height at his waist. “It’s like a dream,” he said, taking in the moment with them all together again, the comfort of just existing with them momentarily distracting him from the coiling anxiety that seemed to grow worse the closer they got to Tabor. “The four of us out walking like we used to.”

Clive though, seemed to have his sights set on the mission before them. “Enjoying this, are you? Gav and the others could be in danger as we speak.”

There was a bite to his words that Joshua hadn’t heard directed at him before, and though he wanted to physically flinch, he only sighed. He was no longer the same Joshua who spent every day with his big brother, and Clive was no longer the same person from before Phoenix Gate either. The sweetness of nostalgia had muted the passing of the years, and regret tasted like iron on his tongue.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Only another second passed before Joshua spoke again, hoping to offer some comfort for both his brother and himself. “Jote is a fine scout. If Kanver was attacked, she will already have begun gathering information.”

“Tabor isn’t far,” Jill said, easing the tension in the air. “We should pick up the pace.”

The bandits were child’s play compared to some of the monsters they had slain during the course of their travels, but monsters were, more or less, predictable. If they were hurt, they lashed back. They attacked anything they deemed a threat. They either fought to the death or they slinked off back into whatever hole they crawled out of.

Humans, though, were another beast entirely.

Joshua’s coughing fits came at the worst of times, and even more relentlessly and frequently after Ultima’s imprisonment. With his Burning Thorn in hand and the battle deemed won with the bandits either dead or scattered, she ran over to support him as his blood stained the Velkroy sands.

“Your Grace!”

She propped him up against one of her shoulders, arm tight around his waist to support him while her other hand dug into her belt for one of her vials, her blade sheathed behind her back. The Phoenix keened mournfully inside his chest, its fire sustaining him at the cost of his own body, and he was doing everything he could to keep his coughs under control, willing his lungs to work properly. It was only because he was still facing forward that he saw something move in the shadow of the Fallen ruins, and the glint of the blade as it flew toward them—but he was not quick enough.

“Jote,” he tried to rasp out between coughs, trying to warn her, trying to—

He didn’t see her move until her strike landed, her blade drawn and her wrist extended to fling her weapon straight into her enemy’s heart. Joshua looked down at himself, fully expecting to see the bandit’s sword in his own body, but it was Jote instead who had shifted in front of him, impossibly fast, impossibly deadly as she defended him from that last danger. Joshua watched in horror as her gloved hand reached down to her side, saw her quick breaths as she readied herself and her gasp of pain when she pulled the blade out.

His hand was there before she could protest, phoenix fire curling around her wound.

“Tell us about Jote, Joshua.”

Jill’s request came out of the blue as they closed the distance to Tabor, taking Joshua by surprise. The air between them had been a little tense, but fighting side-by-side meant having to put their lives and trust in the others’ hands, and it mended some of the distance that the years had wrought. While he and his brother had never had a problematic relationship, or even had the chance to have a problematic relationship, he was grateful that Jill and Torgal helped to bridge some of the space while they tried to find an equilibrium.

“She’s strong-willed, loyal, and deadly with a blade.” He said, then paused. “Much like Clive, but with better manners.”

That did the trick—Jill giggled, but Clive just looked pointedly at his brother when he walked past. They continued in silence for a while before the dry, rocky path turned into more of a tunnel and deposited them in what looked like the main square of a small town with levels built into the rocks of the open-air canyon where people were about handling their daily tasks. Joshua couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief; though Rosaria would always be his home, Tabor had become a close second over the years. He never fully acclimated to living in the Republic, but all the time spent traveling across Valisthea and returning to this town had turned it into a comforting harbor.

“Where now, Joshua?” Clive asked.

“There is a residence just inside the city gates,” he replied, anticipation coiling in his stomach. “She awaits us within.”

Joshua turned to his right, gesturing for Clive and Jill to enter what he knew was their order’s base of operations, a safe space for them to rest after their trek. He took a deep breath in, bracing himself for the onslaught of emotions that he knew would hit him as soon as he laid eyes on her—just like when they had reunited after that disastrous stint at Caer Norvent, emotion overcoming all of his senses that he hadn’t even realized he had walked up to her and held her close to him in an almost bruising grip until she murmured his name in his ear, the first time she had done away with any honorifics while afield, her fingers gently carding through his hair to calm him after their closest call in all of their travels together.

He missed her, terribly so.

But when Joshua walked in through the heavy wooden door, there was only Clive and Jill taking in the space, the books—the tapestry hanging on the wall.

Jote wasn’t there.

“Perhaps you are…distracted.”

The Warden of Wind and Dominant of Garuda, Benedikta Harman, was even more ruthless than he had imagined after reading all the reports of her movements over the years. Ruthless, but also incredibly clever. There was a reason she was the head of Waloed’s Intelligencers, after all, and she had seen even without a word or action from either of them what his weakness was--save for his inability to look away from the woman laid at his feet.

She kicked over a bound Jote with her foot before lifting her by the crystal fetters around her wrists and threw her against his chair. Joshua did everything he could to not react even as she drew her sword.

“My offer still stands. Join us, and you will be treated with the respect one of our kind deserves.”

Benedikta punctuated her statement by slowly sinking her wickedly sharp blade into Jote’s left shoulder. Her groans of pain were kept behind her gritted teeth, but the Dominant only slid her sword deeper, twisting it to sever cleanly through muscle and tendons. Jote’s whimpers were as devastating as though she had screamed aloud, and Joshua had never felt so frightened and angry in his life. It was only her voice that stayed his hand—that, and the crystal fetters also around his wrists.

“Lord Margrace, don’t—” she let out a guttural cry as Benedikta withdrew her sword, Jote’s blood a glimmering ruby red on the blade in the flickering torchlight. She didn’t even bother wiping it off before sheathing her weapon, leaving them behind.

“I’ll give you a moment to consider your options.”

Within a moment, the guards had come and, to test their new Dominant, stupidly broke the chains that kept his power back. Joshua’s flames surged forward, eating them alive as he freed Jote from her bindings, blood still staining her dress and coat. His heart in his throat, he had put his hand over her wound, but she grasped it, tugging it down to hold it in both of hers. “We have to go, Your Grace,” she said instead.

Joshua compromised; her wound was deep, but it wasn’t bleeding uncontrollably. As she created the diversion for the villagers' escape, he killed all the guards that ran into the corridor he was in, and then, for good measure, burned the entire castle down.

It wasn't until they reached safety in the forest outside of Northreach that Joshua pulled his hood back, uncaring of anything around them, and pulled her into his arms, both of them sweating and panting and exhausted. Jote let him hold her without a word of protest, her arms coming up around his back just a moment later.

“Joshua?” she whispered, but Joshua couldn't respond with the fear, anger, and guilt that clogged his throat. “Joshua,” Jote said again, firmer this time, and it was then he realized that he was shaking, that he was crushing her to him as her blood smeared over both of their clothes.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he said hurriedly, forcing the words out and pushing her back by her shoulders to look at her wound. Benedikta had pierced the area two degrees to the right of her heart; she had wanted to leverage Joshua, had needed Jote to properly issue her threats, but had no problems making her suffer. His hand reached up to heal her, but she only took his hand and pulled it back down, stopping him from using the Phoenix's healing.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, and gently put a hand on his cheek. Joshua grasped at her as though a lifeline, his hand and frame still trembling.

The morning sun brought Jote back to her careful mask of propriety and honorifics, but the moon had seen them curled together under a blanket in front of a fire, her left shoulder cleaned and bandaged tightly as he held her to his side. It had seen him leaning against her when his fear eventually dissipated, his body catching up with his mind in the realization that she was alive and warm next to him.

It had seen her fingers gently carding through his hair in a gentle touch of comfort as she whispered his name.

Chapter Text

There was darkness

There was always darkness.

And sometimes, there was a girl’s voice.

It took time, but he eventually began to make sense of the words she was saying. More often than not, she was reading something from a book or some sort of text instead of actually talking to him, but he wasn’t complaining. He was so tired, he couldn’t open his mouth to reply to her if he tried.

But her voice had made him feel less alone in the darkness.

He tried, again and again, to say something back. She would ask him questions every so often, and though she had paused before continuing to speak, he had only silence for her.

And more darkness. But her voice never went away.

And when Joshua Rosfield finally awoke five years after the events of Phoenix Gate, the first thing he saw was a pair of wide, umber eyes.

Where was she?

It was terribly difficult to breathe inside the cool room.

“Joshua?” he heard someone say, but it was as though he was underwater, the sound of his name muffled and distant. “Joshua, are you all right?”

“Joshua!”

I trust she’ll be waiting for me in Tabor.

“Joshua.”

This is Lostwing and Caer Norvent all over again and he can't find her, they've taken her—

“Joshua!”

The sick squelch of severed muscle, her guttural groan of pain as Benedikta Harman withdrew her sword.

A cool hand touched his forehead and Joshua flinched as he was pulled violently back into his body, Clive and Jill’s concerned gazes trained on him. Jill lowered her frost-misted hand, but not before she gently pushed his sweaty bangs back from where they were plastered on his skin. “Joshua, are you all right?”

“I…”

The door opened behind them and Joshua spun around, his heart in his throat as he hoped—

And in walked another familiar face, but not the one he was hoping to see. The feeling of disappointment was a difficult one to hide.

“Cyril,” Joshua managed to greet.

The man, with a stern face and his long hair neatly tucked under a gray hood, bowed to him. “Your Grace.” He looked over at Clive and Jill, also offering them a bow of respect. “My Lord. My Lady.”

Joshua quickly walked up to him, worry threatening to drown him. “Cyril, where is Jote?”

“Jote?” Cyril seemed surprised at his question. “Your Grace, I haven’t seen Jote since last you left.”

Jote had never made it back to Tabor.

Joshua knew firsthand how well she could take care of herself—she had, after all, kept him alive the last eighteen years—but the world no longer had many safe havens, and it had been two weeks since the events of Twinside, more than enough time for her traveling on her own to return to their base of operations on chocobo-back. His mind conjured possibility after possibility of the dangers she faced, reasons why she hadn’t returned like they had discussed and agreed on. What could have kept her so long? She could handle bandits and monsters that came her way; she was a knight of the Undying, and one of the deadliest at that. She was unfalteringly loyal to the Order and to their mission.

To him. Of all the things that terrified Joshua about her disappearance, it was the absolute, world-ending certainty that she would fight tooth and nail to return and reunite with him, and if she wasn’t back, it meant that…she couldn’t. Something had stopped her from coming home that wasn’t of her own volition.

Joshua was going to be sick. He sat hunched over in his chair, his hands clasped together so tightly on top of the table that his leather gloves creaked from the pressure. Jill's frosted hand rubbed cool, soothing circles on his back, and he heard quiet murmurs between her and Clive and Cyril as the Keeper of the Burning Quill relayed the Undying's most recent reports of the sighting of the Einherjar and of his and Jote's discoveries regarding Ultima's motives and the mysterious tapestry they had found. He latched onto the conversation like a lifeline, trying to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

“Your Grace,” Cyril's voice almost snapped, calling him to attention. “I will send word to our other brothers and sisters to investigate Jote's whereabouts. In the meantime, she knows there are other things that require your immediate attention.”

There was a heavy emphasis to his words, a sharp edge that firmly rooted Joshua to the situation at hand. Everything Cyril said was true. As his attendant of the last eighteen years, Jote knew better than anyone the things they had to sacrifice in this war, priorities that had to be taken before anything else. And Cyril was also absolutely right—there was nothing more and nothing better they could do for Jote than to have the exhaustive resources of the Undying look for her while Joshua went to help his brother save their friends who were stuck in Kanver. Among their number was Gav, whom Clive claimed was the best scout he had ever met; if all went well, asking Gav to help track Jote down would only help them find her faster. Joshua took a deep breath to steel himself, to push aside the miasma of worry and panic and focus on the task at hand.

“Thank you, Cyril. Please send word to the Hideaway as soon as you receive any news of Jote.” He stood, prompting the others to stand as well. Clive relayed the Hideaway’s location to Cyril, who bowed, his right hand over his stomach.

“Rest assured that the Undying will do anything we can to help the Phoenix and your cause, Lord Marquess,” he said, then turned to Joshua. “Have faith, Your Grace. As Jote as hers in you.”

“I’m sorry.”

The disappointment in her small voice was enough to make his heart ache. Joshua gave her a kind smile, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, Jote. It was a mistake.”

“I-I know your survival shouldn’t be announced to the world, Your Grace, but…I apologized that I addressed you as such in public.

“No.” He firmly stopped any further apologies from the thirteen-year-old girl who seemed so much older than she was, who shouldered so much more responsibility than any her age should. Joshua knew that most of it was because of him, but her duty was not reason enough to absolve him of his guilt over the situation. “We had talked about a pseudonym for our travels, and I am at fault for not deciding on one sooner.”

He drew an arm across his stomach, still lanky at seventeen after two years post-coma, and placed his other elbow on top before resting his chin on his now-propped-up hand as he thought for a moment—and then inspiration struck.

“What about ‘Margrace’?”

Jote looked confused. “Margrace, Your Grace?”

Joshua rubbed the back of his head with one hand, almost embarrassed. “I know it’s a strange-sounding name,” he admitted. “But it sounds close enough to ‘Your Grace’ that if you ever address me by title around others again, that should help us avoid any unwanted attention by anyone who heard it.”

Her eyes widened, and pink stained her cheeks. “Your Grace…” she bowed at the waist, lowering her head. “Shall we press on…Lord Margrace?”

The Free Cities of Kanver was in flames.

By all appearances, Clive, Jill, Joshua, and Torgal had made it too late, but Clive approached the door of a dwelling with sure steps, giving what Joshua assumed was their code—“Sounds like thunder”—before the door unlocked to allow them entrance. Joshua made sure it was bolted and properly locked behind them, giving Clive and Jill a moment while they reunited with their friends.

“Is that who I think it is?”

An accented voice snagged his attention; his eyes landed on a young woman, her long blonde hair tied into a braid down her back who was staring back at him. Jill gave the affirmative, and he walked forward while Clive made the introductions…that went about as well as expected.

“Name’s Midadol. But everyone calls me Mid.”

Joshua Rosfield was many things and one such trait among them was socially inept, his brain supplied unhelpfully a minute later when he greeted Midadol Telamon with all the formalities of the ducal court. It was possibly the most awkward first meeting he’d ever had with anyone when his first instinct after years of training in his childhood was to drop to a knee and kiss her hand like any other noble while addressing her as “my lady.”

Mid, though, was quick on her feet and quicker with her hands. Yanking her hand back before he could kiss it, she laughed heartily as she clasped his arm to help him stand back up, patting his arm reassuringly as she did so, a silent gesture letting him know that he hadn’t bungled their friendship before it had even started.

It suddenly struck him then that he really hadn’t had much time or opportunity to interact with a lot of other women while he and Jote traveled Valisthea in pursuit of Ultima, and theirs had become such a comfortable relationship over the years that Joshua could admit he was a little out of practice with regular people who couldn’t nearly read his mind with just one glance at his face. But that brought him back to where it all began—with Jote—and he felt the panic creeping its way through the carefully-constructed bars of its mental cage.

It was the next introduction that truly grounded Joshua to the present, that centered his gaze—his beloved uncle, still alive and well and older and grayer than last he had seen him, stumbling toward him with tears in his eyes and down his cheeks, murmuring a broken “my boy” as he enveloped him in the biggest bear hug he had ever received. Uncle Byron had always been a pillar of strength and support when Joshua was young, and though he had known his uncle was alive all this time in Port Isolde, like Clive, he didn’t dare hold onto the hope that they would meet before the war was over.

“It’s really you!” his uncle sobbed. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

Joshua clung to him, his heart aching at the evidence the years had left on Uncle Byron. For one thing, he was tall enough now that his uncle was able to cry on his shoulder instead of the other way around. There were lines on his face that Joshua knew weren’t there before, and though he was still a presence of strength, his shoulders felt a little frailer than he remembered. He was forcefully reminded of all the things his mother’s betrayal and the war had taken from them, chief among them time with their families and loved ones. In fact, she had actively torn them apart, even if Ultima hadn’t needed to wield her like a puppet…no, her own ambition and greed had done this to them. His mother had never seen him, Joshua, no matter how much adoration and attention she lavished on him as a child. She had her eyes on the Phoenix always. And wasn’t it just ironic that she had spurned Clive, only for him to be the Dominant whose strength could overcome any of theirs? That she had scorned Jill, who had awakened to a power Anabella could never attain?

It was difficult to forgive her, even after years of knowing the truth.

His uncle held him for another minute before regaining some sort of control over his emotions, patting Joshua’s cheek fondly and letting go so he could meet the last member of their group who, judging by his twitching fingers, was just as excited to meet him.

Gav stepped forward and immediately grasped Joshua’s arm, just as Mid had done. “Name’s Gav,” he said in his accented lilt. “Heard a lottabout ‘ya.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Joshua replied just as warmly. “Clive has told me much about you as well.”

His brother really had talked highly and affectionately of the scout who had become one of his best friends and sworn brothers despite their initial distrust of each other, and though Joshua had just met the man, Gav naturally gave off a feeling that made him feel as though they had already been friends for a long time.

Clive’s smile fell as everyone sobered, satisfied that they were all in one piece, and then it was back to business as they all took different positions around the room for a quick briefing on what Gav had discovered while in Kanver.

“So these akashic are being controlled?”

“That’s what it looked like,” Gav confirmed. “Empty eyes, eerie blue glow—now doubt they were turned…but silent as monks, every last one of ‘em.”

“Your man here speaks true, Clive.” Uncle Byron was quick to back him up. “We saw more than a few in the city. They moved in ranks with a purpose. And not of their own.”

Joshua, leaning on the wall next to the door, crossed his arms in thought. Mindless beings, moving in ranks according to some sort of directive…it sounded like soldiers to him. It sounded like an army. It sounded like someone was finally making a move, and Barnabas Tharmr, between the movements of the Einherjar and the years of his suspected dealings with Ultima, had to be connected somehow.

His brother turned to face him. “Ultima’s doing?” Clive asked.

“Perhaps…” he mused.

“What of the city? The people?” Jill directed the question to Mid and Gav.

“Ah…dead, mostly.” Mid looked down at the crate she was sitting cross-legged on.

Gav uncrossed his arms. “Mostly, but not all,” he said. “A handful managed to lock themselves in their villas before the horde arrived. Some in the Merchant’s District to the west, and a few others on the Far Bank.”

Clive’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Hmmm…if the akashic stumble across either hiding place, a few bolted doors won’t hold them for long.” He pushed off the table he had been leaning against. “We need to find them. And quickly.”

This was the side of his brother that Joshua remembered seeing in training when Clive had been studying under Lord Commander Murdoch, so reminiscent of their younger days that he immediately straightened. “What do you propose?”

“We split into two parties,” Clive said, ever the strategist as faced him. “I will make for the Merchant’s District while you look to those across the river.”

Joshua nodded, and Clive turned to Jill. “Mind keeping an eye on my brother?”

“Not at all,” she replied, and looked over at Joshua. “We find the villa and try the servants’ entrance.”

Jill had always been astute and brilliant, even as a child. But there were times Joshua wondered if the things she was so adept at now—swordplay, combat, her strategist mind that could rival Clive’s—came from her time at the hands of the Ironbloods, and though he hadn’t known of her survival until she and Clive had met with Cidolfus Telamon, he felt an acute sorrow for the girl he and Clive had grown up alongside and a sharp guilt that she had to go through everything she did in the thirteen years following Anabella’s coup.

His mother, yet again. Everything led back to that night at Phoenix Gate.

The others had their missions to see to—getting Mid’s ship up and running so they could escape Kanver—and they all quickly left their safe haven, Joshua and Jill practically sprinting their way across the city to the River Bridge.

Seeing a platoon of soldiers marching in the plaza, Joshua tugged at Jill’s sleeve and the two of them ducked down behind stacked crates to hide, offering them a good vantage point to see what they were up against. It was as Gav had said; the akashic soldiers were silent, glowing with a strange, sickly blue and gray light. And then there was the matter of—

“Their armor,” Jill breathed. “Joshua, they’re wearing Waloder armor. These are Waloder knights.”

“Barnabas Tharmr,” Joshua confirmed under his breath. “We knew he had been working with Ultima for some time now. But this is nothing that we could have ever expected.”

The platoon passed into the next street and the two of them stood, running at full speed toward the villas. “We have to hurry,” Jill said, but even as they closed the distance between the river and the villas, Joshua knew they were too late. Blood stained the streets and the walls of the dwellings, and bodies littered the ground. The servants’ entrance to each villa was barricaded, and blood stained the cobblestones under each doorway. Only silence answered when they called out, asking if anyone was there.

There was no one left alive. And there wouldn’t be, not if the akashic were ordered to kill any living human on sight and they were the mindless, controlled creatures that Gav and Uncle Byron had said they were. Joshua closed his eyes against the gruesome sight for a moment, bowing his head in sorrow and whispering a quick apology.

“We need to get back to Clive.” Jill’s words came out strangled, her chest heaving not with the exertion, Joshua knew, but her trying to rein in the tears that threatened to spill.

They ran back the way they came, no longer hiding from the platoons of akashic soldiers but fighting their way through. One less akashic was one more chance for them to leave the city alive, and Jill and Joshua worked together flawlessly in combat to dispose of their enemies.

The Merchant’s District was on the far side of the city, but the two kept their focus on finding Clive and Torgal…eventually reuniting with them in the Council chamber’s courtyard, Clive covered in blood that looked to be mostly not his, and a dead Sleipnir Harbard at his feet.

“Clive!”

He turned when Joshua called his name, but Joshua, after ensuring that his brother was fine, was instantly distracted by Waloed’s former Lord Commander while Jill checked in with him.

“You’re all right!”

“As are you, I see.”

It took Joshua a moment to shift his focus back to the conversation. “We are, yes.”

“I’m sorry, but…we couldn’t save them,” Jill said, shaking her head and catching her breath.

“It was over before we arrived.”

Clive sighed. “Well…you did what you could. I fear we were all too late.”

He, Jill, and Torgal began the trek back to their rendezvous point, but there was something about Sleipnir Harbard that pulled at Joshua’s focus, something that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“What’s wrong?” Clive asked, stopping.

“Nothing.” Joshua didn’t want to worry his brother unnecessarily based on nothing but a feeling, a wisp of a memory. “I hope.”

He turned to join them, but the front of the grand council building behind them suddenly collapsed in a burst of brick and mortar, shaking the ground as the entire structure fell. A powerful wave of dust kicked up, blasting past them and heralding the approach of the man Joshua had both expected to see and dreaded to face—

“Leaving so soon, Mythos?”

Joshua’s stance went rigid. “It’s the king.”

“Indeed. You may kneel before Barnabas Tharmr…Warden of Ash, and King of Waloed.” His boots didn’t even click against the stone floor as Barnabas walked toward them through the dust, stopping only paces away from them. None of them dared to take their eyes off of him, hostilities already proven with the way he had decimated the building and invaded the city, killing its citizens. His dark, focused gaze turned to Joshua and Clive instantly stepped in front of him, nearly shoving him back.

“A riddle for you, Phoenix,” the king said as though Clive hadn’t moved. “It is not alive, but it grows. It does not have lungs, but it needs air. It does not have a mouth, but water kills it.”

Fire. The answer to his riddle was easy, but Joshua doubted Barnabas was really looking for an answer. There was something else he wanted, something he wanted from him specifically.

“Why don’t you tell us what it is you are truly after, Tharmr?” Joshua asked.

Barnabas only grinned. “You cannot hold her in your arms, but you may hold her in your palm.”

“What is it you want?” he asked again, his mind turning the answer over in his head. There was something strange about the way the king had phrased the riddle, as though he were mocking him, and if he could just figure out what it was, what his motives were…

“Answer the riddle, Phoenix.”

“Water,” Joshua ground out. Barnabas laughed.

“You cannot hold water in your arms, that much is true. And soon, you cannot hold her in your palm either.”

“What does that mean?” Jill demanded of the king, but he didn’t even deign to look in her direction. Something inside Joshua was screaming, something was warning him, something was wrong—

The crystal in his chest began to throb, and his hand came up to cover it as he stumbled backwards, as though trying to hold it in. Clive and Jill were on either side of him in an instant; Joshua was held between them as he felt a sharp spike of pain, so unlike the way Ultima would usually launch a full-on assault at the bars of his cage. But the prick of pain kept coming, repeatedly, like an insistent knock, as though Ultima was taunting him or sending him a message, and Joshua coughed up blood onto the already-bloody stones on the Kanverian ground.

Barnabas’s smile grew wider.

Clive shoved Joshua and Jill back, putting himself in front as they retreated, and his duel with the king began in earnest.

It all went terribly wrong. Barnabas Tharmr was far stronger than any of them had dreamed of him being, and it seemed like nothing for him to block Clive's every attack, to match him step-for-step between attack and defense; when Clive semi-primed, the king simply raised his sword…and cut him down. Clive’s flames extinguished as he dropped lifelessly to the floor, both Jill and Joshua staring on in horror. Joshua shoved his pain aside, running after Jill as she launched herself between Barnabas and Clive without hesitation.

“Joshua!” she cried, but he was already pulling his brother up by the arm, hauling Clive’s dead weight out of the square when he felt a hard tug in the aether in the air that signified the arrival of Shiva. Jill fully primed into her Eikon, extending her hand and blasting enormous glacier spikes to cut off any pursuers—and leaving herself open to the king’s attack. Joshua couldn’t look back; he had to focus on getting his brother back to their friends so they could regroup and come for Jill.

Stay safe, Jill Warrick. Stay alive.

“Lord Rosfield!”

The voice that greeted him back at the Hideaway was one whose ire Joshua would never want to draw, but with the way things had gone, it was understandable that he would be in for a long afternoon.

“Ay, Tarja,” Gav greeted as he and Uncle Byron carried Clive into the infirmary. Their resident physicker quickly assessed Joshua for any external injuries before hustling over to Clive, clicking her tongue.

“What on earth happened?!”

The trip back to the Hideaway on Mid's ship, The Enterprise, was one that Joshua could only faintly remember, between the hours of sitting with Clive and pouring the Phoenix's healing flames into his body and the exhaustion and heaving, bloody coughing fits that it cost him. Gav told him something about receiving a stolas from Otto when they were preparing to set sail; it had passed on a message written in a curious old note from Cid to Mid that he had discovered when the orchestrion at the Hideaway suddenly stopped working. The message was what finally helped Mid with her engineering breakthrough, allowing the ship to run as smoothly as a fed chocobo without, in her words, “it explodin' on us and feedin' the fish.”

She had sailed The Enterprise up through the Rosarian Channel that ran inland next to Rosalith Castle before the group had to disembark and continue to the Hideaway on foot. Or, stretcher, as it were—Clive was still unconscious after his fight with Barnabas Tharmr.

Gav gave a full run-down as Tarja inspected Clive, who, though physically whole, had not woken.

“The Phoenix can mend flesh, but the spirit must recover on its own,” Joshua told her from his own cot next to his brother's. She glared at him after ensuring Clive was fine, marching over to her medicinal stores and pulling out a tincture of something bright yellow. Joshua grimaced, but downed it in one go anyway, continuing to impart the information he had after.

“Barnabas Tharmr had been intentionally cruel in his final attack. Odin's sword had severed nigh every sinew in Clive's body, but he had ensured that the injuries would not claim his life.”

“’Nigh every sinew'?” Uncle Byron asked from his place near the door, his weary, sad eyes trained on both of his nephews.  

Joshua drank deeply from the mug of water Tarja had brought to him, washing down the bitter medicine before he responded. “Through his attack on Kanver and the way he left Clive, we learn that Barnabas Tharmr is, indeed, wholly devoted to Ultima and his work, and that they need Clive alive for Ultima's plans.”

“And he's got Jill,” Mid said, sitting with her legs crossed on the cot across the room from them. She wrung her hands together, worry evident in the way her brow furrowed. “We'll need to get her back. Clive doesn't…”

There was a moment where Joshua thought she was going to start crying. “Clive doesn’t know she didn't make it back.”

Jill.                                                                                            

He put a hand to his heart and reached out with his senses, tuning the Phoenix inside of him to the aether of the world. “Jill is fine, Mid,” he said quietly. “The aether of her Eikon endures. As long as it does, we can be certain she is alive.”

“But do we know that she's okay if her aether just tells us she’s still alive? We still need to get her back,” Mid said, and it was a strange sight indeed that a young woman who was so full of bright positivity, even in the short time Joshua had known her, was brought so low with worry.

Joshua had hoped to not address this question, hoped to be able to put them all at ease with the news that Jill was still alive, even if he himself worried for the older sister he never had. The hand he had on his chest tightened into a fist, and it was then that he felt it, a disturbance in the aether that shook the world. His every heartbeat hammered in anticipation, his every sense alert and on edge, and he threw open the infirmary door to sprint out to the deck, Gav and Uncle Byron thundering behind him, to see a large serpentine shape in the sky over where the Crystalline Dominion should be. Even having never seen her in person, Joshua knew exactly who it was that dominated the skies.

Vivian Ninetails ran out of the map room, her eyes wide and mouth parted. “Great Greagor…” she breathed.

“It's Leviathan,” Joshua whispered, unable to tear his eyes away as the Eikon reared its head back and let out a roar that echoed across all of Valisthea. The Phoenix in him let out a loud screech in response, and he barely kept his control over it, keeping himself from semi-priming or worse, fully priming at the surge in aether in the air.

“I thought Leviathan was lost,” Gav said, staring wide-eyed at its great wing-like fins, its long, serpent body, at the pointed mouth.

Footsteps on the wooden deck behind them were all the warning they got before Clive's voice sounded.

“No longer.”

It wasn’t traditional by any means, but it was enough.

Joshua couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous—even facing Ultima at Drake’s Head hadn’t put him on edge quite the same way. He briefly wondered if this was something he should say out loud, or if it would just land him in trouble.

The wind on top of Mann’s Hill was fairly strong that day, and the snow daisies were still in bloom. For a moment, he had panicked at the thought of the Blight reaching that part of Rosaria and killing off the flowers there, but between the blooms and clear skies, even with the wind, it felt like something or someone was blessing them that day. The hem of a white robe fluttered around the turn to the field of snow daisies, and Joshua could feel his heart nearly give out…though it was only Cyril who had turned the corner. His shoulders slumped, and he blew out a breath.

“Your Grace.” Cyril bowed at the waist, his hand over his stomach. Joshua put a hand on his shoulder, offering a smile.

“Cyril. Thank you for making the journey from Tabor.”

“It is my honor to be here, Your Grace.”

The Keeper of the Burning Quill looked back from the secluded entrance he came in from, and then out at the view the vista offered, the rolling hills of their homeland. “Follow me, boy, o’er the rolling green meadows,” he sang softly. Joshua looked over, amused.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

Cyril offered him a half-smile beneath his hood. “There are a great many things that these wars have taken from us, Your Grace,” he said. “But the love we have for our country and our loyalty to the ducal throne and the Phoenix are not among that number.”

Joshua didn’t find it prudent to mention that the last time he heard that song was at Phoenix Gate, the night everything had gone up in flames. Cyril was right; they had lost so much. But wasn’t it true that they had much to gain as well? After all, it was for this belief that Joshua took his place in this war, and it was for this belief that he stood there on the hill, waiting with his heart in his throat.

Soft footsteps rounded the corner, and when Joshua looked over, he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, leaving him breathless.

Jote, having forgone her usual leather traveling raiment for the occasion, walked toward where they stood at the edge of the field of snow daisies in a simple white linen dress and her traveling boots, her hair brushed back with a garland of snow daisies atop her head. She held a small bunch of red phoenix flowers in her hands, matching the faint blush that stained her cheeks.

His lips parted on a breath, and yet, he found himself only able to smile as she approached him and Cyril.

“Jote.” Cyril lowered his head in a respectful nod, and Jote did the same for him.

“Thank you for coming, Master Cyril. I realize this must be a highly unusual occurrence in the Order’s creed.”

To their surprise, Cyril gave a light chuckle. “You are not the first in this history of the Undying, but your predecessors certainly did not hail from times of war with a god.

“It is, however,” he said, lifting Joshua’s right hand, Jote’s left, and placing them together before letting go. “An occasion that could certainly bring some light into an otherwise-dark world.”

He took a step back as Jote and Joshua turned to face each other, hands clasped with wide, nervous smiles on their faces. Joshua cleared his throat, raising his other hand—a ring welded with twisted diamonds in the band set with three small blue-green stones held between his fingers. “Jote,” he started, his confidence growing with every word. “There are so many days where everything seems so uncertain, and so many days where I feel lost in this war and this world. But I know I've never truly been lost. You have been by my side for all of it, and you have never once let me wander on my own. You have always been my lantern in the dark, my sword and shield, my reason in the madness…my heart and every beat of it.”

Joshua slid the ring onto her left middle finger, bringing her hand up with both of his and kissed first the ring before pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I love you, Jote. This is my vow: whatever happens next, I will hold on to your hand. I will walk beside you, even if we should ever become separated, And I will love you always, until the end of my days and beyond even that.”

There was silver lining Jote’s eyes as he finished, her lips pressed together as though to keep her emotions in check. She sniffled, looking down at the ring on her hand that officially marked her as a married woman before she held up her bouquet of flowers, showing the thin silver band that was looped onto her thumb. They had to let go of each other so she could slip it off her finger, but she took Joshua's left hand again and breathed in deeply before she began to speak.

“Joshua. This world is a dark and perilous place, full of loss and fear. But I have never been afraid of it, because your flame has always brightened the way forward, and its warmth has kept away the cold that comes with the night. Yours—because the Phoenix is only part of you, and it is you who chooses to be a light for the world. You are kind, and you are brave, and you are good, even when it is to your detriment. You are the fire in my heart, the reason I keep fighting, and any time I have with you in this life is worth all of the heartbreak this world might bring.”

She squeezed his hand, then slipped the band onto his middle finger. “I love you, Joshua Rosfield. This is my vow: whatever happens next, I will hold on to your hand. I will walk beside you, even if we should ever become separated. And I will love you always, until the end of my days and beyond even that.”

Joshua had less luck in keeping himself together through her vows; a tear had already tracked down his face, and Jote reached up with her free hand to wipe it away with her thumb. They both laughed, the sound a little wet and broken, but in the very best of ways—and then Cyril spoke from his place in front of them. “You have exchanged tokens and vows, and are now married according to the laws set forth by the Founders of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria.”

He had barely finished his proclamation before Joshua looped an arm around Jote's waist, tugging her close and leaning down to kiss her. Cyril smiled at the sight, a rare, true smile.

“May this union be blessed.”

Chapter Text

The kind face of the lady who ran the inn at Martha's Rest was a welcome reprieve from the months of hostile gazes over the course of their travels. She had taken one look at Jote's dress, the ring on her finger, the blush on her cheeks, and promptly handed over a key to a room upstairs, “last room, down the hall—should be plenty of space for you two", waving off her gil.

“Save your coin, girl,” she said, putting a pinch of something into a mug before handing her a tray with the mug, a second clean mug, a pot of hot water, and a small basin with two towels. “This one's free. Founder knows we need some good news around here. And don't worry about the sheets. Drink all of the tea. Tomorrow night's stay will cost you though!” she continued with a hearty smile. Jote murmured her thanks with a ducked head and bashful smile, sure her cheeks were aflame before she headed up the stairs to where Joshua was waiting, leaning over the railing with his cloak over his usual black-and-red garb, hood pulled up to keep his identity secret. He turned to take the tray from her and she huffed, motioning for him to take the key instead.

Sighing, he took the key and opened their door, locking it behind them the moment she stepped into the room.

“Tired? Thirsty?” Jote asked, carefully pouring the hot water from the pot into both mugs and sniffing hers to find out exactly what the innkeeper had put into the…tea. She pursed her lips, then rummaged through the pocket at her belt to draw out another pinch of herbs and a small vial of sweet pollen, the physicker in her carefully calculating the potency and taste of the brew.

She had just put her mug down when arms wrapped around her waist, and it was impossible to stop her smile when she felt Joshua burying his face into the side of her neck. “Not tired. Not thirsty,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. Jote bit the inside of her cheek as heat immediately built low in her belly at his tone, her hands coming up to cover his. She gave herself a moment to relish the feeling of being held before she turned in his arms, their eyes meeting—and it took everything in her to keep her legs steady, to stay standing.

Joshua's eyes were captivating enough on a regular day, a pale shade of blue like the skies of the earliest morning just before the sun rose. But now, they were burning, filled with a flame that rivaled his Eikon's, the blue at the hottest part of a fire, and it was all directed at her. Jote couldn't move, could barely remember to breathe.

“Hello, wife,” he whispered, leaning closer to her. She had to swallow past her tight throat, the heat inside of her burning brighter.

“Hello, husband,” she whispered back. Joshua leaned in until their noses touched, spinning them around so that the lone bed in the room was at her back. He took careful, measured steps forward as Jote took matching steps back, his hands tight around her waist and hers clutching at his tunic, the moment building agonizingly slowly. They stopped when the side of the bed met the backs of her legs and then there was a pause—a breath, one, two, and Joshua leaned in to press his lips softly against hers, so chaste and gentle and quick it was hardly longer than a peck.

But it was enough. He leaned back and Jote couldn’t stop herself from chasing his lips, pulling him down by the front of his tunic and their kiss this time was firmer, lasted a little longer, fanning the flames instead of tempering them. They had kissed many times before, of course, but this was different. They were different.

Married.

Jote almost couldn’t believe it; it all felt like a fever dream, but Joshua slid his hand up her side to her neck, gently pulling her in until their foreheads rested against each other. “I love you,” he said, his breath on her lips.

She put one hand over his heart, wrapping the other around him and holding him close. “I love you, Joshua.”

They moved at the same time, and the spark caught into an inferno.

She watched as the Phoenix distracted Bahamut from raining destruction on the rest of the city, the beautiful firebird soaring majestically over the skies of the Dominion—but she knew it was costing him dearly. Joshua Rosfield had not fully primed in nigh close to eighteen years, and his health was already in a frighteningly fragile state after the events of Drake’s Head.

But there was nothing she could do. Jote Rosfield looked on in terror, tears in her eyes and her hands clasped tightly to her chest as she watched Bahamut throw the Phoenix into the side of the Council Chambers they had been in just that afternoon, the wall collapsing under its weight. People ran past her, screaming for their lives, but she waited, she hoped…and then a pillar of fire burst into the sky, the Eikon Ifrit appearing not a moment later to shield them from the wyvern’s attack. Relief overwhelmed her like a tidal wave, a sob escaping as she tried to tell herself that Joshua was all right, that he would be fine; there was nothing Clive Rosfield wouldn't do for his little brother, a fact they were both certain of even after the years of separation between them.

“Please be safe, Joshua,” she breathed, watching as Ifrit and Phoenix took on the out-of-control Warden of Light. They were incredible, both Eikons of Fire covering each other’s weak spots until a glowing crystal floated up from the heart of Drake’s Tail, Bahamut clearly connecting with it somehow—and then he was on the attack again, launching a powerful blast at the brothers. The Phoenix flew in front, summoning a barrier that shattered as soon as Bahamut’s flare struck it. Jote cried out, powerless, but she couldn’t stay out in the open. The crystal petals of the flower Drake’s Tail had opened up to broke off from the sheer force of the blast, raining down onto the streets below. Enormous sheets of crystal were smashing through homes and buildings left and right; Jote forced herself to run in the direction she knew led back to the Crystal Road while trying to keep from being flattened by the falling debris.

It was pure luck that she reached the edge of the city with nothing more than shallow cuts, turning just in time to see a blinding light coming from Ifrit and the Phoenix…and a new form emerged, a being made up of both Eikons that violently triggered the memory of the tapestry and murals she and Joshua had seen over the course of their travels. “Founder…” Jote whispered, staring in disbelief even as the joined Eikon and Bahamut flew even higher in the sky to continue their battle, so far up she couldn’t see more than bright flashes of light. The pieces of the puzzle came together in a horrifying picture—that the figure at the top of the tapestry resembled the combined Phoenix and Ifrit was no coincidence. They had once thought it was some form of Ultima’s lording over whatever it was that the bottom of the mural depicted, but what if they were actually correct? What if it was Ultima, and it wasn’t just Ifrit he needed, but the Phoenix as well in his plans? If Ultima had his sights set upon both brothers, if his true physical form was the one of the merged Eikons, then Joshua was no safer than Clive.

Jote watched as the sky lit up with their battle, and then the Phoenix swooped down from the heavens, Ifrit falling alongside him right back into the heart of the city just as the first hints of morning began to brighten the dark night on the horizon.

Joshua.

She staggered forward before she could stop herself, her tired feet carrying her back into Twinside. She knew the plan, of course; if they were ever separated on the road, of which they undoubtedly were at the moment, they would each make their way back to Tabor and reunite there. But first, Jote needed to know that her husband was safe. After she knew for certain that he had made it out, she would take the Crystal Road to the west of the city before turning south to Dhalmekia.

The closer she got to the city proper, the more she began to notice the trembling in the ground, the heaviness in the atmosphere. By then, the morning light had begun to turn from a pale yellow to red, bathing the city in blood as the sun prepared to crest over the horizon. Everything came into focus with the light, and Jote paused, letting her instincts and training take over. The trembling could be attributed to the unsteadiness of the streets that had been overturned and collapsed during the night, and the heaviness could also be the possibility of heavy clouds or rain, but she knew there was something else to it, something coming—

And then she heard a child wailing.

She didn’t even think; she simply ran toward the sound, the ground shaking beneath her boots as though the entire city was ready to collapse. One more alleyway over, across another street, and then she finally found her, a little girl not much older than a toddler cowering in the shadow of a building that looked ready to topple. Jote nearly skidded to a stop in front of her, squatting down and making herself smaller to keep from scaring the girl.

“Hello,” she said softly, hoping to comfort her. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl looked up with wide, teary eyes, frightened out of her mind. Jote pushed back her panic, smiling gently at her. “Where are your parents?”

Sniffling, the girl looked around before her face crumpled once again. Jote held out her arms. “It’s all right,” she said again. “I’ll get you out of the city.”

A small hand reached for hers and Jote resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief, pulling the girl up into her arms and holding her close, one hand shielding the back of the girl’s head. She had just started backtracking, navigating back out toward the Crystal Road Stormside when a crack like thunder sounded above her and echoed through the entirety of the Dominion.

Jote didn’t want to look. She knew what it was, and with the child in her arms, she was afraid.

Doing her best to push her fear away, she began to run for the outskirts of the city as the whole crystal flower that had once been Drake’s Tail started to shatter, chunks of it falling from the sky. The girl whimpered into her shoulder, and Jote clasped her even tighter to herself as she ran. “Hold onto me,” she whispered, huffing. “I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

She tried to look up as much as she could, doing her best to dodge all the larger pieces raining down to the streets. Her instincts and combat training kicked in immediately, her footwork impeccable and her agility pushed to the brink. Jote was fast—she was closing in on the city gates, smashed open to allow anyone and anything entrance, leading out to the slums where she knew the people, like her, had congregated to watch the rest of the battle—but she was just not fast enough.

A piece of crystal nearly as large as a building crashed down in front of her and blocked her path, shards flying in every direction as the crystal hit the street. She didn’t scream; she just curled in on herself, trying to shield the girl in her arms as much as she could, the sharp pieces cutting into the exposed parts of her face, her cheeks, her fingers, and slicing into her leather outer layers. When the assault finally died down, Jote raised her head to see them entirely boxed in, surrounded by broken buildings and fallen crystal. There was no way out of a city that was falling, quite literally, into pieces.

Her eagle eyes immediately zeroed in on a small opening, just barely wide enough for the child to squeeze through. She patted the girl on the back as she hurried over to it, letting the girl see the hole.

“Here we are,” Jote said as calmy and cheerfully as she could. “You’re going to crawl through here, all right? It’ll take you straight to the city gates—” she showed the girl the still-clear area between them and where she could see a few people lingering, looking at the destruction of their home. “—and then you go find someone to help you, understand?”

The girl sniffed, nodding at her with a trembling lower lip, and then crawled on her hands and knees out to safety. Jote finally let out the breath she had been holding, grasping onto the crystal to stay balanced as the ground continued to rumble.

She couldn’t stay here. She had to look for another way out.

Jote couldn’t climb the crystals, too slick with unpredictable hand and footholds. She could scale the destroyed buildings and find a way out of the box she was trapped in, but she needed to hurry before anything else came down and she was buried alive with the debris.

The ground shook violently once again and she lost her balance, falling over to the side of the brick building she had been standing next to. Jote pushed herself off, but the quaking was so intense that even as she tried to regain her footing, there was no way she could stand upright; she used the wall as leverage, but the remains of the crystal flower started cracking directly above her head, and the last thing she knew was a mountain of beautiful blue crystal falling directly on top of her, the screech of the Phoenix in the distance.

The night was beautiful, clear with a breeze and perfect for traveling. Despite knowing what she did about the Mothercrystals, Drake’s Tail was a beautiful beacon in the distance, the moon and Metia looking down on it. Jote’s heart lurched when Joshua suddenly stopped, hunched over with his hand covering his chest as another coughing fit wracked his entire body, causing him to fall to his knees. She hurriedly scanned the area and saw ruins off to the side of the road, putting her arm around his back.

“This way, Your Grace,” she murmured, pulling him up as his arm automatically came around her shoulders. They half-walked, half-stumbled to the crumbled foundations of what had once been some sort of building, Jote sitting Joshua down against the decimated wall before she put her lantern onto the floor and tended to him. With swift fingers, she went through the familiar motions of removing his outer layers, belt, and sword, leaving him with just his tunic, pants, and boots as they waited for the worst of the coughing to pass. This was a bad one—blood had started leaking from his mouth as the coughs were pulled from the deepest parts of his chest, and Jote fought back her tears, fought to keep herself detached as an attendant and physicker, her hands digging into her pouches for the medicines she had prepared for these occasions.

The worst of it seemed to leave him when he began heaving for breath, hand still braced against the crystal she knew was embedded in his chest.

“You’re bleeding!”

Jote’s hand flew to the blade strapped behind her waist as a young girl approached them, her senses on high alert even as she registered the girl’s ragged clothes, her matted hair, the traces of dirt smudged on her face. “I have a tonic which will—”

Joshua was quick to intervene, placing a hand on the girl’s arm. “I-I thank you for your kindness, truly,” he said gently but firmly, a diplomat’s smile on his face. “But I assure you, I will survive. Please…save your medicines for those who need them most.”

The girl looked surprised at his refusal, but did not protest. Jote kept her hand on the hilt of her blade until the girl walked back onto the Crystal Road with her lantern, leaving them with some modicum of privacy.

“For a moment there, I felt my brother’s presence,” Joshua said softly.

Jote knew he was talking about the crystal prison in him, her hands stilling in surprise as she looked at him in the lantern’s light. “You did?”

“I fear he is in Ultima’s thoughts again. But, why now, after five years of silence?” he raised his hand to his heart, his voice quieting as he admitted, “I cannot keep him sealed away much longer.”

“Your Grace…” Jote whispered, keeping to her habit of addressing him by title while on the road. Her heart shattered; she was losing her fight against the tempest of emotions inside of her. Despite knowing that Joshua’s time would most likely be limited the moment he returned from Drake’s Head and that there would be hard days before them, she still made the conscious decision to marry him after long years of loving him quietly, of discovering his love for her in return. Jote did not take their time together for granted, but this stark reminder of just how thin a line they trod on was a visceral pain inside of her. She lifted her hand toward his face, intent on wiping the blood away from his mouth when he gently caught it, their fingers automatically closing around each other.

“No,” Joshua said, even as he was covered in blood and sweat, his eyes soft and sad. “Do not dirty your hands.”

The surge of anger was so sudden, came on so violently that Jote almost wanted to hit him to knock some sense into her ridiculous husband. But it passed just as quickly as it came, and all it did was completely destroy the last of any semblance of control she had over her emotions. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, overflowing before she could even blink, and Joshua’s face fell just as quickly. “No, Jote…” he let go of her hand to reach for her face with both of his hands, his thumbs attempting to brush away her tears, but for every tear he wiped away, two more fell down her cheeks.

She sat back on her heels and he followed her, shifting to rise to his knees. “You promised me, Joshua,” Jote said, voice cracked and heart broken. “You promised me you would hold on to my hand. You cannot let go; you cannot ask me to let go of yours when the road gets dark and difficult to walk.”

“I know.” Joshua pulled her forward until their foreheads were resting against each other. “I’m sorry. I just—” he took a shuddering breath. “There aren’t so many ways I can protect you anymore,” he said, anguish and despair tinging his tone. “I hope to spare you from even the smallest of things while I still can.”

Jote brought her hands up to hold onto his wrists, pressing them closer together. “Joshua, everything I have is yours—it has been since the moment we met. I know you wish to spare me whatever darkness you can, but anywhere you are is where I am. If you are walking in darkness, I am there beside you. You are never a burden, and your blood is not dirtied because you chose your brother and the world over yourself. Your heart is my heart. Your blood is my blood,” she said, almost gasping through her tears. “You are my husband, and I am your wife. Do not ask me to give up or let go, even if you think you are protecting me.”

Joshua pulled her into his arms, his cheek resting on her head as she muffled her sobs into his shoulder, her hands gripping the front of his tunic. “How lucky I am to have you as my wife,” he murmured. “And how grateful I am to have your hand to hold.”

It took her a moment, but Jote gathered herself, pulling her broken pieces together once again. No matter what time was left for them, there was time still, and she would not have Joshua resigning himself to oblivion before that moment came.

“Do not let go of my hand, Joshua Rosfield,” she told him, leaning back to look into his eyes, fierce and determined enough for them both. She released his tunic to wipe of the traces of blood from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, her other hand grasping his and twining their fingers together, her wedding band glinting in the lantern’s light. Joshua looked down at it for a moment before he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

“I won’t,” he promised.

Jote opened her eyes to a world torn asunder, darkness above her.

It took her a while to get her bearings, to see that the darkness came from the mountain of crystal that was thankfully held up by the buildings around her and the chunks of Drake’s Tail that had already been embedded into the ground, keeping her from being crushed. When she managed to lift her head to survey her surroundings, she saw that the floor was littered with fist-sized crystals—no doubt the culprits that had knocked her unconscious. She observed the box she had been trapped in before and saw the buildings had crumbled further with the crystal raining on top of them, providing a way out for her.

Every part of her felt stiff. Groaning, she slowly hauled herself up, first to all fours, then slowly to her feet, rolling out her shoulders and muscles as she moved. It was impossible to judge time; she had no idea how long she had been unconscious for. When she finally approached the building debris and quite literally pulled herself out of the encasement, everything looked strange to her, as though it had all shifted two degrees to the left and left askew.

There were no longer building markers or landmarks she recognized to guide her way except for the tall spire that stretched skyward, and the sky was overcast under a sickly gray-pink cloud cover. Jote narrowed her eyes, willing her brain to catch up quickly. Nothing about this was remotely natural, but she didn’t know anything that transpired after the Phoenix and Ifrit’s victory over Bahamut.

Joshua.

Jote prayed that he had made it out of Twinside safely. Even if she wanted to look for him in the decimated city, there was no way she could search now—she had to get out of there and make her way to Tabor. She squinted at the sun hidden behind the clouds, trying to ascertain what time of day it was and attempting to navigate from there. But…one could only navigate if there was a reference, a starting point, and she had none. The streets were scrambled as well, and even though she had memorized the map of the entire city before they had even stepped foot inside of it, it was now useless information in a place that no longer made sense.

She picked a direction at random away from the spire and began to walk, climbing over debris if she needed to and jumping off ledges that had shaken loose from the road's foundations. Jote didn't get far before she came face-to-face with a second, very dangerous problem—

The aetherfloods. A Bearer she might be, but she was an untrained Bearer, having been told by both Cyril and her mother to never use her magic, and it was a race against time for her to find a way out before she became one of Ultima's mindless puppets. Joshua would never recover if she never made it out.

But Jote had also never been one to back down from any challenge. She believed that she would make it out; she would, and she would reunite with her husband in Tabor. He had to be there. She just needed to get there too.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the blue mist, the rush of aether making her bones itch and everything in her ill at ease. Her senses were heightened to a painful degree, her vigilance constant and never more sharpened as she nearly sprinted her way through the maze, and in the back of her mind, she counted the seconds that slipped away. Better to be prepared than to be caught unaware by the transformation in the aether.

Would she even notice, she wondered as she spared a glance down at her hands, still free from any sort of blue or gray tinge; would she turn instantly and no longer be Jote Rosfield, or would she go slowly, agonizing over her own transformation and torment knowing she would never see Joshua again?

She stopped in her tracks when the aether in front of her pulsed and gathered, producing a twisted, blue form that held a wickedly sharp scythe in hand, its singular red eye seeming to look right at her. Jote gritted her teeth, drawing her blade. “Out of my way,” she all but growled, and dispatched her enemy just a moment later. The aether that spilled from its prone form rejoined the air, the figure's body turning to a blue, crystalline mist.

“Oh, no…” if they were beings formed of aether, they could be waiting for her anywhere. They could come from any direction, and they would never end. A cold chill crept down her spine, a dull horror knocking the wind out of her lungs. The aetherflood wouldn’t have a chance to end her first if those creatures did.

She had to get out of there.

.

.

.

She still wasn’t fast enough.

With every step she took, more of those creatures appeared. Jote wasn’t just skilled; she was deadly, her footwork impeccable and her blade ending the fiends left and right as she sprinted and vaulted over them, burying her weapon into one’s neck before she stabbed another in the head the next second.

But for every one she took down, another took its place until she was surrounded. Breathing hard, she remembered her very first combat lesson when she was brought to the Undying—the only infallible technique in combat was speed. And for all of hers, she was only one person and couldn’t endlessly generate like these beings did.

I’m sorry, Joshua.

They crowded her until she was in the middle of their circle, their scythes glinting in the pale blue light of the aetherflood. Jote gripped her blade hilt tighter, her wedding ring biting into the skin and down to the bone of her middle finger. If she was going to die, she wouldn’t wait for death to come to her—she would go doing everything she could, if there was the slightest chance she could be with Joshua again. Even if there wasn’t, Jote would not meet her end cowering in fear.

The three to her left raised their scythes, and she readied her arm to meet and parry their blows, when—

“Stop.”

A strange voice, hollow and cold, rang in the air above them. The creatures stopped their movements, lowering their weapons once again, but Jote stood stock-still, an even greater fear growing inside of her. She had never heard this voice before in her life, but she knew instinctively it meant danger, knew it meant death, and if she didn’t escape now, she never would.

The monsters around her disappeared one by one until she was left alone in the aether.

“What manner of human would brave the aetherfloods within a destroyed city? What is it you’re looking for, girl?”

Jote lifted her blade in front of her in a clear defensive stance as the air shifted around her, convulsing and gathering before the aether crackled and gave way to a marble-pale figure with its dark veins protruding clearly from its skin, like a corpse left too long in an icy crypt. Its thin white hair swayed in the wash of wind from its summoning, and what was most terrifying about it wasn’t its four arms or its sickeningly familiar aetheric signature, but its bright, soulless eyes.

“Ultima,” she said, horrified. It wasn’t a far-fetched guess; she had felt his presence so often in the last few years since Joshua had imprisoned him with the Phoenix’s powerful magic, and even if she hadn’t gone head-to-head with him inside Drake’s Head, he had been her enemy for so long now that she would recognize him even if she had never been properly acquainted.

Ultima regarded her with a tilt of his head, as though he was confused or amused, before he straightened, floating on an invisible wind. “You are the second human to address us by name. Could it be you’re acquainted with the Phoenix?”

Jote didn’t show a hint of emotion on her face aside from anger, but she felt it all—the desperation to find Joshua and tell him everything that transpired, the fear of finally facing their enemy after so long, the panic as she felt her time run short. Ultima fixed his dead gaze on her, and floated closer.

“No. The Phoenix’s scent lingers all over you. You must be very important indeed.”

She didn’t dare move. If Ultima should attack, she knew she had no chance of surviving, but until then, her only thought was to keep herself alive for as long as possible. Jote reached for the magic inside of her, feeling it slip through her untrained fingers like an eel in water as she pleaded with herself to come to her own aid.

“A human girl who would walk into an aetherflood and continue on unscathed. One close to the Phoenix. And a powerful connection to aether you have. We can sense your gift. Would you like us to unlock it for you?”

“Don’t,” Jote said warningly, shifted her foot back the slightest bit to give herself a little more leverage if she needed to defend herself or make a run for it.

He stopped only a few feet from her, looking her from head to toe. “Did you travel with the Phoenix? He claimed to have learned much about us on his travels. Were you his companion? With an aether as distinct as yours, surely he would have found you more than fitting.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe with him so close, terror filling her lungs even as she kept an iron grip on her blade and her fear. Jote would sooner die before she gave away any information about Joshua, about their mission, their relationship. But when Ultima’s hollow eyes bore into hers, he seemed to close the distance between them, and the aether seemed to thicken around her; she couldn’t get enough air, her head felt fuzzy, and her vision seemed to swim in the crystal shards that floated in the blue mist. And all of a sudden, a deathly pale hand was in front of her face, hovering over her head and Ultima was there in front of her, within stabbing distance—and still, her body wouldn’t move. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, her limbs weak and useless. Dimly, she wondered if this was the end, if the aether had finally poisoned her body enough for her to turn.

“We thought you lost. We can help you awaken.”

The hand holding her blade mechanically slipped it back into its sheath behind her, and Jote felt her eyes start to close, felt herself start to drift, Ultima’s words a soft echo around her. She could feel her consciousness and control began to slip, and slowly blinked once, twice to see his dead face filling her vision. It was a nightmare. A slow, horrifying nightmare that she couldn’t wake from, couldn’t seem to struggle or remember to tell her lungs to breathe.

“Did you not wonder, girl in the aether, why the floods do not affect you?”

But…they did. She was turning akashic, her body no longer hers to control, because the only other explanation her muddled mind could scrounge up was that Ultima had her in his thrall and she could no longer move and her tired mind looked on as though everything was a dream, and that was too terrible a thought. Jote willed herself to lift a finger, but to no avail. Her body was exhausted from the lack of sleep, the events of the night, escaping the Dominion, saving the girl, and fighting her way through the akashic creatures, and her mind was beginning to drag too.

“Did you not wonder, companion of the Phoenix, why we can help you?”

Jote tried to keep herself awake, tethered. She thought of Joshua, of his Eikon, of what she had discovered bout them during their travels—that Eikons were manifestations of Ultima’s power, mindless beings that didn’t heed anyone’s will except for their Dominants’. And even that control could be lost, she recalled, thinking of Phoenix Gate, of the aftermath of Caer Norvent, of Twinside.

“You will be lost no longer.”

What?

She had no time to understand his strange words, sounding as though she was underwater, separated from the world up above. There was no warning before she felt a powerful tsunami of aether flooding her, choking her and pulling her under in a maelstrom like never before, so much of it that she was convinced her physical body would burst—surely no human could withstand a surge such as this. It receded like a wave on the shore, one breath, two, and then there was a moment where the world was silent, save for a tinkling sound, like crystal bubbles clinking against each other as they floated to the surface.

Something inside of Jote broke free as though the floodgates had finally been opened, and the magic that she had never managed to call upon was suddenly, literally, at her fingertips. Streams of water surrounded her body, the element calling to her like it never had before. A pull from deep inside her yanked at her being, and she felt as though she was being ripped from the world into the depths, coming face-to-face with a huge creature she had never seen before, a long, blue, serpentine being with great fins along its tail and its side, almost like wings. Horns protruded from the top of its head to the rear of its neck, its long, beaked mouth close to snapping its enormous maw at her as it regarded her with large blue eyes.

She couldn’t even say its name, but it was as though the creature heard her anyway, its mouth opening in a roar.

Leviathan.

Dominant.

Another current pulled her back into her body at Twinside, Ultima still hovering in front of her. Her limbs still refused to move, and Jote felt as though her head might split apart, between Leviathan screaming inside her, at her, and her exhausted physical presence unable to escape Ultima’s clutches.

“You have been lost for a long time. Your power is not yet complete, and Mythos will need you to become the perfect vessel.”

Her eye half-lidded and her body heavy, she was powerless to resist when Ultima raised his hand, forming a prison of light around her.

“Prime.”

Leviathan surged forward, but it was too fast, too soon. She was too unprepared, her body’s link to her magic fractured and unsure. Somewhere in the back of her mind where her physicker’s knowledge was ever at the ready, she knew her body wouldn’t—couldn’t—hold out against the might of an Eikon. She would give out if her Eikon didn’t retreat first, and through her fogged-over mind, she saw Ultima tilt his head at her, as though examining a rat in a cage and wondering why the rat didn’t behave as it should.

“Prime.”

Jote screamed.

It was too small a price to pay to have their wedding night in an inn instead of their room in Tabor. Neither of them had wanted to make the journey from Rosaria to Central Dhalmekia only to celebrate for the one night when the next steps of their travels lay farther north, and when Joshua’s warm hands unlaced the back of her dress, reverently trailed up her bare thigh and mapped out her body with the most tender of touches, Jote knew they had made the right decision.

For her, she wouldn’t have cared if their first night as husband and wife were spent back home, in an inn, or even in their tent somewhere on their own, not as long as Joshua was there with her. But the bed underneath her was soft and her husband was so warm, and her eyes rolled back as he, like the scholar he was at heart, took note of her every reaction at every stroke of his fingers, and set himself to absolutely wrecking her.

Her fingers tangled in the blond curls she loved so much, legs thrown over his shoulders, nails gently scraping his scalp as his mouth settled its attention between her legs. Sounds she didn’t know she was capable of making flew out of her mouth, and he took his sweet time, not letting up even when she cried out her release twice. The fact that his tunic, belt, and pants were still on caused her to suck in a breath when he finally rose to his knees to look at her splayed out underneath him, watching as he wiped his lips with his arm, a wickedly satisfied gleam in his eyes before she dragged him down for a drunken kiss, three, five, and then his belt was off, his tunic across the room, and pants thrown haphazardly somewhere on the ground.

She was sore the next morning, but it was the kind of sore and boneless that followed a perfect night. For once, she ignored her body’s internal clock and kept her eyes closed when she began to wake, snuggling deeper into the warm arms she was surrounded by and waking again only when she heard the sweet chirping of birds outside their window and the early morning sunlight was trickling into the room. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Joshua already awake, his soft gaze on her. She smiled, burrowing closer to him and tucking her head under his chin. “Good morning,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Good morning,” Jote murmured sleepily, already smiling. Joshua’s hand slowly brushed up and down her bare spine, comforting enough to almost lull her back to sleep.

 “Jote.”

“Hmmm?” she leaned back to look him in the face. Joshua grinned.

“Nothing.” He kissed her nose. “I just wanted to say your name.”