Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

0 Months Since the Fall of Origin

The shattering of a crystal heart. Stone crumbling underfoot. Memories that surface vaguely in Clive's weary mind as cool water laps at his feet. The sound of waves crashing against the shore monopolizes his senses alongside the bright swath of starlight painting the sky's canvas.

It's done, then…

His limbs feel numb, his body is cold. He knows a remedy for that, loathe as he has often been to fall back on Ifrit's flames. But then, Ifrit is gone. His last wish will have been enacted with the fading of Origin's crystalline fortress. Though there's no harm in checking his work, surely.

So Clive raises a weak hand and calls forth his flames. As expected, Ifrit does not answer. Instead, the warmth of the Phoenix surges to meet his summons, not the overwhelming force that had been gifted to him at the last, but the far more familiar blessing that has been his since childhood, the echo of the Phoenix's gift.

Strange. Each of the Eikons have gone from him, yet the Firebird still clings to his soul. If only he had the strength to ponder that oddity longer, but exhaustion weighs heavy on his being.

The numbness spreads, solidifies.

What he thought to be pale moonlight reflected on the tips of his fingers quickly reveals itself to be a wave of monochrome crawling down his open palm. By the time he recognizes what it means - what it is - his entire hand has calcified and it drops as dead weight to the sand.

Decades has he spent with magic as his second weapon. The Phoenix's Blessing had never proven as taxing as the spells weaved by the Bearers around him, and he had once thought the nature of the blessing to be the explanation as to why he never suffered the curse during his impressment in the Sanbrequois military. Later, after he'd uncovered the truth of his connection to Ifrit and of Ultima's goal for him as a vessel, it became clear that his body's aether reserves far outclassed any other Dominants. Thus making him the sufficient puppet for Ultima's plans. A tool that could withstand the cost of remaking an entire world.

So this is what it feels like…

Clive's own spell might not have been to the extent of recreating an entire universe, but it seems that ridding humanity of magic required nearly as steep a payment. Would the curse fully claim him? As weak as he feels, he wouldn't be surprised if these were his last moments.

The moon shines pale and beautiful overhead. Metia's crimson light flickering beside it. How often has he looked upon that celestial duo? How often has he heard whispered prayers to them? Often enough with Jill back in his life.

Jill…

Now more than ever he is relieved that she stayed behind. Better that she remain with their friends and family, safe from the cruel fates of those who flew to face Ultima in the end. Would she be looking up at the night sky as he is? Cleared of Ultima's sinister magic, a panoramic painting for all of Valisthea to enjoy.

His whispered words are threadbare but hopeful. "Can you see it, too, Jill?"

Saltwater splashes against his boots. A chill breeze blows. The numbness spreads; past his wrist now if he can trust his own senses. Exhaustion finally succeeds in forcing his eyes closed.

Clive drifts away, awaiting an end that does not arrive.

His senses return to him from the void of dreamless rest in slow order. Moisture still clings to his body, as does his drenched clothing. The wind picks up for a moment and sets him shivering. When he can manage to peel open his eyes he's greeted by a rosy dawn. A miracle to look upon. He does not immediately recall that he expected not to wake, but when the realization comes to him he merely lets out a quiet huff.

"There's a surprise." His voice is hoarse. Clive moves to sit up and winces when his left forearm refuses to move as directed. Only for his breath to leave him when he remembers why. His hand would probably be shaking when he lifts it to inspect if not for the ashen stone that has consumed it.

The curse has spread further down his arm, fading back into flesh just before it could reach his elbow. The spread of it and the implication of what bodily functions he might lose are unsettling, but it seems now, hours later, the curse has halted in its advance.

"Small blessings, I suppose." A sigh leaves him, his shoulders slumping.

With no small amount of effort Clive climbs to his feet. A steady ache throughout his body makes itself known with each twitch of muscle, but at least the rest he managed to get has shaken off his drowsiness. Casting his gaze around him, he notes unfamiliar mountains, what little vegetation once dotted them now blackened by the Blight, and no signs of life to be found.

Where am I…?

The relative quiet is broken by a discomforting rumble, his stomach churning in protest at its empty state. Clive breathes through the pain until it passes. "Can't stay here, that's for sure. Let's see…" He studies the horizon again before inspiration strikes him and he looks to the sky. He can faintly recall its starlit majesty the night prior when he briefly awoke on these strange shores. If he jogs his memory for sailing lessons from his uncle and the few extra tips he picked up from Mid, he might be able to at least get an approximation of where in the world he's wound up.

What he discovers is far from reassuring. Assuming his mental calculations are correct - assuming his memory of the starry sky the night prior isn't flawed - he's wound up on Ash, most likely its western coast. What he wouldn't give to have a map right about now to help verify it.

"Wonderful…" Clive lets out a soft sigh before turning parallel to the shoreline with determination. "If this really is the western coast, then maybe I'll be able to reach Noema."

Twinside's southeastern gate. Reports were disheartening about the fate of its sister gate on Storm's coast, but Noesis at least still persevered safe from the aetherfloods that had swallowed what remained of Twinside, though that was before Ultima used the city's carcass as his fortress. Perhaps Noema had stood strong as well. If he could just get behind fortified walls and see about boarding a ship across the strait, he'd be home free.

"South it is." He murmurs to himself. Willing his body into motion, Clive sets off down the beach.

With his weary pace he expects the journey will take quite a bit of time. As he goes, his priorities shift towards sustaining himself. Thankfully the Blight hasn't yet swallowed all of the lands at the base of the mountains, and he finds a river that has naturally filtered out the ash from upstream to fill his flask in. He spends a day at its banks drinking straight from the river and using a hastily fashioned spear to fish for his meals. While he sits around a meager campfire, Clive can't help being reminded of his days with the Bastards, of the missions they were sent on with the bare minimum supplies to feed themselves. It was Biast who most often insisted they take extra time to fill their bellies the old fashioned way.

"All they give a shit about is if the job's done in time. Who cares if we treat ourselves to some fresh veal along the way?"

Clive is quick to bury those memories again.

Over the course of the next few days he stays as near to the river as he can, always sure to keep the coastline in sight. He gathers a stockpile of food along the way to feed himself, some that he ventures back to the beach to be brined and cured so that it will keep for longer. At one point he chances upon a grim sight: a dead royalist soldier flayed open and draped ungracefully against a boulder. Their presence more or less confirms his location on Ash. Clive takes care to strip the body of anything useful - a second flask, a broken sword, a small pouch with a handful of coins - then offers the poor soul a funerary rite and an apology that he cannot spare the time to properly bury them.

A week like this goes by before he finds a proper settlement to rest in. An empty fishing village where the river at last curves west to meet the sea. He's more grateful than ever that he found the second flask, for he fears when next he'll have access to fresh water. Within the village he finds more supplies to ease his journey: a wood cutting axe that will serve well enough to defend himself with, proper fishing gear to replace his crude spear, and a small store of dried foods that the villagers left behind. He dares not think of what fate befell them, and thankfully he does not stumble on any more corpses to fill in the blanks.

As he sifts through the abandoned hovels, darkness creeps over his conscience. Why should Clive even try to survive? He achieved his goal. Ultima is no more, magic presumably is no more. But at what cost? Each time he lights a fire with the Phoenix's spark he is painfully reminded that Joshua is gone. He failed his brother. Why should Clive live when he couldn't save his own family? Why not just pick one of these dilapidated shacks to lay in and simply wait for the end?

But just as swiftly as that doubt creeps in he reminds himself of his vow to Jill. His promise that he would return to her and to all the others awaiting him at the hideaway. At the end of the day, neither Jill nor Joshua would want him to give in to such dark musings. And so he continues on.

Greatest among the treasures he discovers in the village is a small fleet of fishing boats tied to the docks. Most of them look seaworthy, save for one that appears to have sunk from a pierced hull. Clive studies each for some time before settling on the sturdiest of the bunch, spending an evening emptying its bowels of the rainwater that had collected inside.

That night he considers his options before settling in to sleep. If he were feeling truly reckless he might brave the strait and try to sail directly back to Storm. A foolish idea, and he can practically hear Byron chastising him goodnaturedly for even considering it. Odds are his new vessel would capsize from the towering ocean waves. No, he'll sail along the shore in a manner not too dissimilar to how he's been traveling thus far, following its curve southward until he can reach Noema - or until he has to come ashore again for supplies.

The sun shines clear and bright the next morning, not a cloud in the sky. Clive gathers his belongings into the boat he'd picked out and breathes in the bracing wind rolling in off the sea. The waves are calm, no unruly swells in sight, which allows him to guide the dinghy out into open water with little trouble. It takes a bit of getting used to working the sails and the oar with only one flexible hand, but he manages well enough.

Riding the waves truly expedites the journey. Though he must return to shore each sundown to rest and check over his supplies, he covers three times as much ground as he would have by foot.

Unfortunately, the pleasant weather that greeted him at the outset doesn't hold out.

The same day that he gets his first glimpse of Twinside in the distance - or what remains of the old capital - a storm rolls in to blacken the sky hours before nightfall would have. Clive is only just able to pull his boat far ashore and secure it before the rain arrives in a heavy sheet that batters the land. He presses through the overgrowth towards a rocky overcropping that will shelter him from the worst of the rain. But as all good news seems to play out recently, the little cave proves to be occupied by goblins.

Dispatching the creatures is not so easy as it would have been weeks prior. Wielding an axe is a different feat from wielding a greatsword, and though he retains the Phoenix's blessing Clive fears overuse of it lest the curse spread even the slightest. As such, he relies on it only as a defensive measure to avoid the worst of the goblins' attacks. In the end victory is his, but as he drags their corpses out from the cave he catches sight of something that makes his chest seize.

A small chunk of his petrified pinky finger has been chipped away, likely during the fighting. It's a miracle that the entire digit or more hasn't fallen off, yet that does nothing to quell the discomfort rattling his psyche. Though his arm may now be stone it is no sturdy material. He's seen Bearers whose limbs crumbled like dust from lack of care for their brittle state, others who cradled the disembodied but otherwise whole statues of their appendages after they'd cracked off as though they could will them to stitch back into place.

"Have to be careful with you." Clive murmurs to himself, to his arm. He may not have free range of movement with it anymore, but he knows he'd rather it at least remain intact.

He makes a hasty camp from the wreckage of the goblins' shelter. Even if the storm let up in the night he wouldn't dare keep sailing with no visibility and no stars to guide him. So after his meal he double checks that the cave won't flood in the night, digging a shallow channel to lead the water away, then beds down.

In his dreams he sees Joshua.

Familiar guilt claws at him. Where years before his nightmares bore his brother's childhood visage, now he sees the man Joshua became. He sees the man Joshua could have become if only he'd lived. If only Clive had protected him as he should have.

He awakens the next morning disheartened, but he presses on.

A week has passed since he set out from the fishing village. Noema's high walls loom on the horizon, not so distant as before.

Carefully maneuvering his little vessel, Clive observes the gate city from a distance. No life stirs amidst the hovels outside its walls except for a handful of wild beasts grazing in the fields. A foreboding dread settles over him. One that justifies itself when he brings the boat around to view the city's port. Ships greater than his own sit dead in the water - some scorched through by fire, others cracked in their hulls, all of them submerged or otherwise inoperable. Along the streets lumber figures humanoid in appearance and yet undeniable in their nature.

Noema has been overrun by akashic.

How long had they held the town? Since the aetherfloods that poured out from Twinside? Or had this been another tragedy committed by Barnabas Tharmr? Whatever the case, he cannot possibly clear the city on his own. Not when a handful of ordinary goblins proved difficult in his current condition, and certainly not without a proper sword in his hands.

"Damn it all." Clive leans his weight against the dinghy's mast. What the hell will he do now? Those boats had been the lifeline he clung to on his journey, and even if they were seaworthy he would need a crew to help him sail across the strait. That hope has been dashed as well. Twinside's ruins are too treacherous to sail through in this meager boat, and he certainly can't walk back to Storm across the rocks.

Perhaps… Perhaps this is it? Is he trapped here on Ash? No, he cannot give up hope. But he is also a realistic man. His current hand of cards may not be favorable, but he simply needs to keep drawing from the deck. Survive long enough for new factors to make themselves known. Maybe there are others who have holed away somewhere on this continent; he'd met survivors on his trek towards Stonhyrr and Drake's Spine after all.

He just needs a place to settle in and make into a temporary home. Someplace defendable with resources close by. A secluded town maybe, or an old fort? Someplace not too far from Noema. The city may be too dangerous to venture inside but any soul who tries to cross over from Storm will likely make the gate one of their first stops. It will have to be somewhere within a couple day's journey from the city, either by boat if he can find someplace suitable on the coast or by foot if he cannot.

Luckily he thinks he recalls one such location from his last visit to Ash. A village he'd spied in the distance while he journeyed through the area with Joshua and Gav, one that looked to be a short walk from the coastline. It had a lush forest surrounding it and a sheer cliff face along one side that would make it hard for anything to creep up on it. The town had been too far out of their way for the group to explore it before, but he recalls it looking rather abandoned. And it would be a damn sight closer than making his way towards Eistla.

"I suppose I have a new heading." A glance skyward tells him the day is half done, but with luck he'll have just enough light to make it. Adjusting the sail, Clive guides his boat back into open water to head further south.

His calculation turns out a bit off. If he hadn't happened to catch sight of the village in the distance he would have turned to shore already with the setting of the sun, but with it so close he decides to press on, beaching the boat just as the last sliver of sunlight vanishes below the horizon. The sky has turned violet ahead of him, most of the amber glow of sunset at his back, and yet he can make out a light in the distance. A fire lit in the village.

Hope kindles in his chest. Pulling the boat as far ashore as he can, Clive secures it to a tree and makes his way towards the town.

Branches rustle from a stiff breeze blowing through the forest. As he nears the cozy hovels he thinks he can hear a child's voice. Then the snapping of a twig reaches his ears before a steel blade presses to his neck in warning.

Out of the shadow of the nearest building steps a man with a sharp scowl and oily black hair slicked down to his nape. When he speaks it's with an undeniable Waloeder edge, his voice a low bass. "Step no closer. Hands where they can be seen."

Slowly Clive acquiesces and raises his hands by his head. Then winces when he sees the man's eyes dart to his petrified arm, to the scar covering his cheek - exactly where a Bearer's brand would be. Unthinkable as it may be for Bearers to successfully rid themselves of their brand - at least to the public - even a child could connect the dots with the curse so blatantly visible.

The greater surprise is that he finds no disgust on the man's face, or at least he doesn't think it's a look of disgust that could be attributed to the man believing him a Bearer. "A runaway from the Republican cowards? Why have you sailed here, fool?"

So the man saw Clive on his boat? That explains a thing or two, namely why he knew to lie in wait as Clive approached. "I'm not with the Dhalmeks, never have been and never will be. I am a free man trying to get home to Rosaria."

"Rosaria." The word is rolled over the man's tongue like an odd candy he isn't quite used to the taste of. "How does a Branded from the duchy wind up on Ash's shores?"

Clive leans his head ever so slightly away from the sword still resting against his neck. "It's a long story."

"Ulfr!" A second voice sounds from behind them and up walks another man with a darker complexion and a clean shaven head. "What is all this? Is there trouble?"

Craning his neck to look past Ulfr, Clive meets the newcomer's gaze. "I mean no one any harm, I assure you. I've been sailing for weeks looking for a way to get home to Storm. I thought that there might be survivors in Noema but it's been overrun by akashic, and so I continued sailing in the hopes I would find a quiet place to shelter. I swear, I had no idea I would run into other survivors here."

Ulfr spares a glance to his companion before nodding his head towards Clive. "Steinar, his weapons."

"What? But he has told us he wishes us no harm-"

"And when he proves it they will be returned. Think of your daughter. Would you truly trust a foreign stranger around her so quickly?"

Steinar's brows knit together and he gives Ulfr a defensive side eye when he moves forward. As he reaches for Clive's weapons - truly only his axe and hunting knife - Steinar lowers his voice. "I hope you will find it within you to forgive Ulfr. They will warm up to you in time. Until then, your arms shall be safe in my care."

"Right…" Clive glances at Steinar then back to Ulfr, who has finally lowered their sword. He runs a hand over his neck to check for any nicks. "Does this mean you'll allow me to stay?"

Though he expects Ulfr to be the one to speak, Steinar beats them to it. "At least for a few nights. From there we will see. Have you eaten? We have but little to spare."

Gesturing to his pack, Clive shakes his head. "I have food of my own, do not worry yourself over me." Movement beyond the two figures catches his attention, the silhouette of a young girl outlined by a campfire, likely having come to investigate the commotion. "How many are there here with you?"

"Eight of us." Steinar follows his gaze and tuts under his breath. "Astri! Spying on us? Go back to your mother, we'll join you in a moment." The girl startles upon being spotted and just as swiftly disappears back around the building. A fond huff of laughter leaves Steinar and he once more meets Clive's gaze. "My daughter. Come, we do no one any good standing here where we might be seen by beasts. Will you be returning to your route, Ulfr?"

They nod in answer. A last appraising glance is thrown Clive's way before Ulfr steps aside to resume watch of the village.

A heavy hand meets Clive's shoulder, an affectionate pat that leaves him staggering a step from the force of it. Steinar leads the way into the ring of buildings while welcoming him to the village of Fornhala, offering his condolences about the vague tale Clive gives of how he wound up stuck on Ash. And gradually amidst the introductions and unsteady camaraderie Clive recognizes just how starved he'd become for human contact after weeks surviving alone.

Perhaps now he won't go fully mad while he tries to find his way home.

Chapter Text

1 Month Since the Fall of Origin

Time variably passes both slower and faster with the company of others and new responsibilities to fill Clive's days. A few nights turns into two weeks spent helping the survivors in the village of Fornhala.

Not all of them had been so welcoming as Steinar had in those early days, but necessity brought most around where fondness failed to.

Once he'd earned their trust - enough for them to accept he would not harm any of them - it was decided he would help Ingar, a hunter who'd grown up in the village, to search for food in the woods nearby, or otherwise fish by the shore. When such duties were fulfilled Clive would alternate keeping watch for danger with Steinar and Ulfr, the three of them the most physically fit and keen in sensing trouble given their backgrounds as soldiers - or as a mercenary in Ulfr's case.

Occasionally others from the village will join Clive while on watch; sometimes with a message, others a meal to share, or in young Astri's case a desire for entertainment. The girl can only be a handful of years old yet already she seems in tune with the dire nature of their circumstances, asking him the questions her parents either won't discuss with her yet or simply can't.

What happens to an akashic being when it disappears? Why would the king turn on the people he swore to protect? Among a dozen other morbid subjects that Clive tries his very best to answer in a child friendly manner - always reminding her that he needs to remain focused so he can see any potential danger coming. That excuse tends to work well enough to dissuade her from continuing, even if she may choose to remain by his side and offer a second pair of eyes.

Clive likes the people of Fornhala; or rather those who have come to repopulate it. Ingar is always happy to share tales of his family, most of whom had long ago moved closer to the capital, or of his fallen neighbors in spite of the bittersweetness of such remembrances. Tomas the gardener seldom interacts with Clive personally but has become beloved to the others, both as the one responsible for keeping their farmland tilled to grow food and as a soft-spoken soul who is just as likely as Clive to be subject to Astri's insistent pestering.

The eldest among them is a woman named Karolina with dark hair streaked by gray; quite the feat for a Bearer. Unfortunately, a similar gray has covered much of her body from overuse of her magic, the curse having claimed her left shoulder and a large portion of her stomach. But to speak with her one would learn that she is proud of her scars as much as she is of her old age. Though she may have been owned by the village elder before the akashic attacks overwhelmed the populace, Karolina had served him and the rest of the village as a healer and done so as happily as one in her position could.

"A bitter woman I would be to hold remorse for saving lives." As she put it during one of their chats. "And Einar made certain I could heal as well with tonics and salves as I can with… Well, as I could with my magic."

This she'd stated with a curious glance towards Clive. Given their desperate circumstances, he'd been less shy about openly using the Phoenix's flames when they were necessary. Unfortunately, he could offer no satisfying answer to the questions that arrived over how he could still weave spells when it seemed that Karolina's magic had vanished, but he quickly snuffed out any overt insinuations - usually from Tomas or Ulfr - for him to be overly free with his remaining reserves. Those "requests" died out quickly.

Karolina is often accompanied by the second youngest of their band, a girl of seventeen named Vera who had been the most vocal in welcoming Clive to their refuge. Vera and Karolina share in duties mending and cleaning their clothes, though on occasion Clive has had chance to listen in while Karolina offers the younger girl medicinal lessons. They don't capture Vera's passion quite like when the girl gushes about her dream to become a dressmaker, but she nevertheless takes them as seriously as the grave.

Any progress Clive makes bringing Ulfr's opinion of him around tends to be facilitated by the presence of Ingar. He assumes that the hunter and the mercenary are merely old friends, and that Ulfr has begun to trust Clive by proxy of Ingar's trust in the Rosarian. He's proven half right, at least, but he learns very quickly that the two have a much more intimate connection after spying them together in the field one night, their heads bowed together and their hands entwined. He hadn't intended to intrude and hoped they remained unaware of his presence as he retreated. After that sight, however, it's hard not to see the stoic fighter in a new, softer light.

Then of course there is Steinar and his wife Ina. The latter of whom spends most of her time resting so as to ease the aches and burdens on her pregnant body. Any moment that Steinar isn't on watch or helping one of the other villagers he can always be found glued to his love's side, doting on her every want, worry, or need - even when she teases him for it.

The sight of her had at once brought Edda to mind, and it had been a struggle during their introduction not to let his longing for his people overwhelm him. Even so, on the hardest nights he finds himself plagued with the memory of watching them huddled together with their daughter between them and a second child on the way. How often had he imagined himself with Jill in similar circumstances?

Clive's days are filled with lively activity, and his nights plagued by homesickness. Beyond the nightmares grieving his lost brother are the memories of those he's left behind at the hideaway. Their faces haunt the insides of his eyelids as he sleeps and come each morning he renews his vow to return to them soon.

After all, his most immediate needs - food, fresh water, and shelter - have finally been met. He now has the freedom to consider how he will return to Storm.

Sadly, even after two weeks of contemplation he's devised nothing concrete. What's more, even with as eager as he is to hurry home, Clive finds that he's hesitant to leave the other survivors to fend for themselves. Just two days prior he'd had to help carry Ingar back to the village after the man was injured during a hunt, a wound that Karolina expects will require a week of rest to fully recover from without her magic to speed along the process. Leaving Clive to teach Steinar and Tomas the basics of fishing and hunting between his own attempts to find food for them all.

Would he be able to live with himself if he abandoned them now and left them with one less able hand?

Tensions had run high following Ingar's accident. Tomas is the one to make the suggestion that they build a protective wall around the village. By the look on the man's face he clearly expects that the others immediately will jump on board with his plan, but it takes quite a bit of communal deliberation to reach a consensus. Given that they'll be down a man - and given that Clive is down an arm - Clive and Steinar both hold reservations at jumping to such a time-consuming measure at present. In the near future, perhaps, but surely not immediately. Ulfr, however, is as insistent as Tomas on the matter and Ingar casts his vote towards the endeavor. Most of the women similarly side with the gardener, save for young Astri who they deem too young to receive an official vote.

In the end the matter gets settled. They'll construct a wall along the northern side of the village, as it faces the forest where danger is most likely to lurk. And over the course of the following days Clive is again left to feed them on his own while Steinar chops the wood needed for their new project and Ulfr keeps a lone, steady watch during the days.

Weeks pass in this manner. Ingar's health recuperates and he joins Steinar in the gathering of lumber. By the time they're ready to begin erecting the barrier wall, Clive has had to make peace with the fact that a month or more has elapsed since he, Joshua, and Prince Dion set out for Origin. He tries to put that thought out of his mind while they work. And fortunately - or rather unfortunately - he's provided the perfect distraction from it one day after they've reached the halfway point of their wall's construction.

The rustle of undergrowth reaches Clive's ears and he turns his attention to the forest while holding up a log for Steinar to hammer into place. Multiple flickers of movement amid the greenery sets his nerves alight. "I think we have company."

Steinar grimaces and sets his work aside, reaching for the spear propped against the wall of the nearest house. Clive follows suit with the shortsword he'd borrowed from the village elder's house. It might not feel as familiar in his hand as his own blade, but it will serve well enough to fend off the horde of orcs that charge out from the woods. The beastmen brandish crude weapons as they go, shouting in their unfamiliar language.

Clive unsheathes his blade and sends a fireball into the crowd to wrest its attention towards the two fighters rather than the nearby huts. He calls out a warning to the other villagers. "Orcs! Get into your houses!"

From this distance he cannot determine by sound alone if the refugees have heard him, and so trusting that they have he instead throws himself into battle alongside Steinar. They're outnumbered five to one. Clive has only had a little practice since arriving in Fornhala working with the dead weight of his stone arm, and he fears that even with the Phoenix's blessing as a crutch he would be overwhelmed without the soldier at his side.

Steinar holds his own valiantly. Light on his feet and well disciplined, he keeps on Clive's left side in an effort to make up for his deadened limb - an effort Clive thoroughly appreciates. Together they're able to cut down a little over half of the horde before exhaustion begins to take its toll, both from the fight and their manual labor from before it broke out.

An arrow zips past Clive's head to embed in one of the orcs' heads, and a moment later Ulfr appears from behind to sink their blade into one of the beastmen's stomach before throwing a dagger to slow down the approach of another. Out of the corner of his eye, Clive catches sight of Ingar with his bow at the ready to take aim.

With their aid they turn the tide of battle.

Sporting only mild scratches and bruises in the wake of the fight, Steinar and Clive insist on continuing their work on the wall once the bodies have been cleared and the danger passed. Ingar offers to join them once he's checked in with the others but Ulfr returns to their patrol rounds immediately after the dust has settled. For once Clive can't fault them for their cold diligence. If another horde happens to pass through on the orcs' heels - or gods forbid a swarm of akashic - they'll need to know immediately.

The rest of the day passes without incident, thank the Founder, and with the day's work done they all gather in the central lodge for dinner. Vera badgers Clive for a recounting of the battle, stars in her eyes while she picks at her meal, until Ingar's teasing for her to let the man eat nips it in the bud. Steinar offers an informal commendation to Tomas for his smart thinking with regards to the wall. Though it may not yet be complete, they have proof now that its construction will benefit their safety in providing a barrier between the dangers of the wilds and their home. Even if it doesn't keep out every threat, it should provide the villagers precious time to mobilize against them.

After their dinner Ina is the one to suggest that she and Vera learn how to defend the village as well as the men. There are grumblings from some of the others about a teenage girl and a pregnant woman being involved in a fight - particularly from Tomas - but Steinar and Ingar agree that there is sense in preparing them for the worst. They won't be expected to rush into danger should it find them as it did that day, but with at least a basic grasp of spearmanship and archery under their belts they'll be ready should a threat break through the main line of defense. To say nothing of the relief they'll all feel knowing they can protect themselves.

Clive and Karolina offer to craft rudimentary weapons for them while the others show them the ropes with their own arms, a task the two take upon in their downtime. And while Clive's offer had been born of practical concerns, as he works a shaft of wood into the appropriate form for a crude spear he finds that the task holds an unforeseen benefit. The motion of carving the wood is repetitive, mindless even, but offset by the focus needed to keep it well balanced; just detached enough to avoid his thoughts wandering too far into unhappy territory.

After weeks of guilt addling his conscience he welcomes the quieting of his mind.

Chapter Text

2 Months Since the Fall of Origin

Given the success of the northern wall, another barricade has begun construction on the eastern side of the village to further bolster Fornhala's defenses. With no further incidents in the time since, tensions grew in anxious anticipation of an inevitable tragedy, each night their shared meal punctuated with a prayer from Karolina's aged lips for safety granted by whatever spirits may remain to safeguard them. Clive might not take much comfort from the gesture knowing that the only thing close to a real god had been an apathetic fraud, but the gesture reminds him too much of Jill for him to complain. Faith is a comfort built by those who need it in the manner they crave. It isn't his place to judge.

Overnight a harsh cold snap descended on the region, perhaps winter's last grasping attempts to claim the land or perhaps spring's tempestuous nature unwilling to commit to the warmth it is meant to promise. Clive has bundled up in the furs they've gradually gathered during their hunts while he hammers a pillar of the new wall into place. His right hand is nearly as cold to the touch as his petrified one, and he pauses frequently to wring life back into his remaining limb and warm it with his breath.

"Clive!" A voice calls from the woods nearby. He whirls around to discern what's happening. Vera and Ingar had left together some time ago to go foraging and he sees them now rushing towards the village, Vera waving her arm wildly to catch his attention while Ingar supports the weight of an unknown figure. "He needs help!"

Dropping the mallet in his hand, Clive rushes across the frostbitten grass to meet them halfway. The man groans unhappily when Clive takes his free arm around his shoulders, but between him and Ingar they're able to carry the man with ease into the ring of houses. Vera has already run ahead to fetch Karolina, and the old woman awaits them at the door to her hut.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Ingar explains as they lower the injured man onto the bed. "Akashic, he said. Poor bastard looks like he's run a mile to get away."

Karolina listens solemnly and carefully peels away layers of clothing and torn armor to inspect the man's wounds. Clive has seen his share of grievous injuries before. He doesn't hold much hope given what he's looking at now. Yet Karolina takes to the task with determination. "Vera, the poppy seed tonic. Ingar, keep him from moving too much. Clive, would you be a dear and fetch the water in that bucket?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They each move to do their duties. Clive watches on while she cleans the gashes in the man's side and the cuts on his arm. Whatever tonic she's given him does its job against the pain, but even it doesn't help when she has to flush the wound with freezing cold water, wrenching a pained hiss from between his bloodied lips. Clive wishes then that he'd thought to warm the water with the Phoenix's flames. Anything to ease his suffering.

Clive kneels down at his bedside and speaks softly. "What is your name?"

"Lorens, sir… P-Please…" The man whispers brokenly. Dull eyes flicker between each of their faces. "I would ask of you… A favor, if you- Argh! If you can spare the soldiers…"

Karolina tuts at him softly. "Easy now. Save your energy."

A weak, wheezing chuckle escapes him. "My lady… We both kn-know my time is rapidly approaching… Please, as a last request…"

Clive kneels at his side. "We will hear it."

Lorens sucks in a rattling breath. "Thank you… Kaer Grimsa, where I was stationed… I returned to it after months stranded in the wilds to find my fellow men had been turned into mindless beasts… I managed to-" He breaks off with a hoarse cough. "-To contain them in the courtyard, where they will not hurt anyone… But please… They deserve to know peace…"

Sympathy tugs at his heart and he shares a glance with Ingar, who similarly looks aggrieved to hear the man's tale. Clive takes the injured man's hand in his own. "We will do what we can for them."

A grim smile settles on Lorens' face and at last he allows himself to rest while Karolina works. Clive double checks that she needs no more aid from him before excusing himself from the room.

He finds Ulfr and Tomas waiting outside, the latter of whom grows mildly hysterical when Clive shares his intent to travel to the Kaer.

"You would leave us down a warrior to protect ourselves with? All for a threat that has been contained elsewhere?"

Ulfr shoots back with a retort, "And if the fort's gates fail? Grimsa is two days' walk from here and a horde of akashic have no need of sleep when they prowl. They could be upon us within a day if the worst should come."

"Then we shall face such foes if it does."

They sneer down their hawk-like nose at the gardener. "'We' says the man unwilling to raise more than a hoe in battle."

Sensing that they'll wander too far off topic should he not intervene, Clive steps between them. "I'll be going and that's that. I could use directions on how to reach the fort, but I won't ask that anyone else risk their lives for this."

"You won't be going alone." Ulfr faces Clive, resolute. "I have been to Kaer Grimsa many times, I know the lay of its land well. And you need a second to guard your side."

Clive's jaw sets in mild frustration at the reminder, but a touch of fondness bleeds into his reply. "Alright. Two of us should be enough if we play it safe. Maybe if we're lucky we'll even find better weapons inside."

At that Ulfr cracks the only smile Clive has seen on their face beyond those reserved for Ingar. "Perhaps we will. We leave at dawn."

Blessedly, the trek to Kaer Grimsa is uneventful. Clive makes a few attempts at being social with Ulfr when they make camp along the way but gives up on that endeavor fairly quickly. Maybe one day Ulfr will warm up to him.

Darkness cloaks the land when they make their approach to the fortress. Ulfr leads the way towards the far side of its stony walls, pointing out a spot where they can ascend the battlements with the aid of cracks in the stonework and a curtain of wild ivy growing up the length of it.

Dubious, Clive lifts his stone hand to display. "Are you certain about this? I don't think climbing is my strong suit anymore."

Ulfr huffs before pulling a rope from their pack. "You will not need to. I'll lift you once I have reached the top."

"I'm not exactly light."

"I am aware." Amusement shines in their eyes and they stow the rope once more before moving to begin their climb. Ulfr's ascent takes less time than Clive figured, but the real ordeal - as he suspected - comes when they toss down one end of the rope for Clive to hold onto while they raise him up. He does his best to help, walking vertically along the stone and using his good hand to pull himself along, but Ulfr still bears the brunt of the work.

Once they're both atop the battlements they begin to survey the fort. As Lorens described, a large group of akashic soldiers wander around in the fort's courtyard, their erratic movements sluggish without anything for them to direct their energy towards. Clive notes that their current location seems secure enough, high up with only one connecting staircase to the courtyard far off and a door to the inside of the fort nearby.

The duo consider their options quietly so as not to alert the akashic. Taking the fight to the open ground below them would be suicide, an idea stricken out right away. Ulfr brings up the interior of the fort as a potential location to draw the mob. Any of the entryways would provide a suitable bottleneck to keep the swarm from overwhelming them, but then it would require making certain ahead of time that the castle is cleared already, which could end up drawing the mob's attention too soon.

In the end they decide to make their stand right where they are. The battlements are just wide enough for the two of them to stand at each other's side if needed, and with the only paths up being the stairs or the door - assuming the akashic can even think to use the castle doorway to reach them - it should stem the flood of bodies into something more manageable. With the advantage of higher ground on their side as well, Clive hopes that in a worst case scenario he'll be able to utilize the Phoenix's flames to further slow the mob's progress.

They tuck themselves into the shadow of a tower to await the coming morning with Ulfr volunteering for the first watch. Clive's far from eager to sleep so near to a hoard of akashic, but he trusts Ulfr and eventually drifts into a fitful sleep. Visions of his lost loved ones accost him in his dream. But at least when he awakes some hours later he manages to do so silently. Yet another habit to attribute to his time as a soldier.

Dawn arrives with its gentle, rosy glow. Clive has watched the akashic lumber about, the sounds of soft grunts and the faint clank of metal carrying on the wind, yet somehow they come more alive when the sun's light falls from over the edge of the fortress' walls. If only it were a sign that any humanity remains within. But no, it has long been expunged from them by an overabundance of aether.

Ulfr snorts softly when Clive shakes them awake, blearily blinking open olive eyes. "Mm, anything to report?"

"Nothing yet. They haven't spotted us."

They give a nod then scrub a gloved hand over their face. A quick meal of dried meat and tack is shared between the two of them, each keeping one eye on the courtyard below. Washing it down with water from their skins, Clive stands and reaches for the sword at his hip. "Ready?"

A tired sigh passes Ulfr's lips but they stand with him, bundling up what little they brought to make camp before arming themself in turn. "As I can be. Let us put them out of their misery."

Stepping up to the edge of the battlement, Clive hesitates for a moment. Brings his petrified hand up to inspect. More minute fissures and cracks have formed in the stone since he joined the refugees in Fornhala, not enough to break off any fingers but enough to cause him worry that it will eventually happen. He'll lose what little leverage he has with the frozen digits. Maybe a wiser man would choose precaution and his own safety over risking the loss of such utility, but Clive knows this is the right thing to do. He set his mind to this task and he will see it done.

Petrification has done nothing to halt his ability to lob a fireball into the crowd, even if he has lost a bit of his finesse with his left hand. At least one of the akashic is immolated outright, parts of its body burning to ash before it can fade away into motes of aether. Several others are caught in the conflagration but are merely staggered momentarily while the rest of the mindless soldiers seek out the source of the fire. Standing side by side, Clive and Ulfr face the mob as it surges towards them.

Right away he's grateful for their planning. The sheer number of them would be overwhelming on any other field of battle. One akashic bodily throws itself at him during the conflict and Clive struggles to keep his footing lest he tumble off the high wall and into the courtyard. Ulfr deftly beheads the foe they were faced with before steadying Clive by the arm and kicking the other akashic over the edge.

"Thanks." Clive gasps out before diving back into the fray.

Victory comes at no easy cost. Ulfr suffers a hard knock to the head from an akashic that had apparently been hiding within the fort after all, stumbling out to surprise the mercenary. Clive himself has a handful of new cuts and bruises that he tends to after the fact. But in the end they walk away with the satisfaction of a good deed done and their pick of the spoils left behind in the Kaer. A handful of pieces of armor scattered about that they intend to bring back - hardly enough to clothe even so small an army as they have, but a little protection goes a long way. A small selection of unspoilt food hidden among that which has begun to mold. Best of all are the well crafted weapons tucked in the armory. Though it may not be a Blackthorne specialty, the greatsword Clive walks away with fits much better in his hand than the lighter blade he'd been using.

They depart that afternoon with their loot secured and a hope to return at a later date to claim more gear for the rest of the village. The trek back may be slower for it, but Clive will sleep easier knowing they have a better chance at defending themselves.

Steinar and Ingar greet them at the village's edge, the former cheering them from a distance while the latter hurries forward to embrace Ulfr. Feeling a tad shy, Clive excuses himself to give the two a private reunion and meet with Steinar. "The deed is done."

Steinar's smile softens, a somber note to it. "Ah, Lorens would have been happy to hear it."

"Would have…?" Clive's heart seizes, though he'd known the odds of the man's survival. "He's gone, isn't he?"

A solemn nod is given. Steinar glances past him towards Ulfr and Ingar. "A day or so after you'd left. We've given him a proper burial at the edge of the woods, if you want to tell him the good news. Though I suppose he would know already now that he is with his men in the beyond."

"I'd still like to pay my respects."

"Of course. Let's put these where they ought to go and I'll show you where he's been laid to rest." Steinar motions to the supplies strapped to Clive's back and helps him remove them to bring into the village. Vera tags along as soon as she spies Clive, quietly trailing after the men as they stow their cargo and even when they head beyond the half-finished eastern wall.

Under the shade of an elm tree rests a rough shapen stone jutting up from the head of a freshly dug mound. It bears only the man's name crudely carved in the rock. Vera whispers that Tomas was the one to do so, and that she helped him pick the location for Lorens' final resting place. On the mound rests the man's helm and the axe that he bore on his belt, though Vera kneels now to place a handful of wildflowers she'd picked along the way to join the pile.

With head bowed, Clive speaks low. "Your comrades have been freed from their madness as you requested. They should be with you now, where you might all enjoy freedom from your struggles in this world. Rest easy, friend."

Chapter Text

On the still waters of the Bennumere, Obolus' boat drifts further and further away with its passengers safely tucked within. Jill watches on from the dock as it slips quietly through the water. Prince Dion, the soon to be emperor; his gallant knight and right hand, Sir Terence; her dearly beloved little brother, Joshua; and of course Joshua's trusted attendant, Jote. Though she is loath to be parted from Joshua so soon after discovering his survival following Origin, Jill would not dare leash him to her side. Not when his goal to seek peace between Sanbreque and Rosaria is so close at hand.

No, instead she will cradle this longing close to her heart and await his correspondence in the interim. After all, his voice is only a stolas away. Jill still puzzles over how any magic could remain in the world - that held by the few remaining Dominants and by Valisthea's wildlife - but she won't complain about the convenience. She only hopes that such a circumstance will not lead to more harm than good as the presence of the Mothercrystals and the magic gifted to Bearers had.

From above, a familiar voice calls her name. Jill turns to spy Gav leaning over the mess hall's railing, waving her up. "If you've a moment, I'd like a word in Clive's- Er, well you know where."

"I'll be right there!" Casting one last glance at the rapidly shrinking sight of the ferry, Jill turns to ascend to the upper deck.

Walking into "Cid's" chambers is as familiar as breathing after five long years of the habit. But it feels wrong to enter when the space has been devoid of Clive's presence for over two months now. Each time she expects to see him at his desk, perhaps standing over his collection adding a new trinket, or even just to hear him snoring in his bed.

Gav awaits her in his place, the scout hunched over a half dozen reports on the desk. He sits upright as soon as the door creaks open and heaves a sigh. "Clive made this look easier than it really is. Not that I was under any illusions it weren't hard to begin with."

Lips quirked up in amusement, Jill makes her way over to inspect one of the papers laid out. "Clive was always too good at not showing how heavily his burdens weighed on him."

"Aye, damn good thing he had us around to get him off his feet now and then," Gav jokes. "Won't have that problem with me I assure you. I'm already primed to call it a day and get drinks."

Jill chuckles and settles on the edge of the desk. "Maybe later. Now, you said there was something to discuss?"

"Right." Gav sifts through the pile of letters to produce a smaller note with a handful of scribbled names. "With the aetherfloods abating things are startin' to settle down out there in the wide world. En't all sunshine and rainbows just yet but progress is progress. And I was thinkin'... Well, there's no better time to continue the search."

She tries not to show it but her shoulders grow stiff. "You want me to go with them."

Seeming to sense her unease, Gav avoids her gaze. "I figured you might jump at it. The only other person 'round here that was near as close to Clive as you just left. I won't make you go, of course, I just- I figured I'd let you be the first to know."

Jill isn't sure what hurts more: that she can't bring herself to get her hopes very high about finding anything more than a body, or that she'll still volunteer in spite of such odds.

"I'll go," She assures him after a moment's pause. "Just tell me where you'll be sending me."

Gav pulls out a map of Valisthea that was haphazardly rolled up and set to the side and points out the stretch of land surrounding Twinside's western gate. "I spent some time with Joshua puttin' our heads together about that. By his reckoning, the currents 'round the Dominion capital favor flowin' northward up along the Imperial shore, which means it's possible Clive could have washed up that way. I know we sent folk to Noesis last time while tensions were still high regarding all the akashic, but it might be that with things finally calming down, well, maybe someone's spied our lad, yeah? And if we don't find him there then I was thinkin' you could make your way north. Ask around in the towns you pass through, do a little good if it's needed, comb the beaches for any sign of Clive." Gav glances up, his one good eye searching her face. "What do ya think?"

Eyes trailing along the map, Jill nods almost absently. Before, she'd remained at the Hideaway in the days following Origin when it became clear that the trio would not be returning by the way they came, or in a timely manner at that. The better to hear the news as soon as they were found. Those weeks had been the most restless she'd felt in an age.

"A sound plan." Jill turns her gaze up to meet Gav's with the offer of a soft smile. "I told you that you'd get the hang of things eventually."

He lets out a bark of laughter. "'Eventually', yeah. Gimme a few years maybe." Sitting back with a heavy sigh, Gav rakes a hand through his hair. "Let's just hope this is only a trial run. I oughta at least get a couple of wrinkles the old fashioned way before I start gettin' 'em from all this madness."

Chuckling quietly, Jill reaches out to rest her hand on his shoulder fondly. "We'll do our best to help share the weight. You know Otto and I would never throw you into the thick of things without any support."

"Aye," Gav concedes. "Can't say the same for Mid, though."

"Then I can handle anything Mid needs. When I get back from this search, that is." She gives his shoulder a pat before stepping away. "Unfortunately, until then you'll be on your own with her."

A heavy groan leaves Gav, the man deflating in his seat and carelessly tossing the note in his hand aside. "Damn it all… Try to hurry back?"

Jill gives him her brightest smile in spite of the weight settled low in her stomach. "Maybe if I'm lucky."

The search crew headed for the Dominion sets out within the week, with Jill at the head to take charge and Goetz along both to supply the team in the field and to meet with one of Charon's contacts awaiting them. The walls of Noesis tower over them as they approach, a stalwart defense against any outside threat - and, as the people of Twinside learned firsthand, a haven for those fleeing Bahamut's wrath and the chaos that followed in the aftermath. Unlike the restless energy seen when Jill last set foot in the gate city, there is a calm that has settled over its people. They stroll about placidly in the streets and some even greet her in passing. But beneath the contentment Jill detects an unease. Wary glances cast at the soldiers who pass by on patrol, as well as at those travelers who have journeyed to Noesis seeking refuge or quick gil selling goods.

Goetz dismisses himself to seek out Charon's contact and the Cursebreakers who have accompanied them divvy up in small teams, some to remain within the city and others to depart for the coast to begin their search. Meanwhile, Jill seeks out those who have been placed in charge of the gate city.

A polite imperial soldier at the barracks points the way towards the main judicial building on the northern side of the city, urging her to speak with one Captain Lucius.

"He'll no doubt be in council with Baron Denholm and Marquise Havisham when you arrive, and if it's information you're after they'll be as like to know it as he."

After properly thanking him, Jill makes her way through the streets of Noesis towards her new destination. The sky overhead has begun to cloud over. She prays that it will hold back its deluge at least until she has sought shelter, but even as she's led into the magistrate building a drizzle has begun that only grows once there is a roof overhead.

The captain receives her at once in spite of the heated debate taking place in the room she enters. A pair of nobles are nearly at each other's throats despite being seated across a wide table from each other, the woman's sharp tongue making up for the lack of tension in her relaxed posture, the man nearly red in the face despite how his gaze never strays from the parchment he writes upon. Captain Lucius stands at the table's side betwixt them, his imperial armor shined to perfection yet his expression as dark as the storm that batters the windows outside. His countenance lights up only a fraction when he greets Jill, giving a shallow bow.

"Good day, my lady. Though I wish it were a brighter one to receive you on."

Jill mirrors his gesture with a curtsy. "As do we all, I would imagine. And I thank you for agreeing to see me."

The noblewoman at the far end of the table regards Jill coolly. "Captain, have you given leave for the common rabble to waltz where they please?"

Lucius' expression remains disciplined and stoic when he turns to the woman. "Not just any, Marquise. See here on her collar. The mark of His Imperial Highness. I confess I had my doubts when the steward told me our visitor bore it, yet my eyes do not deceive and here it shines."

The nobleman, clearly the Baron, scoffs under his breath without lifting his gaze from the page. "You expect Johanna's eyes to be as keen as yours, Captain?"

At that the Marquise seethes in her seat, sitting forward at last. "Stooping to insults on my character are we, Percival? And here I thought you could not possibly debase yourself more."

"Enough." Lucius levels the both of them with a heavy glare before returning his attention to Jill. His voice grows softer, apologetic. "Every day it's like this…"

Unable to keep from smiling in sympathy, Jill shakes her head. "You have my condolences. I promise I will not take much of your time. You see, I am searching for a man who went missing some weeks back near the coast. I hoped that, as you are presumably the most well-informed individual in the city, you or your men may have seen him or have the resources to ask around after him?"

Johanna returns to reclining in her seat with a huff. "Just what we need, more distractions keeping the soldiers from their duties."

"I can see what I'm able to do." Lucius says, ignoring the Marquise. "Tell me about this fellow of yours."

"His name is Clive," Jill begins, calling her memories together so that she can give an accurate description of his likeness. "I would say he stands half a head taller than I, about your height actually, with dark hair that- Well, that one might call 'unruly'. His eyes are a deep blue, and he bears a large scar on his left cheek from a burn." A little lie at the end to dissuade anyone from asking too many questions. "He and a few others were sailing off the coast when their boat capsized. The others survived and made it home, for which I'm eternally thankful, but Clive is still missing."

She sees in the soldier's eyes that he holds little hope for her search given the circumstances. A disheartening sight when Jill knows the truth poses an even smaller chance of survival. "You have my sympathies, my lady. Would that I could spare the men to aid you in finding your man, else I would lend them gladly. That said, feel free to speak to the soldiers guarding the ports and those garrisoned north up the coast at Caer Taville. Show them His Highness' mark and let them know Captain Lucius in Noesis has given you leave to ask around. They've been…" Lucius' expression pinches, clearly conflicted on what he intends to say next. He studies Jill a moment longer before continuing on. "They've been fishing up bodies from what used to be Twinside for quite some time now and putting them to a proper rest."

Unbidden, the image of Clive's bloated corpse accosts her. Jill turns her head away. "The dead would be grateful to know they're being taken care of." In the pause that follows she casts her gaze out the window and into the storm. At this elevation on a clearer day she might have been able to see over the gate city's walls straight to the capital that once sat nestled halfway in the strait. Now she can barely make out the narrow strip of the bridge that once connected Twinside to the rest of Storm.

It does, however, bring to mind the bridge's twin and Noesis' sister gate, Noema. "Captain, may I ask you another question?"

"You may."

Jill steps around the wide table, skirting away from the Baron even though the man has once again been consumed by his paperwork and thus pays her little mind. Lucius follows in her steps as she gestures out the window. "How difficult would it be now to cross the strait?"

"To cross the rubble and ruin that is constantly battered by the sea, you mean?" The captain wears a frown. "Impossible."

"What about by the sea itself? Noesis has a port, would it-"

"Equally, frustratingly, infuriatingly impossible," cuts in the Baron, who apparently had not been ignoring Jill after all. "When that damned crystal plummeted from the sky the people of Noesis were lucky not to be crushed beneath it, but not so the port. The lifeblood of this damned city! Ships were damaged, the docks are in shambles, and even those vessels which remain seaworthy are blocked in by debris that makes the only exit utterly impassable. We've had to settle for receiving supplies by caravan, a grossly inefficient method if we intend to be able to feed the citizens without emptying our already dwindling reserves."

Bowing his head, Lucius meets Jill's gaze. "It is as the Baron says. If a vessel is your aim I would find another port. But… Speak truly: do you intend to make for Waloed in search of this Clive fellow? I cannot in good conscience advise such a course of action."

"You underestimate my determination, Captain."

From across the room the Marquise's shrewd voice cuts in. "If your beau has had the misfortune of washing up on those forsaken shores then I would consider him a lost cause."

Jill turns on the woman sharply, and it is a struggle to keep her voice level. "Pardon me?"

"You have not likely heard the horrid tales they tell of that place. I would not mingle amongst the refugees myself but I have heard the rumors passed around, the horrified whispers of beastmen rampaging across their fallen kingdom, of aetherfloods sweeping through the townships. To say nothing of Waloed's barbarity before the skies were darkened." Reaching for a delicate hand fan set on the table before her, Johanna haughtily lifts her chin while she cools herself off. "Even if this Clive of yours lived to make it to Ash's shores, he'd likely be made into a roast by the orcs there. Save yourself the trouble and settle for an empty grave."

Baron Percival gestures towards the Marquise with his quill. "Loathe as I am to ever admit such, on this I must agree with Lady Havisham. Spare us all the wasted resources of such a foolish venture…"

Fists clenched at her side, Jill turns away from the nobles and returns her focus to the captain. "It was only curiosity that drove me to ask. With any luck I'll find Clive here on Storm's coast and have no need to entertain the idea of crossing to Ash."

"I pray such will be the case." Lucius clears his throat quietly then motions towards the door. "Allow me to see you out, my lady."

Thanking him softly, Jill falls in step with the captain, all too happy to leave behind the frustrating nobles just as the pair are no doubt eager to see her go. The pauses between their steps are punctuated by the steady drum of rain battering the city.

Before seeing her off, the captain gives a bow of his head. "I would apologize for the lack of tact shown to you by the Baron and the Marquise. Though they have been integral in keeping Noesis afloat amidst dire circumstances, their ample resourcefulness is paid for by their deficiency of social prudence."

Jill might have worded her own description of the nobles differently. "The apology is accepted. Thankfully I've built up a thick skin tolerating far worse than what those two could throw my way."

"Then once again you have my sympathies for enduring such hardship." Lucius straightens his posture. "And you have my well wishes. May luck shine on you in your search."

"Thank you, Captain. I bid you a good day."

He gives a low huff. "Considering I must return to my meeting, I could hardly hope for a good day."

Cracking a small smile, Jill bites back a laugh. "Then perhaps I should pray you have a better one at the least." That notion puts a smile of his own back on the captain's face and Jill takes her leave, hood raised against the rain.

Chapter Text

Deep in the heart of Oriflamme - a capital once abandoned and now reclaimed - there is a buzz in the air. Anticipation drummed up by the announcement of Prince Dion's return and of his intent to ascend to the imperial throne. No doubt if one were to sift through the gossip and whispering in the city they would find an equal measure of unease at the news, but Joshua has chosen not to dwell on such matters. He is, after all, a rather busy man with the coming coronation to prepare for.

The door to his guest room in Whitewyrm Castle opens after a short knock, which Jote answers to reveal a member of the castle guard escorting in a primly dressed man. "Begging your pardon for any interruptions, but the clothier that was sent for has arrived."

"Thank you for bringing him," Jote replies, closing the door once the soldier has departed.

Setting aside the book he'd been reading to occupy himself, Joshua rises from his seat to approach the man. "I would thank you for agreeing to our request on such short notice."

The man gives a shallow but respectful bow. "One does not pass up an opportunity directly from the emperor himself. Gilbert Courtois at your service. Lord Margrace, was it? I confess I know little of Rosarian fashions but I will do my utmost to have you looking presentable for the coronation."

A smile rises on Joshua's lips. "That is all I could ask for."

The first order of business is for measurements to be taken, and while Joshua is at first hesitant to remove his tunic and lay bare the starburst scarring over his heart he steels his nerves to do so in the end. Blessedly, the clothier does not remark on it. "Arms up, if you would… There. Now hold them steady. Your upper measurements will be most important as I see it. We'll not have the time to make every garment from scratch so we'll focus on the centerpiece and have the rest tailored to fit. Has his lordship any particular request?"

In truth Joshua hadn't considered at all what style he would be dressed in. He hadn't anticipated being asked his preference on the matter, not with their timetables being what they are. Fidgeting ever so slightly, Joshua takes a moment to consider his answer.

"Arms steady, milord."

"Ah- Apologies." Ears burning, Joshua stills his body once more. "A coat, perhaps? Or… Would a robe be too difficult? Or too ostentatious?"

"No garment would be too difficult for a man of my skill," Gilbert notes, his pride on full display.

From behind them Jote speaks up, "A robe would be quite regal on you."

Joshua turns his head towards her with another smile. "A robe then. Of Rosarian red, naturally. Er… That is, if it can be done."

"Rosarian red may be trickier to achieve, but…" The clothier trails off while taking note of another measurement. "But I have a stock of crimson wool that has gone unsold for some time. A touch on the warm side, but here on the royal hilltop you'll be grateful for the warmth when the winds pick up. I might even be able to have an associate embroider it while I have the rest of your pieces tailored. Maybe gold trim or something else appropriately Rosarian."

"I'll trust your expert judgment on the matter."

Gilbert's shoulders square up, a motion that leaves his chest pronounced and Joshua picturing a puffed up chocobo - unfortunate, for it means he must smother a laugh. "Naturally. Now, hold just a moment more; if a robe is required I'll need to find the appropriate length."

While the clothier makes his last measurements and notations, Joshua meets Jote's eye from across the space. "It will be your turn next."

That catches her by surprise, and she turns to him fully with confusion. "Mine? Your Gr-" A pause to correct her slip up, a glance given towards their guest. "My lord, I have no dire need for new clothing."

"Which is precisely why I insist upon the matter," he says with a smile. "You have served me faithfully for years, and I would reward that. I know you would not allow yourself to purchase something so fanciful on a whim, so I have taken it upon myself to commission a dressmaker here in the city."

To his relief her posture relaxes and, with the clothier's attention firmly held by the task of measuring his customer's substantial height, she allows herself to show open fondness in her eyes. "If it pleases you."

Once both of their measurements have been taken and their guest thanked once more for undertaking his task, Joshua and Jote pick their way through the castle's grand halls in search of the soon-to-be emperor.

They find him in the thick of things in one of the palace's studies, in the company of scribes and advisors who have been tasked with helping draft new legislation to be put into effect shortly after Dion's crowning. The prince himself has yet to notice their arrival, pacing indolently across the far side of the room as he dictates to one of the scribes, their quill fierce in its quivering to notate every word.

A few of the other figures catch sight of the newcomers however and pause to give their bows, their murmurs of greeting, "Lord Rosfield."

Only then does His Highness halt. His expression brightens considerably and as he steps away from his work he graces the scribe's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Be at ease."

"I hope we have not arrived at too busy a time," Joshua offers in preemptive apology.

"While I cannot deny the freneticism that has taken us, I assure you that your presence is a most welcome reprieve." Crossing the room to greet him, Dion clasps arms with Joshua fondly. "As well you arrive at a most appropriate time. It is for your sake and Rosaria's that we draft these writs now."

A discordant thrumming stirs in Joshua's heart then. Though they spoke of Rosaria's independence from the Empire several weeks past, as the hour draws nearer to the imperial coronation the breadth of those coming days grows more tangible. The inevitability of his own ascension becomes more of a reality.

"Truly?" He whispers the word, praying his shortness of breath has not become so apparent.

Determination and sincerity impart a certain edge to the prince's earthen eyes. "I gave you my word. Your homeland's liberation will be my first edict or I shall give none at all."

Clearing his throat quietly, Joshua musters up a smile. "And as I did then, I thank you."

They speak as such for a time, discussing the necessities of state until it becomes clear they could each use with a proper reprieve from the endless work. Though try as he might, Joshua is unable to convince Dion to join him and Jote in a walkabout, the soon-to-be-emperor citing his desire to see to a matter in the garrison. So the two Rosarians bid their proper farewells before seeking much needed fresh air.

It is there in the gardens that Joshua returns to after supper has been shared and the sun descended beyond sight. Amidst the cultivated sea of pale-petaled peonies and fragrant freesias he finds a bench of carved stone to sit and take in the silence. In years past he can imagine the sight would have been quite different. The flora, while tamed since the empire's official return, has grown used to being left wild. The same stars float overhead leaving the night sky awash in their brilliance, but no longer masked by the far superior glow of the fallen Mothercrystal.

Save for one star, that is. Even now it is uncanny, to see the moon shine in its waning state without its brilliant crimson companion. Metia has gone from their world. A feat once unthinkable, now a solemnly accepted reality.

The reminder of its absence in the starry canvas tugs at the chasm that has grown in Joshua's heart. Like the moon, he has lost his own stalwart, untouchable companion.

Clive… Know that you are missed.

A telltale warmth creeps beneath the skin of his face, a sting in his eyes that precludes a thin stream of tears. Given the serene solitude he has found, he permits them to fall.

Perhaps if he had known there would come the sound of footsteps on the stone path he might have done otherwise, but some relief is found when he recognizes the figure that comes into view. "Ah, Terence, do forgive me. I wasn't expecting company."

While Joshua hastily dries his eyes Terence politely turns his focus away to the blooms around them. His armor has been shed save for the boots that clank against the cobbles when he deems it appropriate to draw closer. "On the contrary, it is I who should apologize for the intrusion."

"An intrusion would imply that your company is unwelcome," Joshua counters. He finds enough strength to muster up half a smile, then gestures to the space beside him on the bench. "Would you care to join me?"

"I would."

Settling upon the stone seat, the knight's arrival brings with him a sense of comfort. Though they have not walked the same paths, the two of them have shared troubling days. Joshua recognizes now as he failed to before that Terence was the one who stood stalwartly beside the prince before the tragedy in Twinside, that the two knights fought alongside their kinsman against the akashic in Ran'dellah not unlike his own plight with Clive and Jill in Kanver. That they shared in a mournful sorrow as Dion walked assuredly to what he believed would be his rightful death.

Thus he finds little need to conceal his heartache now.

"It is a lovely night to be out of doors," Terence remarks softly. "The quiet could almost make one forget their worries and obligations."

Joshua's smile grows by half. "Too right. You see now why I found myself lingering here. And yet… I fear it has brought upon more melancholy than I anticipated."

"How so?"

Once more he turns his face skyward, misty eyes catching upon the half-shrouded face of the moon. "I was reminded again that Metia's brilliant light has gone away."

In his periphery he can see Terence following his gaze. "Its absence is rather unsettling."

"For as long as I can remember, Jill would wish upon that star whenever her heart was troubled," Joshua continues on, his tone wistful. "I suspect she feels it most keenly… I never joined her in such faith. And now here I am with an ache so great it would be worthy of at least an attempt, but my chances to wish for a miracle are spent…"

There is a heavy pause. He knows Terence has returned his attention to him, but Joshua cannot bring himself to tear his focus away from the lonely moon high overhead.

"I…" Terence begins softly, "I cannot claim to understand the pain of your loss. My sister yet lives in happiness and health, for which I am grateful each day. But where I cannot offer empathy I offer instead sympathy, if you would have it."

The weight of a gloved hand resting atop his own gives Joshua a start, but he is grateful for the comfort. "By all accounts your brother was a good man, even for an outlaw." At that Joshua cannot hold back a weary smile. "I wish that I could have had the chance to meet him before the end. And, speaking as an elder brother myself, I dare say he would be proud of you for carrying on in his memory."

A last tear slips free, carving a heated trail down his cheek in opposition to the cool night air. Joshua's voice wavers slightly. "I thank you… And I- I maintain my wish to one day meet your sister. I would enjoy becoming acquainted with any of your kin, I imagine."

The hand laid over his gives a gentle squeeze before retreating, and Terence chuckles low. "Mother would be beside herself if I brought you to visit. She'd demand a feast be prepared befitting the lost Phoenix."

His smile growing, Joshua wipes the last of the wetness from his eyes. "And I would insist that she need not trouble herself so for my sake."

"She wouldn't listen. You'd be dining on the finest tuna or mutton she could acquire on short notice with or without your asking."

"Then I fear I will simply have to prepare an empty stomach ahead of time." He turns his head to catch the knight's eye, his humor sobering for a moment. "Terence, was your mother living in Twinside? For all the jests, I would not wish to take advantage of her kindness if she has found herself without a home…"

Bright eyes widen ever so much, and Terence is quick to give a shake of his head. "No. When the empire abandoned Oriflamme, she saw it prudent to move to Altemar where Margrit and her beloved had grown roots a year before. Part of me believes she wished to judge Andrea for herself; make certain she was worthy to hold my sister's heart." Dark brows draw down in a furrow. "But I know she thought it unjust to take another nation's capital for her home… I've thanked the goddess many times that she chose such a course in the end."

The worry that had filled Joshua's heart drains at that assurance to be replaced with gratitude. "Then I shall have an unburdened conscience should I find the opportunity to visit the coast and offer my greetings. Though I fear I shall have a proper time of finding said opportunity once my own coronation has taken place."

Terence's smile is mild, but the sincerity and fondness it offers is so blinding that it leaves Joshua's heart stuttering for a beat. "Whenever you find it, you need merely send word and I would happily accompany you."

Words catch in his throat. In such dim lighting the knight's eyes hold an inscrutable hue. Once he might have described them as a pale blue, but here Joshua can only liken them to the silvery brilliance of the moon overhead. A fair comparison, he thinks, for they are equally captivating.

Only after he has managed to take in a breath through the sudden tightness in his lungs can he tear himself away, offering whispered words of gratitude. "Thank you, Sir Terence. For your offer and the comforts you have given me this night. But for as much as I would enjoy your company further, the hour grows late. I bid you a good night."

Joshua feels the weight of eyes on his back as he stands to depart. He dares not turn to confirm their presence. "A pleasant night to you as well, Your Grace."

Chapter Text

4 Months Since the Fall of Origin

They found no trace of Clive during their search of Sanbreque's coastline.

Jill has been adamantly trying to put it out of her mind. There will be further searches elsewhere - Gav mentioned something about Boklad last time they spoke on the matter - but for now she is needed elsewhere, and urgently.

Ran'dellah stretches out before her on the horizon, resilient and proud. The scars it once bore from the hordes of akashic that scoured the city have since been mended, the ash and soot washed away. Somewhere deep in the heart of the capital the ministers that make up the Republican Parliament are no doubt convened at that very moment to decide the fates of so many lives within their nation.

"My lady," comes a rough voice that snaps Jill free from her wandering thoughts. "You and your crew arrived quicker than I feared."

She bows her head to the stocky fellow who had approached from behind the stables, one of their contacts within the city by the name of Jakub. At her back, the handful of Cursebreakers that accompanied Jill follow suit. "We were told time is of the essence, and so here we are. Is the council still in session?"

A nod. "Last I heard word they were. At the very least they haven't yet reached a consensus on the matter of our friends." Grimacing, the man meets her eye deliberately. "Personally I wouldn't wager ten gil on their deciding to let them go free."

"Thus we take matters into our own hands."

It'll be dangerous work, spiriting away as many Bearers as they aim to from under the very noses of the Parliament. But there may never be another opportunity like now. For the most grave decision on the Parliament's docket is to at last put to rest the debate that has been raging through the Republic on the matter of their Bearers, their beasts of burden and convenience now neutered by whatever strange occurrence has left them without their magic. What to do with the marked men, women, and children bought and sold like livestock, even if now they have for all intents been made as useful as an ordinary human.

A minority of voices have been making themselves heard, that if Bearers are no more special than any other soul then it would be as well to free them, or else to accept that society might begin chaining men innocent of belonging to their breed. Hardly the sentiment Jill had hoped would spread, but there is a mild comfort in at least finding there is opposition. If only they weren't vastly outnumbered by those loud and influential masses too prideful to lose out on labor they so "rightly" purchased.

Jakub's letter arrived spurred on by an outside party that had attempted to do the Cursebreakers' job for them: breaking into a noble's home to force them to let their Bearers flee into the night. In the wake of the break-in the ministers had the city's Bearers rounded up and caged while Parliament comes to a final verdict. Even if their contact was certain there would be a few nobles too wily to let their Bearers be wrangled, what better time would there be to free the poor souls that had been handed over? What better time to send a message to the world that everyone should be free to live on their own terms?

"Where exactly are the Bearers being held?" Jill asks.

Jakub gestures to the western section of the city. "The coliseum. The Men of the Fist started out trying to contain them in the prison but they underestimated the sheer number of Bearers that'd be turned over. Though that fault might lie more on the Minister of Security's head for making the initial decision."

"August, Cole," Jill addresses the pair when she turns away from the sight of the city gates, "I think this will work best with you two leading the rescue teams."

They each give a nod, though Cole's brows are furrowed. "What of you?"

Reaching down to run gloved fingers through the coarse fur on Torgal's head, Jill offers Cole a thin smile. "We'll be the distraction."

They part ways before entering the city, August and his group hurrying to find a quieter entrance into Ran'dellah while Cole's slips in with the merchants and more traveling by the main gate. Jill elects to stagger her own arrival, feigning weariness from the road that requires rest beneath the stable awning. While Torgal sniffs about in the sand she strains her hearing to soak up further news moving to and from Ran'dellah.

Gossip about recent taxation increases, scandals both domestic and abroad, among a myriad of personal matters she has no use for reaches her ears. There is one tale, however, that catches her attention.

"I'm telling you, you've never seen a more miserable sight than those pitiful souls from Waloed. Starved to the bone, scorched by sun and sea. The way I heard it told from the Dominion folks who accompanied them here, they floated across the whole of the strait on a dodgy looking fishing boat. It's most likely they lost a few of their numbers along the way. But you take one look at them, I tell you, and there's the light of hope in those eyes. Whatever's to be found on Ash, it's been made clear to me it was worth the dangerous crossing to get away from."

Jill can't afford to spare the time to consider the matter further, but it lingers at the back of her mind even after she and Torgal have made their way into the city.

Torgal sticks to her side obediently. His dark eyes scan the streets and alleys they pass for any potential worries while she focuses on finding a path towards the coliseum. As the two draw closer to it, Jill leads the way up onto the terraced rooftop of a tavern just across the way from the coliseum. While the view they're afforded is obscured by stone and ivy, she's able to take stock of what they're up against.

Each entrance will have at least one guard stationed to it - more likely two or more if the gate she can spy from here is to be considered the norm - and through the pillars of the coliseum's high walls she takes in the sliver of a mass of figures standing about or slumped in the sands of the arena. Moving that many people while keeping them all safe from harm will be nigh impossible. All they can do is try and pray that the majority of them make it to the safety of their agents outside of the city even if they are scattered.

Descending to the streets once more, readying herself for what is to come, the vow she made with Joshua and Dion rises in her memory.

Then we swear an oath, here and now. We call on our Eikons only in times of great crisis.

When she posited the idea to them her intent was for it to be a strict law they would follow. Only for matters of life and death. A promise Tarja would approve of, and now knowing that Jill must bend it she can imagine her friend disapproving her choices once more. But truly this is a matter of giving these people their own lives to live; should she not use the gifts she was given to ensure they attain that?

And no matter what Tarja might say, it proves an effective strategy. Enormous shards of ice crashing into the outer walls of the coliseum are difficult to ignore, after all. Even with the rest of the guards rushing to investigate the disturbance it would be an unfair battle were Jill and Torgal aiming to eliminate their attackers. Subduing them would suffice, but for good measure she leads the men on a chase through the streets. With luck, few will have remained behind to halt Cole, August, and the others in their attempt to free the Bearers.

Ran'dellah is unfamiliar territory to her, but the excess of side streets and stairways that allow for access to upper terraces provides a unique advantage when Jill deems it an appropriate time to slip out of sight and end the soldiers' pursuit.

For good measure she ducks inside of what looks to be an abandoned scriptorium. Boots thud against the dusty earth outside and Torgal presses himself low to the ground, ears perked to listen as they gradually dissipate.

"Have they gone, boy?" Jill dares to peek back through the spaces in a boarded up window. No guards, though there are a few civilians whose attention is turned towards the direction she thinks she heard them disappear to.

In her periphery she catches Torgal's head turning sharply away, only a beat before there is the sound of shuffling from within the building. Jill follows his shift in focus just as a figure peers out from the pantry door, slim of frame with hair pale as straw, a teenager perhaps. Only a moment later a pair of hands rush out from behind them and a woman that could easily be the child's mother forces the boy to stand behind her.

"We seek no trouble with the soldiers." The woman speaks in a parched rasp. "Leave us be before you lead the Republican dogs to our door barking about aiding a fugitive."

"My apologies," Jill starts gently, only to take a pause and consider the woman's words, her manner of speech, before continuing, "Your accent… Are you one of the refugees from Waloed?"

The woman's expression hardens. Before she can reply, however, a wretched cough sounds from deeper in the building and she urges the child back into the room. "Go. Tend to your father."

Little as she would enjoy intruding on the family's privacy, Jill cannot keep from taking those few steps closer to the woman. "I mean you and your kin no harm, I swear it. I am only curious about your people's plight. I've heard such disheartening tales of what's become of your homeland, and…" Here she pauses, watching the woman's expression shift - not quite so incensed as moments before. "And I fear that someone I care for may have ended up stranded on Ash. So I wished to ask after the truth of the matter."

Agitation gives way to sympathy. "If you speak true, then I would pray for your loved one if you have not already."

The heavy weight of dread lodges itself in Jill's chest.

With great caution the woman, who introduces herself as Hilde, welcomes Jill and her hound into the old pantry turned makeshift home for her family. As a group they speak of the horrors to be found overseas. As on Storm, the aetherfloods that ran rampant in the wake of the darkening skies had dissipated by the time they and the few survivors they escaped with finally departed from Waloed's shores. For dangers lurked still. Countless victims of the king's corruption roamed the land, as well as beast men no longer kept in check by royalist overseers. There would be no safe refuge left for them against such threats.

"Thus as our ancestors fled to Ash to escape their persecution, we fled here to Storm to save our lives." Hilde's eyes darken, pressing a dampened cloth to her husband's feverish brow. "We numbered sixteen when we set out on that accursed boat. Only eleven of us survived the voyage. We then ventured further to Ran'dellah, unwelcomed by the people of the Dominion and now unwanted by the people of the Republic. Eight of us survived the path here." Then quieter as she coaxes sips of water past his cracked lips, "I fear we will soon number seven…"

"You have my sincerest sympathies, Hilde." After a pause Jill continues on while trying to meet the woman's eye, feeling wretched for taking up more of her time. "I'll leave you to tend to your family, but before I go I feel compelled to ask… When you and yours set sail from Ash, you did not happen to find or have among you a man with black hair and a burn across his cheek?"

But Hilde only shakes her head. So too does her son when Jill turns her gaze his way. "Forgive us, but no. I know not what would have brought your beloved to those accursed shores, and our paths did not cross. I can only hope that you will find him elsewhere."

It was too far-fetched, really. What could she have expected? Why does the news still threaten to prick at her heart? "Thank you… And I shall pray for you in turn. Good day."

The streets of Ran'dellah have grown quiet when she steps back out of hiding. More quiet, at least. By now August and Cole will have hopefully escorted everyone they could save to refuge outside of the city.

"We'd best not leave them waiting for long, right boy?"

Torgal raises his furry head to hold her gaze, an agreement in his own fashion. And he keeps right at her heels when Jill picks up her pace to flee the city and rejoin their companions.

Chapter Text

"Complacent" some might call him, for having stayed in Fornhala so long.

Four months languishing here, they whisper. The voices that plague Clive's dreaming. Hateful, scornful lashings in the cadences of those whose vitriol he can never fully shake. Tiamat. His mother. Even himself.

Only Vera stirs when he concedes that there will be no restful sleep to be had, tossing once before settling back into slumber beneath the furs and blanket laid across her curled up form. The hearth has dimmed in the hours since Clive first laid down. The embers blaze faintly beneath his palm when he stokes the fire with the Phoenix's aid, and only after he's made certain the flame will maintain itself safely does he step out into the quiet of night.

At the center of the village, beside a fiercer roaring fire, Steinar sits on watch. Winter has at last given way to spring but the rains that renew have left a chill in the air.

Clive's only greeting is a gruff "good evening" when he takes a seat on the ground near to the other man.

"Far too late in the night for 'evening', is it not?" Steinar jests. The old soldier offers out a metal flask to him to drink from. Whatever it contains is strong, that's for certain, and after a first tentative sip Clive is grateful for his own restraint. "Smart man. Drink it in moderation. It'll keep you warm through long shifts."

"Learned that from experience?" Clive ventures another sip before passing the flask back to its owner.

A low laugh leaves the man. "Learned it from my brothers. They entered into His Majesty's service before I had and passed along the hard lessons they'd learned, as I did with our brothers who joined after me."

For a moment Clive can only blink dumbly as he processes the words. The alcohol can't have set to work so fast, so it must be the lack of rest addling his mind. "How many of you were there?"

Steinar's smile grows crooked, as though he can predict how Clive will react to his answer. "Seven of us lads. Eight children in total with our sister, Mille. Our oldest brother, Casper, wished we hadn't followed in his steps but there was no stopping us. Except Dominik. He was wise enough to study books instead of blades; he became a physicker, and a damn good one."

"Quite the family to have raised," Clive murmurs. "Your parents must have been proud."

"Aye, I should think so." Then with a chuckle Steinar takes a swig from the flask. "Mother would often say she had high hopes for us, that we'd best make something of ourselves to make up for having pushed four of my brothers out at once."

Despite not being the one to have had a drink, Clive nearly chokes on his own spittle. "All at once?"

And Steinar just laughs. No wonder he was expecting Clive's reaction.

"She has my sympathies…"

His laughter dying down to low chuckling, Steinar looks to Clive pointedly. "What of you? Any family to speak of? Anyone awaiting your homecoming?"

The liquor churns low in his stomach, a burn to rival the flickering flames between them. "I…"

A lifeless body rests in his arms, familiar blood staining lips he prays will part to seek breath and fill its lungs. Even with the scorching heat of the Phoenix erupting from his back, Clive only feels cold dread and anguish.

How could you let this happen to him!?

"Clive?"

"Forgive me," Clive whispers, words for multiple recipients. "... My kin have all gone. My father when I was young. My mother died far too late in life. And my brother… Joshua, he…"

A rough, steady hand falls on his shoulder, a shock to his system but not unwelcome. "You needn't say more."

Without thinking he reaches for the flask. He'll not stay sober long if he keeps up like this but Clive's throat has grown dry. Only after he's taken a generous gulp does he find himself with more to say. "There are others, though. People who rely on me. That I rely upon. They're waiting for me. Friends and… More than friends."

What he wouldn't give to be spared even a glimpse of Jill's face. The kindness shining in her eyes, the comfort of her hand clasping his own.

"Have yourself a lover, do you?"

For the first time that night Clive's mouth twitches up in the makings of a smile. "More than that. Jill is… We're partners. She means more to me than I could scarcely put into mere words."

A warmth enters Steinar's voice then. "I know exactly how you feel. My Ina, she's all I could have ever asked for from the world and more. I thought myself the luckiest man in the twins for having her, up until the day Astri was born, then again when we learned she was with another child. Lucky thrice over. Can you imagine it?"

His smile growing, Clive only nods. And for just a little while he pictures himself in the man's position. Jill in his arms with a son or daughter between them, his hand on her expectant belly while they await a second.

"How did you meet her, your Jill?" Steinar asks. "Ina and I, we met by happenstance while I was on a patrol."

"Ah, we met as children." Clive ducks his head, half to hide his smile and half to shield against the teasing hum Steinar lets loose. "We were close back then, but… Circumstances changed. We were separated for years. I'd become a soldier in that time. Eighteen years and when at last we found each other again she was on the opposing side of a battle."

Steinar gasps, so sharply that Clive could almost laugh at the look on the man's face. "What cruel luck."

"She'd been forced into it. But I stood my ground. Even if it would have led to both of our deaths, I couldn't bear the thought of killing her. Thankfully, outside forces intervened and we were spared such a predicament. We've stood by each other's sides since then; five years now I believe." He frowns. "Until now, that is…"

"All the more reason to get you home."

Clive nods. His gaze drawn towards the fire, his thoughts drift away briefly. To thoughts of what awaits him, of who will be there to welcome him home, and of who will not. "You're right about that…" Then quieter, "I won't fail her, too."

Steinar gently takes hold of the flask again, holding it aloft in a toast. The humor so often found on his face and in his words has vanished, replaced by somber sincerity. "To our fallen brothers." Clive's breath catches in his throat, and he makes no comment on the quaver in Steinar's voice. "May they rest peacefully in the beyond that awaits us all."

Clive bows his head, biting back the stubborn tears that threaten to spill freely.

They're granted that lone quiet moment of mourning before a shriek rips through the night air.

Both men are on their feet in a flash, though Steinar's stride outpaces Clive's own without a doubt - and no wonder why. That was Astri's scream they heard.

More voices raise in alarm before they manage to reach the far cabin, both Ina and Karolina shouting in fear and fury. Steinar bursts through the doorway before he's even drawn his sword but Clive is ahead of him there. He takes in the horrifying sight they find all at once.

A great viper has slunk its way into the cabin in the dead of night. It bares its fangs, hissing at the humans surrounding it with fangs as long as Clive's palm. Little Astri has crowded herself into the farthest corner of the room, a shock of blood streaming down her arm from twin puncture marks and tears spilling freely down her cheeks. Karolina stands her ground against the serpent with dagger in hand while Ina crowds behind her to shield the weeping young girl.

Time blurs after that observation.

Vision red, Clive leaps to the women's defense with Steinar only a step behind him. At their backs he briefly catches a glimpse of Ina carrying her daughter out of the cabin, though not before the viper lashes out again. A valiant effort is made by Steinar to block the creature but his strength is outmatched. Its fangs sink into flesh; not that of its intended target, but instead Karolina who throws herself between the beast and her charges. The viper very nearly forces its way back out of the cabin with the old Bearer in its clutches but Clive takes the chance to cleave its body in twain.

The serpent writhes. Then as swiftly as the tragedy struck, the fight is over.

Heaving for breath, Clive feels the heat of adrenaline drain from his veins simultaneous to the onset of chilling dread.

"Hush, shhh," whispers Ina while she cradles her wailing daughter with trembling arms. "I know it hurts, my darling. You'll be alright." Her voice is miraculously steady. Clive could only hope to be able to put forth such calm were it his own child in pain.

Steinar fumbles for the pouch at his belt, fetching cloth to begin bandaging the girl's wounds. So Clive turns his focus to Karolina, kneeling down to rip the fangs free from where they remained lodged in her side, heaving her up into his arms to be carried away. By now the others in the village have awoken to investigate what's happened. Tomas and Vera peer out from the shelter of their own hut while Ingar and Ulfr jog up together from across the village, each breathlessly offering help in whatever form it's needed.

"Clive," Karolina wheezes his name. Her wrinkled hand finds purchase on his shoulder. "She needs an antidote. We've lost good people to snakes like that. Please, we cannot delay."

He would take her hand in his as a comfort if only his own weren't occupied. "We'll prepare a batch; for both of you. Just tell us how to make it."

They crowd into the herbalist hut, far more of them than is needed but no one would dare tell Ina and Steinar that they cannot remain by their daughter's side. Vera, Tomas, and Clive furiously work in tandem to enact each step laid out by Karolina. The fire stoked to boil the water, a paste of marigold and nettle ground with mortar and pestle, but a key ingredient is found to be lacking.

"Thistle- We've used the last of the thistle!" Vera announces in a panic. The jar lies empty in her hands, though she swipes the pad of a finger against the glass in the hopes that a few leaves or buds can be found. "Now of all nights!"

"Breathe," Clive says, stepping over from the flame he attended. "How difficult will it be to find more?"

The young woman breathes deep as he advised. He can see the flicker of racing thoughts behind her hazel eyes. "It grows abundantly down by the river, but it will be hard to spot in the dark."

"I'll light the way for us."

Vera's attention snaps up to his face, flickering momentarily down to his left arm. Then, with hardening resolve, she nods. "We'd best hurry."

For all the fright they've endured tonight, Vera never falters as she leads Clive through the woods. Her footfalls on the forested path are as sure as a sunrise; sure enough that Clive could almost believe she would not need the light of the Phoenix's fire to see them through the dark.

But they are both grateful for its presence once they reach the river. Clive has had occasion to study herbs, to familiarize himself with what could be useful for field triage, but to his untrained eyes the thistle flowers they search out appear almost identical to the various weeds that surround the patch. After a time he accepts that he'll be of little use trying to gather the correct blooms and instead turns his focus outward into the quiet woods where any number of threats could be lying in wait.

Orcs he can handle; even akashic. They're hardly the most subtle danger out there, easy to hear or spot at a distance. And with the village's new walls, Fornhala is safer than ever from such brutes.

But it was not a brutish band of beastmen that snuck its way through their barriers and nearly stole away little Astri and dear Karolina while they slept. It was a common viper - common enough in these parts that Karolina recognized its venomous nature before the symptoms had even begun to present. They cannot afford to think this will be the last time they are faced with one.

We can't stay here.

Vera collects only enough of what they'll need for a few doses of the antivenom before they hurry back to the village. Ulfr awaits them at the gate, their grim expression growing ever so slightly brighter upon seeing the two approach. They incline their head towards the hut but remain standing guard after Clive and Vera have passed.

A sob reaches their ears before they step through the doorway. Clive's heart drops down to his stomach but he forces himself to open the door for Vera. Tomas and Ina are bent solemnly over a still body.

Karolina's.

Clive is struck by the peace found in her unmoving expression.

"No, no no, Karolina!" Vera nearly drops the bundle of thistles in her arms, cradling them against her chest when she drops down to her mentor's side. "I- Oh, I'm so sorry! Please, no! I should have returned sooner, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- Please, 'Lina, please don't go…"

Gingerly Clive kneels down to take Vera by the arm, his voice low. "I'm sorry too, Vera… It shouldn't have been her time. But it's done. She would want us to keep going, to try and help Astri."

In spite of the anguish, the grief, Vera nods in acknowledgement of what they both know to be true. They couldn't save Karolina, but they cannot give up. Leaning her weight against him as she stands, Vera carries the thistles to the cauldron. Each rosy bud plucked dislodges a fresh tear that streaks down her cheeks. The light of the cauldron's flame leaves the evidence of her sorrow glistening there, and while they wait for the mixture to brew Clive offers up a handkerchief that she might dry her eyes with.

In the end they succeed. After gently coaxing the antidote past Astri's quivering lips and continual observation through the night Vera declares their patient cured of the venom, if not entirely hale. Her bites will likely remain as scars upon her body, as Clive suspects that dreadful night will leave a scar in her mind.

But Astri lives.

She lives long enough to watch with weary eyes as Clive and Ingar carry away Karolina's shrouded body to be buried at the edge of the woods, not far from where only two months prior they laid Lorens to rest.

She lives to see the day, some weeks later, when her mother is carted screaming and wailing back to the healer's hut - now Vera's home where she has taken to fervent study of what Karolina left behind - as her body goes into labor.

She lives to meet her new baby sister, Nesa. To fawn over the squealing babe and whisper about all the fun they'll have once she's grown big enough to toddle about and play games.

Clive can only wonder how long she'll live if she and the others remain in Fornhala.

Well, Wyvern? Are you going to remain a wretched coward hiding out here in the rough or are you going to do something about it?

He finds himself that evening, after a hard day of hunting spring game, wandering towards the coast. Noema rises in the distance. Bright stone just on the edge of disappearing from view. It's a risky gamble. They only number so many. Even Cid would've balked at the odds, though Clive can imagine the old outlaw still willing to take the chance. After all, these people need a safer home.

They need to retake Noema.

Chapter Text

Rosalith's rebuilding has been a slow and measured process.

Joshua had only held a thin hope of having the residential districts of the city in full repair before the arrival of the summer solstice, but the progress they had made was heartening enough that he felt only a bit of guilt proceeding with the planned festivities for the longest day. Seeing the delight on his subjects' faces while they celebrated the solstice eased what remained of his worries.

Naturally the days following the festival have been filled with work to make up for the break in his harried schedule. Correspondence that requires attending to, meetings with lords and emissaries and craftsmen all in service of ensuring Rosalith's continued renewal. Joshua is never left idle for long. He's barely given the time to offer a proper farewell to those from the hideaway who had visited for the solstice, seeing off Midadol, Vivian, Harpocrates, and more with well wishes and a promise to see them again before the year reaches its end. Nowadays he's less certain whether he will be able to fulfill that vow.

Jill has remained with him in Rosalith, though she herself has been kept busy offering aid in the city and seeing to affairs that are of interest to the Cursebreakers.

As ever, Jote has stuck by his side and kept his head afloat with all the matters of state and service that need conducting. Through her he retains his lifeline with the Undying, though by now most of their members have returned home to Rosalith and reclaimed their place in the capital.

Uncle Byron, too, has availed himself of their ancestral home with solemn gusto. His insights into Rosaria's well-being while Joshua kept to the shadows are invaluable, and he welcomes his uncle's high spirits in the evenings when at last Joshua can shed the weight of his new throne if only for some odd hours. Byron's first order of business the night after the solstice is to tap another cask - a vintage kept deep in the cellars of Rosalith Castle - to congratulate Joshua on his first proper taste of life as the archduke with a proper taste of a Rosarian merlot. Joshua doesn't complain about his insistence on the matter, though he does limit himself to a single glass.

Thusly he's kept in good company throughout it all, but there is a pair whose presence Joshua is most grateful for, even over his own family.

Emperor Dion and his Lord Commander, Sir Terence.

Their presence and aid during the journey to reclaim his home has been invaluable and more. Particularly now that his affections for the men have come to light.

Joshua would never share the full reason for his moderation while drinking with his uncle, even if the last time he over-imbibed did lead to the most wonderful evening of pleasure in all his memory. Founder, what a night…

All that said, the imperials' presence in Rosalith will not be a permanent one, and so Joshua has endeavored to spend as much of his free time with his new lovers as he can.

Which has led to this evening's lovely diversion. An invitation of Terence's design, one that was whispered to him in passing and left a shiver in its wake. Joshua lays now upon his stomach, Dion's toned thighs serving as his cushion while Terence's firm hands lovingly work over the skin of his bared back. The knight is hardly a trained masseuse but even an apprentice's hands could easily work out the myriad knots that have plagued the archduke these last few weeks.

"Higher," Joshua murmurs, breath hitching in a hiss when those palms reach the line of his shoulders. "Mm, yes it's right there. Stings a bit after I've stood up."

A gentle touch lands on his cheek and Joshua peers up through his lashes to find Dion offering him a piece of honey-drizzled fruit, which he happily takes into his mouth. "Likely because you stand too seldom. With how long you spend curled up at your desk at a given time I should wonder if you won't develop a hunch before your fortieth year."

"I won't-" Joshua starts indignantly, only to be halted by the fruit he was in the process of eating. He can hear Terence chuckling behind him, can feel the reverberation of it in the press of the commander's hands upon him, and Joshua huffs through his nose. "I will not have a hunch…"

"Certainly not, if we can break your habit of staying seated for hours at a time." Joshua cranes his head back just enough to catch the glint of humor in Terence's eyes.

"It is not a habit. There is simply far too much paperwork to afford myself a break-"

"Incorrect," Dion states without an ounce of shame for interrupting him. "There is always room for respite, even for a nation's leader. We'll train that out of you, to be sure."

In spite of his irritation Joshua can't hold back his laugh, his fondness for these two who have wormed their way into his heart. "Is that so?"

Terence's touch vanishes from him only long enough for the man to uncork a sweet-smelling oil, its scent pervading the space. Then those lovely hands return to begin working the mixture into his skin, and Joshua becomes a boneless thing upon Dion's lap. "That we will. Even if we must resort to the methods His Radiance's first tutor employed."

"Terence…"

Joshua cracks open an eye curiously. "Oh?"

The knight, undeterred by his liege's warning tone, answers breezily while continuing to render the archduke a limp mess, "Dion was quite the restless child-"

"Terence-"

"-And his tutor at the time, a miserly scholar who always had it out for the prince-"

"-He did not-"

"-Would make His Highness sit at his desk for a period of time without moving, marked by the turn of a sandglass." Shaking his head at the very memory, Terence's voice softens. "I tried to sit with Dion when he would do so, to make sure he wouldn't be lonely at least. Alas, the bastard insisted I need not share in the prince's punishment."

Glancing up towards the emperor, Joshua spies a crease in Dion's brow. Joshua runs a palm along his lover's thigh to soothe him. "Yes, well… He was dismissed shortly afterwards for unrelated reasons. And good riddance. Master Harpocrates was his better in every way."

Terence nods, no hesitation in the movement. "Still, there could be something to be found in the use of a sandglass. Set it going when you take your seat and then when the sand has been spent the quill should be put down and your legs put to good use."

Smiling soft, Joshua turns about on the bed to face Terence, crossing his ankles behind the knight's back. "To use like this?"

This time it's Dion who laughs behind him. "Alas that such mischievous tendencies cannot be trained out of the Phoenix."

With his cheeks aflame, Terence braces himself on the bed, clearly fighting off a smile. "Perhaps. But would we have him any other way? I think not." In silver gleams a look of adoration, lost when the knight bends down to claim Joshua's lips in a sweet kiss.

Gentle fingers grace the archduke's scalp. While they busy themselves in their affection, Dion it seems has taken to massaging Joshua's scalp, an act that leaves a shiver in its wake. "No, we most assuredly would not," the emperor murmurs.

When at last Terence grows weary of holding himself aloft he begins to push himself off of Joshua, only for the archduke to entrap him with loving arms and a shower of whisper-like kisses all across his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids; every scrap of skin that can be reached. And Terence, besotted enough to allow it, only chuckles soft and sweetly.

"Are you attempting to take my lord commander captive, Your Grace?" Dion teases.

Joshua presses the curve of his smile to the faint thrum of Terence's pulse, leaving another kiss there before answering. "Only having my fill of him while I have the opportunity."

After all, the empire awaits their return. The emperor's visit to Rosaria was a gesture of good will and good faith in helping the duchy begin the arduous process of healing its grievous wounds; but ultimately it was to be a temporary sojourn. Already Joshua has watched the people of Rosalith prepare for the imperials' departure. Citizens offering gifts to soldiers they would have once feared. His own Shields sharing drinks and tales with men they would have considered their enemies during their days as Guardians of the Flame. Emperor Dion and his retinue have been welcomed guests, and their stay has plainly run its course. So while the emperor may not have shared a date upon which they will leave for Oriflamme, Joshua knows that time draws near.

"I wish we need not leave you behind," Terence murmurs against the shell of his ear.

"As do I," Joshua confesses, feeling his voice tremble to lay bare such vulnerability. So few remain who he can feel safe in freely showing it to. "But it is as it must be. And as you said before, we will meet again some day."

"So we will," Dion affirms with the faintest brush of a hand against the crown of Joshua's cheek, and he leans into the touch as a drowning man seeks the shore.

Who then can blame him for requesting that his loves stay with him through the night? Even if they must excuse themselves to their own guest quarters before the rising of dawn, having them to hold is too precious a treasure to forgo.

Still the days turn on.

Though he'd hoped it would not come, the emperor's departure arrives on a lightly clouded morning perfect for the long trek they must make. More painful still is the news that Jill at last must return to the hideaway, choosing to accompany the imperial convoy as far as Martha's Rest before making her own way to the Bennumere. Beyond the castle gates a crowd has gathered to watch the imperials pack away their belongings and mount their steeds.

The archduke approaches the emperor and his commander with Jote and Byron only a step beside. Already Joshua has given them his private goodbyes and so the ache has had time to settle when he wishes them a more public farewell.

"May the road treat you and your men well, Your Radiance."

Dion's smile is brilliant, a perfect mask to hide the longing he knows is twinned in their hearts. "And may your duchy continue to flourish in our absence, Your Grace."

Glancing aside, Joshua meets Terence's eye meaningfully. "I trust you will ensure the emperor does not overextend himself, Sir Terence."

As you would?, goes unspoken but clear as a cloudless day in the man's eyes. "Ever do I try, Your Grace. May we meet again under alike spirits as these pleasant days have been."

"May we indeed."

Byron steps forward to face the emperor. "I hope Your Radiance will not have forgotten our discussions of trade by the time you've arrived home. Our eyes will be eagerly watching for your sails on the horizon."

A laugh bellows out and Joshua joins in Dion's amusement. "Worry not. Already I have written ahead to begin the proceedings. If all goes well Rosaria shall have its stone before the first frosts; all else, sooner."

"I shall hold you to it! Until we meet again, Your Radiance."

The soft weight of a hand on his arm wrests Joshua's attention away from the scene. Jill steps close and without a word Joshua envelops her in a firm hug. At her side, Torgal presses against his leg with a soft whine. "Be sure to take care of yourself, Joshua. I'll miss you so terribly, but I'll be cross with you if I find you've not been listening to Jote or the other physickers in the castle."

A thin gasp of a laugh escapes him. His hold on her tightens ever so much. "But what swifter method is there to return you to me than news of my ailing health?"

"Joshua…" Even as she shakes her head and steps back from his embrace there is a smile on Jill's lips. "I must go. There's too much still at stake, and the search for Clive carries on."

His name, the reminder of his absence, is a burr that buries itself in the chasm of Joshua's heart. "I know." In all the chaos of his and Dion's respective coronations, all the mending that's needed done, he'd nearly forgotten that there are still those who hold hope for Clive's survival. He hasn't dared spoken of his own perspective on the matter. The last thing he would wish is to bruise their hope with his acceptance that Clive is already gone. "I wish you well in all matters. And you take care of yourself as well, or I'm certain Tarja will be happy to confine you to bedrest."

Jill laughs, a watery but bright sound. They embrace a final time before she steps away, and Joshua makes certain to kneel and give Torgal a farewell of his own with plenty of petting to make up for how long they'll be apart.

"Oh, and Joshua?" Jill speaks low, wearing a strangely conspiratorial smile. "I hope when we see each other again there will be someone hanging on your arm." Joshua's breath catches in his throat and he nearly chokes in his surprise, but she carries on without a care. "After all we've been through, you deserve the company of a kind dame. Or a beau."

Bashful, Joshua turns away with what he hopes is a convincingly carefree laugh, but then his eyes catch upon Terence and Dion all agleam in their pristine armor and even he must confess the sound grows strained at the end. When he looks back to her he knows at once that she's followed his gaze and impossibly his face burns hotter than it already had. "Perhaps," is all he can say without incriminating himself more.

Wordlessly Jill moves past Joshua to embrace Jote, a surprise to the latter by the wide eyed look she wears but not a breath later she takes hold of the elder woman and they share quiet words of their own. Only after they've parted does Byron beckon for Jill, welcoming her into his arms. "Take care, dear girl. His Grace may need all the help I have to offer managing his holdings, but I assure you I shall show no hesitance hurrying to your side should you have need of me as well."

"I know it too well," Jill teases. None of those gathered make mention of the waver in her voice. "Thank you Byron, for all that you've done for us."

"Speak nothing of it. It was the very least I could do for my family."

Gleaming sunlight crests the high walls of the castle bailey and proclaims that the time for departure has come. Wagons loaded, soldiers awaiting them, the emperor mounts his feathery steed and offers a final wave to those gathered. Dion takes the lead through the streets of Rosalith, flanked by Terence and Jill with the rest falling into line at their backs.

With each step they take the tether that binds them to his heart grows taut, until with a weary sigh Joshua allows it to grow slack in acceptance. He will survive this longing. He has done so before.

At least he knows that they yet live. That they will be reunited in time. It is more than can be said for his brother, after all.

Chapter Text

Clive had expected a touch more resistance when he imagined explaining his intent to leave Fornhala to the others. Ingar had been born and raised in the village after all, and indeed the hunter wears a grave longing on his face as he listens to Clive's explanation; but even he cannot deny the sense in leaving. The grief of losing their beloved healer is still fresh in their minds, even with the blessing of Nesa's healthy birth so soon afterward.

As a group they convene in the evenings to consider how best to prepare for the future; how best to ensure that even if they are successful in reclaiming the city of Noema they will have the supplies needed to thrive there. The deadline Clive gives them - two weeks, no more than that lest they lose more lives in the lead up - is enough to spur everyone's cogs into turning full speed.

Kaer Grimsa, the empty fort once crawling with akashic, is to be their staging ground. Naturally there are inquiries into why the Kaer itself cannot be their goal. Its defensible nature would protect them from most dangers, a fact Clive can't deny. Unfortunately its location on a wide, open plain - while useful for spotting an approaching army - would make hunting for game a greater risk. In Fornhala, with its woodland so nearby and the sea an easy hike away, they've had no short supply of meat and herbs to gather. Not so at Grimsa. Noema at least will afford them even more ease of access to fishing from its port, and while there would remain worries about sending hunting parties further out when needed Clive recalls the forest near the port city growing much closer to its walls than at the Kaer.

And so it's Clive's aim to amass what food, gear, and other amenities they can behind the stone walls of the fort and collect what remains of the abandoned armory to fortify those few who are able to march on Noema.

Himself, Steinar, Ulfr, and Ingar. Four souls against a horde.

Not the best of odds, he'll admit. He'd feel better leading them into the battle if only Jill or Torgal were at his side. But it is for their sakes that he must do so regardless.

The stockpiling is overseen by Tomas and Ina, who works even while nursing her newborn to ensure that every morsel is safely packed away. Excess meat is cured, produce is boxed or bagged up, waterskins and jugs are filled to their brims. Every few days Clive, Ulfr, and Ingar carry away what they can to be stored in the bowels of Kaer Grimsa until the time at last comes for their steadfast band to leave behind all they've known these last few months and tuck themselves away behind the fort's gates.

Before their departure, Clive leaves a handful of wildflowers on the graves of those they must leave behind.

A cool breeze blows in over the battlements, chilling the sweat that has dampened Clive's brows from the moment they began their trek to the Kaer. In the courtyard below, Astri and Vera play a game of chase while Tomas helps Ina and the baby find refuge inside the fort.

"It looks like we'll have a storm in the night." Ulfr's voice comes from behind him, and Clive glances aside to see the mercenary lean their weight against the stone railing. "We made good time avoiding it."

Clive nods, a quiet grunt his only reply for a time while he scans the horizon, the distant tree line, the mountains beyond. "Let's hope it keeps any beastmen nearby from prowling."

"Even those brutes wouldn't brave a deluge like the one brewing up there."

The last of the sun's golden light vanishes behind murky clouds, and together they retreat into the fortress before the rain can start in earnest. Ulfr calls out for Ingar across the main atrium, pulling the hunter from his work unpacking their bedrolls. "What is it, Ulfr?"

"We go to the armory. You'll need a fitting and a better blade than that hunting knife of yours." Even as the words leave no room for discussion, there is a vulnerability in them and a fondness that makes Clive wonder if he ought to have given them privacy. At least until Ulfr turns their attention back to him. "You as well. Leather breeches alone do not make for proper protection. It is a miracle you have not been gutted already."

Clive scoffs, but Ingar's added comment is what has his ears burning, "Even if they do look fetching on him."

"Very well," Clive relents with a shake of his head, "let's go see if they have anything in my size."

As untouched as they last left it, the royalist armory would be a poor sight if they were looking to outfit a proper battalion. For four desperate souls, however, there's more than enough variety for the perusing and careful selection to ensure each piece of armor, every belt and sheath, perfectly suits them. Ulfr aids Ingar in donning the pristine ochre gambeson and various layers of blackened leather, and in turn the hunter does the same in dressing his lover in steel plate.

"How does it feel wearing His Majesty's armaments again?" Ingar's murmured words echo off the stone.

"It is a necessary evil." Ulfr checks the last of his buckles, then spares a glance in Clive's direction. "What of you? I would not imagine it comforting wearing a soldier's garb once more, even if they bear the colors of Waloed."

In all honesty, Clive has been trying to avoid thinking about it. Going through the motions of selecting the pieces he needs with efficiency, testing his mobility in the unfamiliar armor. He's already made the decision to forgo one of the gauntlets; trying to fit the leather over rigid stone fingers would be a nightmare. A vambrace will have to do the job if he feels it necessary to shield his left forearm.

Now that the question has been asked, however, it's hard to avoid the memories that linger at the edges of his thoughts. The puckered skin on his cheek has begun to itch, and Clive turns his head away as if he can hide the scar there. "Perhaps not… But this time it will be my choice to put it on. Whatever outcome awaits us in Noema, I will face it on my own terms."

The weight of a hand settles on his shoulder.

Clive looks back and feels himself rooted to the spot. Ulfr and Ingar watch him from across the room, sympathy in their expressions, the former unclasping the latter's chestpiece so that his gear can be stowed away. Inhaling sharply, Clive concludes that he must be exhausted. His senses are losing their edge after hours on his feet. Still, he swears he catches a whiff of smoke; not of wood burning but the earthy scent of tobacco.

Keep that head held high, lad.

They will march for the port city on their second day at the fort. It should give them all enough time to acclimate to the new conditions, particularly the children. To spar for practice in the courtyard and consider their plan of attack. To ensure that those who remain know what to do in the event that they don't return in a week's time.

Tomas, who so often grows sour when confronted with the grim reality of their situation, affirms that he will do all he can to protect Ina and the girls should they not hear from the war band, though he looks seconds away from upheaving as he says it. Clive doesn't blame him; not everyone has the stomach to do what may need to be done.

Every moment not spent training sees Steinar adhered to his family's side. When Ina tires, he swaddles little Nesa in his arms and tells stories to Astri. Clive catches the tail end of one the night before they're meant to depart, a recollection the old soldier has of his days serving alongside his brothers. Part of him wishes he could convince Steinar to stay behind, to not risk leaving his daughters without their father, but he knows not even Ultima himself could have swayed the man. Steinar will go to Noema for the same reason Clive must go. Their families need them to.

Somehow amidst all the chaos of their preparation, Clive is granted one blessing: dreamless sleep. Maybe that same exhaustion that addled his senses earlier in the day has banished the visions that have so often plagued his rest. Or maybe at last he has appeased the phantoms that haunt him. Either way, Clive welcomes the peace. He'll need it in the days to come.

At dawn the quartet rouses. They say their last parting words before donning their armor and sharing a brisk morning meal. Then before the sun has crested the horizon, they march.

By midday, Noema comes into full view in the distance, and by dusk they reach the outskirts of the city. All is silent. Empty fields left to grow wild hide no beasts, and any vermin present keep to the shade of the unkempt grasses and crops. To their surprise, none of the akashic have wandered beyond the city's walls. And so they make camp out of sight of the main gate to rest and review their plan.

Of the four of them, Ulfr is the only one to have spent a significant amount of time in the port city before the kingdom came to ruin. While the rest of them sup on dried meat and twice-baked bread, the mercenary takes a twig in hand to sketch out a rudimentary map of the city in the dirt.

"This central road leads from the Ashen Gate to the Dominion Span. At its center is an open market that feeds into the rest of the city. I advise against entering it. Too many avenues for the akashic to swarm out from."

Ulfr gestures to the northern stretch of the city with their branch. "The port resides here. Unwalled, densely packed buildings, and a lighthouse erected at the end of the harbor. Any one of the piers could force the horde to narrow itself to reach us, but one wrong move would send you into the sea. To say nothing of how we would reach the pier without being overwhelmed."

"And forget trying to reach the far gate," Steinar grumbles between bites.

Ulfr nods, then points to the southern part of their drawing. "The aristocratic section of the city. I confess to not spending much time there, so I do not know its layout well. But it is built on an incline. Several of the richest houses can be seen on their high terraces even from the port. Fighting our way uphill in unfamiliar territory would not be ideal, but once claimed we would hold that advantage for ourselves, and there are only two roads in and out of the district. Many of the houses are walled off from the rest of the city."

Ingar huffs low under his breath. "Noble privilege turned into our defenses."

Clive meets Ulfr's gaze head on. The steely determination in the mercenary's olive eyes bolsters his own. "Then we make our stand there. We partner up and make sure no one is left on their own. I figure you and Ingar will stick close to each other regardless."

"Of course," Ulfr affirms with a brief glance towards their lover. Ingar reaches out to clasp hands with them.

"Then it looks like it will be me and you, Clive." Tucking his leftovers away, Steinar offers the Rosarian a grim smile. "So, we take the noble street for ourselves and cut down whatever comes our way. Can we be certain the whole of the horde will come to us?"

Clive shakes his head. "Most likely not, but I'll try to draw as many of them in our direction as I can. However many remain after that we'll clear out in a final sweep of the city."

"Then we'd better get as much rest as we can tonight," Ingar points out. "I can take the first watch. I'm not sure I could fall asleep just yet anyway."

No objections arise and so they all settle in for a tense night.

Crossing the threshold into Noema, its streets unnervingly quiet, brings about a similar unease as the first time Clive set foot in Eistla. What must have once been a living, breathing town now left a husk. Not terribly unlike the akashic themselves. The only signs of movement are the creak of carved market signs stirred by the wind and a few distant graying forms ambling further down the avenue. For now they have the element of surprise; best use it to its fullest.

Ulfr takes the lead through the streets. Past quiet shops, neglected gardens, and an empty garrison sporting torn banners of their forsaken kingdom. There's almost a deceptive calm that settles in the silence. But the silence was never going to last.

Ahead of them stands a group of perhaps five or six mindless forms, all of whom seem to turn as one just as Ulfr and the rest brace for a fight. Steinar pushes forward to stand at Ulfr's side, brandishing his spear and shield with voice raised. "Stick together and hold your ground!"

Neither soldier nor mercenary so much as flinch when Clive unleashes a salvo that arcs over their heads, engulfing the akashic that break into a sprint in their direction. Not enough power to stop them but plenty enough to slow them down.

The streets of Noema erupt into chaos.

What at first glance seemed a thinned scattering of akashic multiplies by the minute, more and more bodies pouring out from side alleys and racing up the main road, all drawn towards the sounds of conflict. Eager to snuff out the light that flickers defiantly in the dark.

One lucky thrall clips the side of Ingar's helmeted head with a hammer and pays for the hit with Ulfr's dagger sunk into its throat. The sharp stench of their own blood drawn and the wisps of aether as more and more akashic are felled would be overpowering if not for how accustomed to it Clive has become. A blade clips his thigh but he muscles through the sting. They must keep fighting on.

An akashic charges at Steinar from behind and Clive blinks into existence at the man's back, cinders following his sword in an arc of blinding light to clash with the thrall's own battered blade.

Together!

Bright hair in his periphery. The ghost of another familiar sword parallel to his own. A voice he would give anything to hear again.

"Joshua?"

Barely a heartbeat of distraction, but that is all it takes.

"Clive!" Not his brother's cherished voice but Steinar's.

Then a shift of steel, an unfamiliar pressure. The crack of stone. He feels the weight of every nauseating half-second as his forearm - deadened and colorless for months now, chipped but never fractured - breaks off just shy of where the curse fades back into flesh and plummets to the ground. As it shatters in a cloud of ash and rubble; only the shape of what was once his wrist and palm are still recognizable.

"Clive!" Steinar calls again only now he bodily shoves the staggered man aside. Takes the brunt of a swing that would have cleaved off Clive's other arm had the soldier not acted instead. Sparks dance up as the akashic's axe scrapes along Steinar's shield. Until his strength gives out and the sparks are joined by a spray of blood when the axe buries itself in Steinar's side. A wretched curse is wrenched free between the soldier's clenched teeth and the sound snaps Clive out of his daze.

The akashic is so preoccupied with its victim that it has no chance of avoiding the greatsword that pierces its chest.

Hoarse, ragged with pain, Steinar shouts for all to hear. "Hold your ground!"

Ingar sways deliriously on his feet, Ulfr limps from a stab wound in their calf, Steinar uses his shield arm to hold pressure on his sluggishly bleeding wound, and Clive cradles the stump of his left arm against his chest.

Still they fight on.

Only when the sun has nearly reached its peak do the throes of violence finally cease.

Clive's lungs still heave with the strain of battle, with the anticipation of one more adversary waiting to pounce. Ingar, for all that he can barely keep himself from tipping over in his dazed state, drops his weapon onto the dusty street to kneel at Steinar's side, harried as he brings forth bandages to tend to the open gash in his side.

"You shouldn't waste-"

"Save your breath," Ingar snaps. "I made a vow to your wife that I intend to keep. So help me, you will see your daughters again."

Laughing low, Steinar smiles through the pain that the motion causes. "Then by all means…"

Nerves still frayed, Clive staggers a few steps down the lane. To watch for trouble he tells himself, but no sooner than he thinks it does he collapse to his knees in the dirt.

A phantom hand alights upon his scarred cheek, warm despite the absence of the man it belongs to. In the dazzling sunlight overhead, Clive sees his brother's radiant smile.

If the others hear his sobs then he is grateful they make no mention of it.

In spite of their wounded leg, Ulfr insists upon accompanying Clive to clear out the few remaining stragglers while Ingar and Steinar recover in the safety of one of the noble houses. When at last the task is deemed done Clive stands upon the dock once teeming with corrupted life, the same husks of the unlucky vessels left to rot in the harbor languishing nearby that he spied months prior, when this mad scramble for safety first began. Perhaps in time he'll make his way back to Fornhala and fetch the fishing boat they left behind. Moor it here so that the port can be of some use again, even if just to feed themselves.

In the wake of the battle they search the cellars of the nearest houses. More of the same greets them as it did in the fort, food left to rot and ferment, but their spirits soar at the sight of Ingar holding aloft bottles of wine with Kanverian labels, and they drink to their hard-earned victory.

Given the injuries sustained and their slow recovery, it's decided that Clive and Ingar will have to be the ones to make the trek back to Kaer Grimsa to fetch their companions and share the good news.

It comes as quite a surprise, then, when the voice that calls out their approach is an unfamiliar one. A shared glance with Ingar confirms Clive isn't just hearing things, but their apprehension abates when the gate swings open and Tomas shuffles out to greet them.

"You're alive! Is the deed done?"

Ingar nods, though his attention drifts past his friend. Ina comes rushing out from the fort with her baby swaddled close, Vera only a few strides behind her with a young man around her age following suit. Behind them a figure lingers in the doorway, too far to make out. Down from the battlements a grizzled fellow strides, likely the one who'd announced their arrival.

Before Ingar can voice the question he and Clive both beg to ask, Ina pushes past Tomas, eyes darting between the two of them. "Steinar? Why is he not-"

"He's alive," Clive swiftly assures her. He reaches out on instinct to steady her only to be reminded rather bluntly of his lost limb, hanging in the air with nothing to be done.

"Oh!" Vera cries out from the growing crowd. "Clive, your arm!"

Before things can devolve much further Tomas steps in with a firm suggestion that they convene within the fort to carry out a proper conversation, so that all their burning inquiries may be answered in due time. And so as one they migrate within.

They speak of the battle, of its cost for their survival, of the promise that awaits them. Silent tears drip down Ina and Astri's cheeks, their grateful smiles twinned to hear that Steinar lives on. Vera is the only one who finds her appetite dulled while they eat and chat, too focused on tending to Clive's shattered arm. He's grown used to the numbness and tingling where the curse has only partially claimed his flesh but she insists upon testing a salve she read of in Karolina's old herbarium. Her hands linger even after, fingers tender in tracing the jagged breaks in the lithification, and he allows it.

Tomas introduces them to the newcomers in the fort, led by an old woodcutter named Arne, who had crossed almost the entirety of Ash living off of the land, and over time taking in two more survivors to join him on his venture south. Halvard, the orphaned young boy who has kept near Vera for the entirety of their conversation, was the first to join him and then came Malene, a hermit woman who would have stayed in her reclusive shack had it not been trampled to the ground by beastmen.

Arne explains that it was Ina who'd spotted them passing through the valley while keeping watch and invited them within - for a warm meal and company, if not to stay. She had spoken of Clive and the others' mission to reclaim Noema, and Arne's company agreed to stay long enough to hear how events transpired and decide for themselves if they would at last grow roots again.

"If it is as you say, and the city is once more free," Arne says with a grin hidden behind his full beard, "then I think it would be in our best interest to join you. Many hands lighten the load, as they say."

A weight lifts off of Clive's chest, and he meets the man's smile with one of his own. "We'll welcome all the help we can get."

Chapter Text

6 Months Since the Fall of Origin

A late summer breeze rolls in across the lake. The Bennumere's surface quivers with the disturbance, far below where Jill leans against the railing overlooking the dock. There's scarcely been the time for her to idle as such, with how frequently Gav sends her right back into the field after each mission of late, but for now at least she has been given the opportunity to rest. To breathe.

If only it would not lead to wandering thoughts.

The hideaway has changed these last few months, for the better by and large, though in many ways it has remained steadfastly the same. Persevering in spite of their losses as they have for years.

Gav's held tight to the reins passed to him by circumstance. A worthy Cid, but not so changed by the heavy responsibilities he now carries as to pass on a shared drink or an intriguing tale. Torgal has remained at Jill's side as always. Even when he strays from her it is most often to entertain the twins or go seeking a treat from the other residents of the hideaway. And even now Ambrosia races to greet her at the sound of Jill's calling, no doubt missing her beloved rider but steadfastly loyal to his compatriots.

Vivian still holds a claim on her study, still calls upon the other residents and her own eyes and ears abroad to help her piece together the facts of Valisthea's proceedings. Charon remains a stalwart presence keeping trade open with the wider world, and every now and then Jill catches her sharing a bite with Blackthorne, grousing about whatever has vexed them both of late. Harpocrates remains tucked away amongst his shelves, though Jill had wondered whether the old scholar might wish to return to Sanbreque with Dion now as its emperor. Secretly she's quite glad that he chose to stay with them.

The hideaway has grown much quieter, however, since Mid's departure to Kanver. The young inventor assured them all it would be a temporary venture, and Jill takes comfort in that assurance while others may lament her eventual return. Her work helping the free cities to rebuild will be essential, and the last great voyages of the Enterprise as they know it are already underway helping in that endeavor. Even now it's strange to think that Mid will one day dismantle the mythril engine after all the effort that went into its creation. But that choice is hers and hers alone to make.

Jill was a touch surprised to hear that Edda and her child would be remaining with them. Of all those who have sought shelter at the hideaway, she would have had an easier time of integrating back into the world beyond. Martha had even extended an offer of taking her in when Gav mentioned the young mother's situation on their way through Rosaria some time back. But Edda insisted she would stay put. Jill suspects that Gav is most grateful to hear it, having had a soft spot for the girl since finding her in Eistla.

A rhythmic thump against her ankle lets Jill know that Torgal has spotted company approaching, and she turns to watch Gaute make his way over to her. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at this exact moment," he clarifies. In his outstretched hand is a sealed letter, navy blue wax with a familiar crest holding it closed. "This came for you from the Dominion. I was told it isn't urgent but that the sender is hoping for a reply."

Correspondence from Noesis? Strange that it would be addressed to her rather than Cid; it's been some months since she last set foot in what remains of the Crystalline Dominion. But perhaps… She does recall her last visit there. Quarreling nobles and a kind captain, an inquiry that led to more dead ends and a question she'd asked off-hand. Could there have been a development since then?

"Thank you, Gaute. I'll see to it right away." Taking the letter in hand, Jill dips her head gratefully to the man and gestures for Torgal to stand. "Come along, boy. Let's go have a chat with Gav."

With a low bark, the wolf scrambles to his paws and leads the way to Cid's office.

Gav is seated at his desk as she suspected he would be. His head perched on one hand in such a way that it masks the scar over his ruined eye, looking more like the scout she met years ago. And though the illusion is shattered when he sits up at the sound of her entrance, the brightening of his expression still warms her heart. "Good evening to you, Jill. It is evening, yeah? Please say it is, I'm starved and looking for any excuse to put all this off 'til the morning." He waves his now freed hand towards the parchment scattered about on the desk.

"It's getting on in the evening, yes." Jill can't help but smile back at her friend, watching as Torgal noses his way over to beg for affection from the man in charge. Gav wastes no time showering the hound in love. "But I was curious if you would stay a moment longer. A letter's come from Noesis and…" Here her lips grow thin, her smile tightening. "I haven't read it yet. I have an idea of what it could be about; of what it might mean… Though it could be nothing."

Gav raises his eye to meet hers. There's no judgement to be found there. He's the only one that she's shared the worst of her fears about Clive's survival with, the both of them having huddled away in this very room drunk on ale and grief. "But it could be more, too."

She nods, unable to will her mouth to form the words. To solidify her hopes when it could all be for naught.

Rising from his seat, Gav gives Torgal's fuzzy head a final pat before crossing to stand at Jill's side. "Then let's see it."

Breaking the seal requires little effort at all, in spite of the sheer force of will it takes for her fingers to take up their positions.

Lady Warrick,

I hope that you have been well these last months since we spoke that day of your missing companion. I have prayed now and again that you have already been reunited, that this letter will arrive with no further use of it needed. But if such is not the case, I hope then that it may prove of some help to you instead.

Recently soldiers stationed overlooking the ruins of Twinside have noticed a peculiar sight in the distance. They claimed to have seen fires lit at night and smoke rising from chimneys in the day. Having taken the opportunity to look for myself through a spyglass, I cannot say for the smoke but can confirm that the lighthouse of Noema has been lit again. Life stirs in our sister abroad.

Knowing that you had wondered over your companion's potential presence on Ash, I thought it prudent to share such information with you. After much deliberation it has been decided that we shall charter a ship from Kanver, the Siren, and send an expedition party to investigate the far port. I wished to extend an invitation for you to join them should you desire it. If so, we will await your reply. The Siren is to depart in a month's time from the date undersigned.

Wishing you and yours well,

Captain Lucius Fortier

Are there truly survivors who have taken up residence in the city of Noema? Of course Jill knew there were a scarce few who had persevered on Ash - she'd met the refugees who'd eventually settled into Ran'dellah - but for there to be more signs of life, for there to be even one more person left to light the beacon there…

Is it too far-fetched to imagine who it could be? To hope that this fresh lead could be the one they've longed for?

Careful hands take the letter from her hold after she's read it aloud, and Jill makes use of the opportunity to seat herself on the nearby bench; watches Gav read the letter through for himself as though he too can barely stand to get his hopes high. Then he turns to her. Curious but not expectant. "Well… Quite the surprise, yeah? Hard to say for sure what we'll find there. Could be beastmen come to claim the place, or it could be folks hanging on by a limb."

Jill blinks in surprise. "'We'? You'd come along?" Something about the act of glossing over her own involvement is soothing. It hardly needs to be asked of her, but perhaps shamefully she'd assumed Gav would stay on Storm to see to business at home.

"Are you joking? I'm getting sores on my arse wasting away here. I miss being on my feet." Gav glances back down at the letter. "Besides, I want to be there to see Clive for myself if we find him. And if there are survivors over there, Clive or no, they'll need all the help they can get."

Further shame on her, that her preoccupation over Clive's potential presence there kept thoughts of any other survivors and their needs from her mind. Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, Jill nods. "Naturally. Then we'll need to pen a response immediately so Captain Lucius will know to expect our company."

"Aye, then I'll let you get right on that." When she levels upon him a pursed-lip stare Gav shies away, setting the letter on his desk. "What? Yours is the name it was addressed to, it seems only fitting."

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with your desire not to deal with any more paperwork?"

"Not at all," Gav lies, giving an awkward chuckle as he makes for the door. "I'm off to let Otto know about the plan, have to keep everyone informed like; you know how it is. But we'll meet in the ale hall once you're done, yeah? I'll get us a round."

Smiling to herself, Jill waves him off. Some things never change. Making her way to the desk, she fetches out a fresh sheet of parchment and Gav's discarded quill to get to work on her reply.

Captain,

I thank you for the thought and care you showed in writing to me, and for the prayers uttered for mine and Clive's sakes. It pains me to say that we have yet to find our way to each other even now, but my determination has not flagged. If I must search for him until my dying day, so be it.

Per your invitation to join the expedition to Noema, I and one of my compatriots intend to accept. I ask that you not worry for how we will fare once we reach Ash's shore; it will not be the first time he and I have ventured into Waloed, and not the first time we have dealt with the kinds of danger to be found should we have need to wander beyond the port city. I only pray it will not be necessary.

I would also ask that you turn your thoughts of prayer towards whoever may reside in Noema. If there truly are survivors then they will need such divine grace far more than I.

Until we speak again,

Jill Warrick

Chapter Text

How strange it is to awake on an otherwise mundane morning and reflect on the fact that half a year has passed since the felling of Ultima. Since Valisthea began its gradual process of finding normality in the wake of a narrowly avoided end to all things. To recognize that while sipping on fragrant tea and breaking fast with honey cakes.

Byron explains that life is filled with such juxtapositions when Joshua mentions his musings at the dining table. That he felt much the same after Elwin's death, heart laden with grief and yet unable - unwilling, even - to let its weight keep him from attending to his affairs. That before long he too turned back one day to find that years had passed, that his brother had long since gone and been left behind by a world which endeavored to turn on and on.

They do not speak of Clive most days. On this one Joshua makes a singular exception.

"I do believe I have felt it before," Joshua confesses softly. "The weeks after Origin's fall were a whirlwind, but when stillness would find me my thoughts often turned to Clive. And when I awoke some years after Phoenix Gate, the agony of what was taken from us threatened to swallow me whole. Yet here we are now." He lifts his teacup in emphasis. "It feels… Unfair."

"My boy, Clive would not begrudge us our survival." Byron is firm in meeting his gaze across the table. "Neither would Elwin. Nor, I think, would they mind that we are feasting ourselves in their stead, enjoying the fruits of all our hard labor to find such peace."

To that Joshua can only offer a bittersweet smile.

They do not linger long on the subject, turning instead to matters of state affairs - to which they often return, for there is always much work to be done as Rosaria's archduke.

Slowly but surely the city of Rosalith has regained a sliver of its former glory. Though more recently Joshua's efforts have turned towards spreading that good fortune to the rest of Rosaria. While they have not reclaimed the homes and villages lost over the years, those remaining bastions against the end times have been bolstered. Eastpool, Martha's Rest, Port Isolde, even the quiet village of Amber. Long have their denizens toiled to keep their homes safe. Now they begin the work towards strengthening their neighbors.

Funding such efforts has been no small task, but with his uncle's help they have managed. House Rosfield's coffers have oft been opened to provide such aid, but even their family's treasury has its limits. Thus has Joshua been left to entreat with members of the Seven High Houses, to make it plain that those ancient and noble families who are willing to put forth coin in his endeavors will find great favor with the archduke. And for the most part he has met with little obstruction in gaining their help.

A still greater feat has been the revival of Rosaria's military. Barracks once more filled with loyal soldiers, new recruits making their way to the capital's garrison each week. Given the duchy's newfound peace with the other nations on Storm, Joshua holds hope that they will have no need to see battle for years to come. Still, the better to be prepared. The better to have soldiers stationed where they are most needed, to defend the citizens of Rosaria.

Of all that Joshua has accomplished in so short a time, however, there is one mark that will be recorded as part of his legacy for which he is proudest.

With his ascendance as Archduke fully realized, so too has he formalized legislation which has abolished the ownership of any person as property, the marking of individuals with brands, as well as discontinuing the practice of testing newborns - the inclusion of which was mostly a formality, as the disappearance of magic has likely rendered such tests redundant in any case. And the immediate freedom and personhood of every marked Bearer in the duchy has already been felt.

Word has reached his ears of how his proclamation has been received in those settlements who had dedicated themselves to harboring freed Bearers. Tears shed and praise shouted to the skies. A brazen few marked men and women taking to the streets to celebrate their liberty. Freedom seekers who have poured in across the duchy's borders, most led into Rosaria by members of the Cursebreakers but some fleeing their oppression of their own determination.

Freedom alone will not be enough, Joshua knows. Such deeply ingrained prejudice against so blatant a difference as ink upon skin will not be forgotten overnight. To say nothing of the resources needed to help the newly liberated build lives for themselves and their families. Their plight is likely to be one Joshua will champion all his life, perhaps even one he will pass on to his successor. So be it. He will shoulder the burden and do all he can for those who most need his support, and he will pray that this precedent inspires the other nations on Storm to follow suit.

A sentiment that Joshua pens later that evening, writing to Emperor Dion.

Your Radiance,

It relieved me greatly to hear that the road to Oriflamme treated you and your soldiers well. I offer my sincerest apologies that it has taken me near a month to send a reply to your letter, but as I am sure you can imagine I have been kept much occupied tending to the duchy. Though that time has allowed for a greater selection of news to share with you.

Rosalith continues to thrive, and Rosaria's other burgs and hamlets have similarly begun to prosper. Our army steadily grows to rival its count during my father's reign. I pray we will have no grave need for them soon. Most important of all has been the Liberation Law. No longer will any soul - Bearer or not - be made into property on Rosaria's soil. I eagerly await the day news of a similar decree arrives from Sanbreque. You have my permission to cite Rosaria's decision on the matter if it will help light a fire beneath the seats of your Cardinals.

Do you remember when I spoke to you of Shula before our venture to Origin? I will be writing to her as well once I have penned this missive to you. Jill has assured me that Gav made contact with the people of Haven after Origin's fall, that they are doing well in the wake of it. I've been told the wave frozen in time has begun its slow dissipation. I confess that in all of the chaos which followed Origin, the Surge had completely slipped from my mind. Have you noticed if it has diminished at all from where you watch from the castle?

I have also been told that Waljas retains his connection. What does it say of me that I hoped he would have been spared it? That his tether would have failed where ours remains? He is only a babe, after all.

But I digress. I hope to write to Shula so that she and her people will know they will be welcomed in Rosaria should the day come that they wish to make their presence known to all. Perhaps in time some may wish to make a home here, or else do business with us.

Port Isolde has been kept busy, but I know the portmaster would welcome yet more ships so long as they bear goods and gil. I also know he keeps a watchful eye westward. No news of the Iron Kingdom stirring has reached me, but it would be remiss of me to completely dismiss them from my considerations as the frozen wave had.

It is my deepest hope that we will meet again soon, though I haven't the faintest idea of when that could be. I send my admiration to you, and I ask that you pass along my well wishes to your lord commander as well.

Until next we speak,

Joshua Rosfield

Then, feeling suddenly that words alone will not suffice, Joshua seeks out a trinket he has kept tucked within a drawer of his desk. Little more than a bauble - a medallion of silver with twisting filigree curves that Jill had explained to be a Northern style - but the sight of it in the market had brought the sanbrequios emperor to mind. Though the stormy bi-color of the sapphire embedded at its center most reminded him of Terence. Alas that there had only been one such bauble on display, else he would have purchased two to gift them both with.

Tucking the medallion into a sachet perfumed with rose petals, he passes it and the letter along to his steward to have it delivered.

And with a weight now lifted from his mind, Joshua returns to do as he'd spoken of and similarly draft a letter to the Motes of Water; though he decides at the last minute to add a message for Jill to his list as well, seeing as the former will need to be delivered by way of the hideaway, after all. For he so dearly wishes to be kept abreast of her dealings in lieu of being able to keep her company.

Chapter Text

7 Months Since the Fall of Origin

Autumn's chill descends on the land, but the biting winds rolling in off the sea and the turning of the leaves has done little to dampen spirits in Noema. A city brought to life once more, even if its newfound community is small in size. Together they endure.

In the weeks following its reclamation several of the empty houses have been cleaned up and made into proper new homes. Most of their band have chosen humble abodes near the center of town, unwilling to abandon proximity with the others or embrace isolation - save for Malene, who already preferred her privacy, and the duo of Ulfr and Ingar, who showed great interest in claiming a luxury estate for themselves. Amused by their cheek, Clive had considered following suit. In the end, however, he claimed a house nearer to the port, citing the grand view of the setting sun glimmering off the water as his motivator.

Thus have they all settled into new routines.

Meals are shared in the warmth of the tavern that Steinar and his family have settled in. Each morning Clive finds Ina and Malene tending to the children, for though the hermit woman has insisted she desires no offspring of her own, she has never once rebuffed Ina's requests for help feeding baby Nesa or corralling Astri long enough to teach her lessons for the day.

Vera occasionally offers her aid in those endless endeavors, but most often she lingers in the tavern only long enough to eat before hurrying right back out. Whether her head is buried amongst a pile of herbs or the basket of sewing supplies she found in one of the abandoned houses, Clive rarely finds her dawdling. Ever brewing tonics or tinctures, always mending some garment or other that has a snapped seam or tear, and of late he's discovered that she's begun to make entirely new articles of clothing - taking the measures of their newest members so that they might have more than a single outfit to their name.

He only hopes that her passion does not lead to Vera burning herself out in the process.

Tomas has certainly found that balance. While he resides with the others at the center of town, the farmer has taken up the wide garden space outside of Ingar and Ulfr's new home to prepare new crops. Whether they will sprout in time to provide a harvest before the worst of winter's frosts arrive is beyond Clive's ability to guess, but Tomas has remained confident. And more importantly, he has taken the time out of his days to simply exist, to enjoy the company of their neighbors when they cross paths, sharing stories with Arne some days and on others keeping Steinar company during his long recovery.

As for the former soldier, Steinar has steadily regained his mobility and often helps his wife in the kitchen, standing when he can or seated when the pain in his side becomes too great. And on the days when his injuries grieve him the least he makes time to join the men in the open marketplace.

There, drills are held every other day to help keep everyone in fit form and on the same page. Ingar imparts his knowledge of hunting, which the young Halvard takes a keen interest in, while Ulfr and Clive do what they can to pass on their combat training to their newest members. Though Clive has left the more hands-on demonstrations to Ulfr. His lost limb is still keenly felt, an empty weight that continues to catch him off-balance.

And so he welcomes Arne's approach after their latest bout in the market to distract him from its absence. "Join me atop the lighthouse?"

"Has there been another signal?" Anticipation thrums in Clive's veins. Just a week prior Arne had shared his clever method of covering and uncovering the lighthouse's beacon in a manner similar to ship code, which he'd learned as a boy from his father. Neither of them had put too much hope in their simple message being received - even Noesis, the nearest settlement on Storm, lies a great distance away. But to their immense surprise they'd soon caught sight of a light in the distance, flickering in and out of sight at a measured pace. A similarly simple "message received".

Arne, however, shakes his head. "Nothing yet I'm afraid. Still, the crisp air would do us both good, yes?"

That he can't deny.

Up the winding staircase they ascend in tandem. An exhausting feat piled atop their earlier exertions, but Clive finds it worth the ache in his thighs to be granted the view that awaits them. From atop the signal tower they can see clear over Noema's walls to the rolling forests and hills to the southeast. To the north stretches the turbulent waters of the Strait of Autha; to the south lay the tides leading into the Naldia Narrow and, though far out of view, the endless depths of the great chasm of Dzemekys.

"Tomas tells me you are from Rosaria, no?" A side glance towards Arne reveals that the old woodsman has taken up a seat on the wide stone bench opposite from where Clive leans against the railing. The unlit beacon stretches out between them but the distance is not enough to make conversation a strain.

"I am."

Dark, bushy brows knit together, a low hum leaving Arne. "An awfully long way you've come. You must miss home, hm?"

A stone monument carved with care - or more like a pair, one more refined than the other, but both markers hold deep affection that twists in his chest. Wide, rolling plains rimmed with familiar forests. A vast, still lake suffused with ash and dotted with ancient stone like bones protruding from the earth. The faces of his people, both Rosarian and not, spring to mind.

"More than I can bear some nights." His voice threatens to catch in his throat, but Clive manages those few soft words.

"We will get you home," Arne says, with a firmness of tone that brooks no argument. With ironclad certainty.

For the first time in months, Clive feels a true flicker of hope for that prospect.

Before he has the time to offer any sort of reply, however, Arne stirs from his seat to approach the railing himself. Then in a hasty scuffle the man moves to the trunk sat near his former perch, pulling free a tarnished spy glass that he raises to his eye. Just as Clive's turned to follow his gaze he's startled by the hearty laugh Arne lets out. "Perhaps sooner than expected! Look there, Clive!"

That same spy glass is thrust into his hand. Clive brings it up to peer through, adjusting the angle this way and that for a moment before his sights catch on white sails on the horizon. "It's a ship!"

"Can you see what colors they fly?"

At this distance it proves a tad difficult, but there - he's seen markings like them before. "A merchant vessel by the look of it. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say from the free cities. But… Kanver was decimated. His Majesty saw to that."

Cursing under his breath, Arne gestures for the glass again and Clive passes it back over. "Knob-headed traitor couldn't leave anywhere well enough alone, could he? The king fights for their independence then turns his back on them years later. Disgraceful."

"Hear hear," Clive mutters. "Can you tell where they're headed?"

"Might be able to…" Arne falls silent then for several beats, and Clive peers out over the water while he awaits the man's verdict. Frowns to himself when, without considering his actions overmuch, he attempts to cross his arms over his chest and finds the motion faltering. Perhaps one day he'll grow used to the change. "Hey now, I think- Now I could be wrong, but I think they're making for our port."

Head snapping up again, Clive strains his eyes to try and glean evidence of Arne's claim, though at this distance it proves difficult without aid. "Truly?"

"It's looking more and more likely the longer I watch. Shit, do we even have space for them in the port?"

As one, their eyes drop to the sad sight below them, of the sunken and charred vessels left to rot in the harbor. Clearing the space out has been low on their list of priorities, though he remembers Arne mentioning the desire to salvage some of the lumber off-handedly a few days ago. Perhaps they should have heeded him then.

With a grunt, Clive gestures to the far end of the harbor. "I remember an open space further down. Though depending on how large their vessel is, it might be a tight squeeze into the pier."

"Then let's hope she's nice and trim."

Word spreads quickly once Clive makes his descent back to the harbor. Arne volunteers to stay behind long enough to keep an eye on the ship and confirm that they're Noema-bound, though he rejoins them on solid ground once it's clear the merchant vessel intends to dock with them. During that time Clive and Ulfr busied themselves with prepping the lone space for their new arrivals, and the rest of their little community gathered further back to watch and await them.

The Siren takes its time pulling carefully into port. Whatever state the crew expected to find Noema in Jill cannot say, but seeing the blackened hulls of unlucky ships sunk in the water and the obvious scars dotting the harbor buildings and beyond brings to her mind memories of that harried flight through Kanver. How cruel a twist of fate, that such destruction was wrought by Waloed's king on foreign soil only for him to turn such careless destruction upon his own people.

As ropes and gangplanks are prepared for their disembarkment, Jill and Gav await further back to allow the more experienced sailors to ensure they can safely go ashore. A few of the locals have approached to welcome them. Approaching the plank, Jill takes Gav's offered hand to steady her as she goes, just to feel that gentle grip tighten and his voice turn strained. "Jill-"

The scout has seized up, his eye frozen on the crowd nearby. Jill turns to follow his line of sight, to assess the figures standing there.

And her heart stutters in its rhythm.

"... Clive?"

A head turns. Black hair that's grown shaggier than she can ever remember seeing it, the scar she recalls tracing the shape of late at night, the brightest blue eyes that have seen so much. His lips move but the sound is beaten out by a frenetic series of barks and the scrape of claws on wood as Torgal leaps from the deck of the ship and directly into the crowd - almost startling one of the poor bystanders into falling into the sea.

"E-Easy! Down boy!" Those words - his words - are not drowned out even as Torgal continues vocalizing his joy at seeing his packmate again.

At her back, Gav provides a gentle nudge that sends Jill stepping down onto the dock. Her limbs know what to do regardless of her mind's inability to keep up, and then… Then she's there. Her hands on his face and his gaze locked with hers, tears brimming in both of their eyes.

"Jill…"

His weight crashes around her, Jill surging forward to meet him and bury a quiet sob against his chest. The rhythmic thump of his heart beats beside her ear and his hand cards through her hair and it cannot be denied: Clive is here, Clive is alive.

"I knew," Jill starts in a shuddering whisper, "I just knew you were out there somewhere. I refused to give up…"

The hand in her hair shifts down, pressing her ever tighter into Clive's embrace. "All this time… I should have known you would come for me. Jill… You were what kept me going. You and all the others back home. But-" His breath hitches, his grip growing tense. Until he forces himself to step back, to hang his head in shame. When he speaks again his voice is wretched and Jill wants nothing more than to cradle his very soul close to her own. "It's only me. I- We… We succeeded in defeating Ultima, but Prince Dion... And Jo- Joshua- I couldn't… I couldn't save him."

Reality settles like a knife in tender flesh. She knows what he does not and that understanding cuts sharp. How long has Clive been on his own believing his brother dead?

Gav is quicker to find the words needed. "But Clive, Joshua's still kicking."

There stretches an uneasy pause. Clive stills. Then almost mechanically turns his head towards the scout. "Wh… What are you talking about?"

"Aye, him and His Radiance both. Er, Dion I mean."

The open grief on Clive's face twists into apprehension and the words he spits out startle even Jill. "Don't lie to me. I know what I saw- I held him in my arms. Don't- Don't try to-"

"Clive," Jill breaks in, stepping between him and Gav, "you know Gav would never joke about such a thing. And neither would I. Joshua and Dion found their way back to us months ago after Origin fell. Joshua is alive."

The weight of his searching gaze falls on her and for a moment - only a heartbeat, really - Jill fears that he won't believe her. But he finds verity in her eyes, in her words, and soon sags against her in a series of sobs. Jill holds her own cracking heart together with the press of their bodies. She knows at once what their first order of business will be once they return to Noesis, to send a stolas to Otto and share the good news not just with the people of the hideaway, but to have it passed along to Joshua as well.

Business carries on around them. The Dominion crew and the survivors in Noema have given Jill and Clive the space to work through their emotions. Once they've recomposed themselves Jill attempts to ask after how Clive ended up where he has when she feels something utterly wrong.

Instinctively she'd traced a hand down the length of Clive's arm only for it to… Well, to stop. For her fingers to grasp uselessly at a void. She can see that he feels it too, his expression pinched.

"Ah, right…" He speaks softly and raises his left arm to reveal the gray-tipped stump for all to see. Gav swears under his breath behind her. "I'm afraid you've found me alive but not quite whole. Though it being gone is… Something of a recent development."

"Suppose we ought to start up a club, eh?" Gav jokes, quick to provide some levity with a gleam in his lone eye. Jill wants to be upset at his blitheness over the circumstance but her disapproval is marred somewhat by the little smile she can't fight off.

After all, Clive also dons a smile of his own, fondly shaking his head at his dear friend's antics. "Perhaps we shall."

Their reunion having run its course, they rejoin the others in the ongoing discussions over what's become of Waloed and what will be done for those who have survived there all this time. Clive facilitates several introductions with the people who have kept his company while stranded on Ash. Jill avidly soaks up the tales they share of how they persevered through such dark times.

Tension bleeds in when the topic of Noema's jurisdiction is broached. Several expeditioners from Noesis claim that by rights the twin gates are Dominion territory, a claim which understandably agitates a few of the Waloeders who hold no love for foreign authority. In the end the matter is settled as amicably as it could be in Jill's opinion. The people of Noema will remain autonomous until such time that their population has regrown and a further decision can be held once they no longer fear the threat of starvation. In the meantime, the leader of the expedition vows that shipments of supplies and able hands will return to Noema on a regular basis to bolster the town. The preservation of life proves a far more welcome topic than politics.

Similarly, a promise is given by those from the hideaway to have members of their band join said voyages whenever possible, should a more subtle helping hand be required.

The last of the most pressing matters is the offer extended for any of the survivors in Noema to return with the expedition to Storm. A keen curiosity takes Jill then, which she shares with Clive who has come to know the Waloeders well enough to hazard a few guesses as to their answers. A few of his guesses prove true, accompanied by one or two surprises as well.

He claimed to know with certainty that the man named Tomas would stay behind, as well as the elder woman Malene. Both set in their ways and loyal to their homeland - though Jill wasn't expecting such a vitriolic refusal from the latter when approached by an expeditioner about it. On the other hand, Clive spoke of the young Vera's long-held desire to become an experienced dressmaker and how wherever she goes Halvard has kept shyly at her heel, and sure enough with some reassurances on the girl's part she convinces the lad to join her on the voyage west.

Still, it's hard not to notice the bittersweet look on Clive's face when he learns that the wounded soldier Steinar and his family will remain in Noema. Jill wouldn't blame them. The man's injuries look to have been quite severe, and with a newborn to care for as well as their eldest daughter on top of it all it's no wonder they wish to play things safe. Neither can she argue with his and his wife Ina's desire to stay and help Waloed rebuild itself. So she wishes them well when Clive approaches the family to offer his goodbyes.

They learn that Arne, the man who had reignited the lighthouse in the first place, intends to stay behind as well. Though he concedes with a laugh that anyone from the Dominion with more experience with signal lights is welcome to the position.

The greater surprise ends up being the fates of the mercenary Ulfr and their lover Ingar. In private Clive was uncertain as to which path the two might take. Ingar's forlorn longing for his home village of Fornhala seemed strong, in complete opposition to Ulfr's lacking love for any particular place. But after a week's time once the Siren begins preparations for the return to Storm, Jill spies the pair approaching along the docks with luggage in hand, quietly sharing amongst themselves their thoughts on what life will look like on the western Twin.

She watches on from the upper deck as Clive approaches the couple, an unmistakable smile on his face and a firm hand offered for Ulfr to shake.

"Still feels a bit like a dream, don't it?" Gav murmurs at her side. There's little need to turn and confirm whether his gaze is trained on Clive as hers is. Neither of them have been able to tear themselves away from Clive for very long.

And to that question Jill gives a hum. "If it is one, then may we never wake."

Chapter Text

8 Months Since the Fall of Origin

A week's voyage bears them across the Autha and yet each morning that Clive awakes beside Jill he is still struck by the sight of her, by the press of her familiar body against his side and the flutter of her lashes when she rouses soon after him. Each morning he thinks '"this must be a dream" until her hand finds his to clasp or her lips seek his own and he recognizes that she shares his thoughts, that she too looks for confirmation that they've found each other again after far too long apart. And when they rise to head onto the deck and find Gav waiting there with relief hidden behind his smile Clive remembers again that soon they'll be back at the hideaway.

Noesis' port is far livelier than Noema's, though it bears its own scars. Gav mentions that the harbor had to be excavated in order for ship traffic to resume. The once wide open port is now ringed by a pincer of rock with a gap just wide enough to fit one vessel at a time. The passengers and crew aboard the Siren are welcomed by soldiers in a mix of garb. Some bearing the white and gleaming steel of Sanbreque while others wear dark leathers more alike to Republican infantry, though the colors are wrong.

"The Dominion garrison, or what's become it," Jill answers at his inquiry. "Emperor Dion continues to lend the detachment of soldiers that have watched over Noesis, but the city has officially been passed into the care of the Dominion's own citizenry. I've yet to meet with the council at its head, and I'm unsure if I have any particular desire to." Her nose wrinkles and Clive wonders to himself whether it's because of her crossing paths with the pair of nobles she recounted to him on the journey over.

They part ways only for a brief time. Jill intends to send a stolas ahead of them and so must seek out the local aviary, leaving Clive and Gav to - for lack of a better term - chaperone the Waloeder quartet that have accompanied them to the unfamiliar territory. It would be remiss of them, after all, to leave the four to fend for themselves and without the means to feed and house themselves.

The younger pair don't make it an easy task. Halvard and Vera are eager to lose themselves in the crowded marketplace, flitting from one stall to the next to drink in all there is to be seen. Thankfully Ingar is just as keen to keep them in his sights, the first to call them out whenever the two get swept away in the crowd. The only time the duo are completely halted is predictably when Vera catches sight of a merchant peddling bolts of cloth. Ulfr and Clive share a knowing smile when they lead the others over to them.

The girl coos over the various fabrics, praising the patterns to be found and the richness of their dyes. Lamenting that she does not have the coin to afford anything more than the most basic linens available. Halvard, meanwhile, speaks animatedly with the merchant's son - more lively than Clive has ever seen the lad, though that wouldn't be saying much on its own.

"We've come from Waloed," he catches Halvard explaining, "from the Siren that docked today."

"I've heard it was madness over there! You're brave to have held out so long."

Halvard shakes his head. "Vera's the brave one. I ran from danger at the first sign of it, but she learned how to tend the wounded. She's so adept with her hands. Why, she made the clothes I'm wearing now."

"Did she?" asks the merchant himself. "Go on, let's have a look at her handiwork then."

Vera watches with her reddened face in her hands while her friend steps back to show off the garments. "Hal…"

Ingar visibly stifles his laughter. "Vera has been quite the quick study. Given time I know she will become a talented seamstress."

"Time and a teacher," the merchant says thoughtfully. His eyes shift over from Halvard's clothing to the young woman in question. "I supply a few of the tailors in the city. I could put in a good word, see if any are looking for an apprentice. They might even be open to giving you room and board."

To say the girl appears overwhelmed would be a gross understatement. Though bafflingly when her voice returns to her it is not to exclaim her thanks but to think of others. "Would they be willing to take in Halvard as well? I would not want to leave him on his own."

The merchant smiles and rests a hand upon his son's shoulder. "If he is willing to work as well, I should think they would be. And if not then we will gladly welcome an extra pair of hands around the house should they decline it."

Vera's delight proves infectious, and while she dries her teary eyes Clive turns away with a lightened heart.

Afterward they convene at the nearest inn where Jill awaits with lodgings already arranged. She listens with a patient and proud smile while their young charges regale her of what they've been offered by the clothier while Gav sees to a round of drinks for the rest of them.

"Have you two settled on your own path?" Clive asks of Ingar and Ulfr. The both of them have kept hushed on the matter during the trip to Storm and left him curious of what will become of the pair.

Ingar shares a glance with his beloved, a soft smile on his face. "I believe we have. Ulfr longs for the road again, but not just yet. We'll linger here for a time. Keep an eye on Hal and Vera to make sure they keep their feet under them."

Wooden mugs clunk onto the table as herald to Gav's return. "I think we'll all rest easier knowing those two have folks watching their backs. And I hope you know there'll be a place for all of you at our little hideaway if push comes to shove. It's no paradise, but there's safety and community."

"The offer is appreciated," Ulfr says lowly, bringing their mug up for a swig. "But we will manage. There are few places where a sword for hire would not be welcomed."

"And if need be I can always hunt our meals." Ingar playfully tosses his handkerchief in Ulfr's face, as though to chastise them for their brusque response. "Who knows where we'll end up? Maybe we'll start our travels in your homeland, Clive."

"You'll find it a shade of its former glory," Clive admits, "but I would encourage you to visit all the same. Look for Martha's Rest when you go. Tell her you're a friend of mine and she'll see that you're well taken care of during your stay."

Jill approaches then, with Vera and Halvard only a few paces behind. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she takes the seat beside Clive's. "Martha is one of the kindest souls we know. She won't steer you wrong. But actually, Clive, you might be surprised by the state of Rosaria now. So much has improved since Joshua took the throne. Trade has resumed, Rosalith has been rebuilding." That same hand drifts down to cradle his elbow; just shy of the grayed stump of his forearm. "Bearers live free."

All the breath in Clive's lungs catches. How long had they been working towards this dream? Building on the legacies of their predecessors. "If only Cid could see that for himself… Father, too…"

"Karolina," Vera murmurs.

Gav hangs his head in a bow. "And so many others we lost along the way."

"Then let us toast." Ulfr raises their mug, a motion echoed around the table. "To those left behind, and to brighter futures."

"To brighter futures."

The Crystal Road is almost as lively as it would have been during the Dominion's peak in trade. Travelers flock to and from Noesis in a steady trickle from all walks of life, and very few if any pay the trio of outlaws much attention. Their steeds await them at the stables save for Ambrosia, who races across the fields at Clive's beckoning whistle. The crash of her beak against his shoulder knocks the wind out of him and he's forced to hide the sting in his eyes by burying his face in her bright feathers.

"I missed you too, girl."

The reunions continue once they arrive back in the deadlands. Obolus sheds no tears upon seeing Clive again but his relief is clear in the song he croons while steering them across the lake, an old sailor's tale rejoicing for their captain's surviving a fierce storm. Cheers and cries of his name greet them before they've even properly docked. Clive can barely go a few feet without becoming overwhelmed by folks eager to see him again with their own eyes, to ask after where he's been all this time, to ask for or offer little shows of physical comfort. Though some remain aloof in their care for him. Goetz may ecstatically pull Clive into his meaty arms but Charon, naturally, watches on with a wry smile and no mention made between them of the misty look in her good eye.

Vivian and Otto are in conversation together when the trio make their approach to the former's study, and Clive barely waits long enough for them to turn before embracing Otto.

Otto in turn lets the stiffness born from the sudden contact bleed from his limbs, holding Clive just as firmly. "S'good to see you again, friend. Hasn't been the same around here without you."

Cracking a smile, Clive pulls away and offers Vivian a small bow. "Has Gav been doing that poor of a job?"

"Wha- Hey now," Gav croaks out, though he can't stop a laugh from leaking into his words, "I rather think I've been giving it a decent go of things."

"You've been doing wonderfully, Gav." Jill soothes him with her own little smile.

"Still," Vivian interjects coyly, "I dare say he is the most relieved out of us all for your return. You left quite the mess for your successor to maintain, though of late the weight of it all lies less heavily - in no small part thanks to Emperor Dion and your dear brother."

Clive's heart still stutters in its rhythm at the reminder that Joshua is alive out there, waiting for his return. "Does he know? We- As soon as we've rested I'll go to him in Rosalith, but I don't want my arrival to come as a shock."

Their resident scholar raises a hand that brings his words to a halt; a hand she then presses to her temple. "And your intent will no doubt frustrate poor Tarja, though it will hardly come as a surprise… But you won't find His Grace in Rosaria."

Blinking dumbly, Clive shifts on his feet. "Then where?"

"Oriflamme," comes as Otto's answer. "We received a letter from him shortly before the rumors of his visit to the empire reached our ears; only a few days before Jill's stolas arrived, actually. And don't worry, the moment we heard those two found you, Clive, we sent our own bird to inform Joshua of the same, and told him we'd send you up to Sanbreque as quick as we can."

A worry lessens in his mind in the same breath that he turns over that peculiar idea. When last he walked the streets of Oriflamme it was to rob the city of its Mothercrystal, as a fugitive of the law. Now he will return to it as a capital renewed in spite of the Mother's absence, hopefully as a welcomed guest.

"Leave it to Joshua to be busy visiting on diplomatic business."

Oh what a struggle it is for Jill to hold in a quiet laugh. If only Clive knew what she suspects to be the real reason for Joshua's visit with His Radiance. But that is a matter she hopes Joshua will trust them with in time, and not one for her to reveal so carelessly. So she merely keeps a pleasant smile on her lips. "I'm sure he and the emperor will not mind us briefly halting their affairs. But in the meantime you're well overdue for a visit to the infirmary."

A low chuckle leaves Clive and he links his remaining hand with hers. "Tarja's going to be thrilled at the state I'm in, isn't she?"

"So very unhappy." Jill squeezes his hand just that little bit tighter. "But I think this once she'll be understanding about why it came to this."

Tarja is not, in fact, either thrilled or unhappy when they arrive for Clive's check-up. There's shock on her face. Jill doesn't blame her for it, for she'd reacted similarly and because they've both seen how Clive's body never seemed to succumb to the curse until now. To see the effects of it so acutely and permanently…

"Has there been any pain?" Tarja asks, methodical hands turning the lost limb over, prodding gently here and there at tender flesh on the edges of the lithification.

Jill studies Clive's face, watches the faintest creases form between his brows and beneath his eyes, the only comfort she can offer being to keep holding his hand. "Periodically. From movement or sometimes when the evenings have grown cool. I'm not looking forward to another winter like this."

A huff leaves the physicker. "With your luck you'll end up putting yourself in an early grave before the snows arrive. But I'm hoping there'll be many more winters for you to suffer before you go dying on us again."

Clive and Jill both share a quiet laugh at her jesting. "We'll see. I'm grateful for where I ended up; I wasn't entirely without care. There was a woman with us, an older Bearer, who knew quite a bit about herbs and medicine. She shared some of her salves with me when the discomfort grew too much." His voice lowers and Jill's heart grieves with him. "I wish Karolina could have joined us here."

"From what you shared about her, I believe she would be grateful to know you and the others are safe now." Jill nestles her head against his shoulder. A beat later she feels the weight of Clive's head resting on hers.

Tarja steps away to fetch a thin jar from her stores, handing it over to Clive. "Here. Make sure to spread enough of it so that your skin feels properly moistened after, ideally at the first signs of discomfort. You'll do no one any favors by waiting too long to treat the pain."

"I will," Clive promises. Though it's clear by the shifting of his limbs that there's more weighing on his mind. Sure enough, a moment later he speaks up again. "Tarja… There's something I've been thinking about since my return to Storm. I was hoping to discuss it with you and Mid if you have the time."

"Mine and Midadol's name in the same sentence? I shudder to consider where our expertise would overlap." Tarja folds her arms over her chest, but she gestures for him to carry on. "Let's hear it, then."

With a soft clearing of his throat, Clive holds up his fractured arm. "I've been contemplating the matter of a prosthesis."

Surprise fills her, and Jill tips her head up to meet Clive's gaze when it seeks hers out.

"Hm. I can see the connection now," Tarja admits. She steps nearer to carefully inspect the wound again, this time with a differing perspective no doubt. "I can't speak for Mid's familiarity with the subject. That said, if we were to put one in place then we would need to sand down what remains of the curse. Anything that could break off further under the strain and motion of the prosthetic's presence. Which could lead to opening a new wound in the process, but better something we can treat beforehand than the metal rubbing it raw later on."

Jill traces the pad of her thumb along the knuckles of Clive's remaining hand. "Fashioning some sort of padding would be useful, I'd imagine. Just in case?"

Tarja nods. "Indeed it would. But regardless of all that, I would caution against using one full-time. There's the obvious reason of course - I very much doubt you'd want to sleep with it on - but the added weight might put a strain on your arm and shoulder."

"Right," Clive murmurs, "it might prove more of an obstacle than it's worth… I had wondered about that when I confronted Kupka at Drake's Fang. Though I wasn't exactly given much time to admire the metalwork he'd donned while he hid himself away."

Blinking rapidly, Jill's posture straightens up. "I don't remember you mentioning Hugo had replaced his hands."

"Like I said, I was only aware of them for a short time before more pressing matters distracted me. It slipped my mind entirely until I found myself in a similar position as him." A dark huff leaves Clive. "He must be enjoying the irony of it all from the afterlife."

"Let him laugh," Tarja remarks coldly, "so long as his soul keeps burning all the while. Now back to the matter at hand. If you wanted to go ahead with filing the stone down while we await Mid's return that can be arranged, though I would prefer you give it some thought and time to rest first. Particularly because I know you're tendency to rush off before you've given yourself a reprieve."

Clive wilts with a sheepish frown and Jill stifles her amusement, for she can predict where this will be going. "About that… Jill and I had intended to visit Oriflamme soon."

A beleaguered sigh escapes the head physicker. "Why am I not surprised?"

"In a few days' time, not right away."

"So you say."

Jill can't hold in her laughter any longer. "I promise I'll make sure he doesn't strain himself before we go."

"Such promises ring empty from you, too."

Clive's hand tightens in its hold on Jill's. "We both swear to it. But I must go. I need… I need to see my brother again."

The humor in the air vanishes as quick as the snuffing of a candle. Jill returns the squeeze and Tarja's expression sobers. The latter moves her hand up to rest on Clive's shoulder, speaking low. "I know. Otto mentioned… I'm sorry you had to wait so long to learn the truth. I won't bother trying to stop you from racing off to him; I'll only caution you not to strain yourself while you're away. Goodness knows you both deserve a proper vacation. So take one at the emperor's expense while you're away."

Another, smaller smile finds its way back onto Jill's lips when she turns to face Clive. "I quite like the sound of that. Don't you?"

With a soft hum and a smile of his own, Clive nods. "It does sound nice. Taking walks in the royal garden…"

"Wine tastings from the castle stores," Jill adds.

"And I'm certain the guest accommodations were spared no expense."

"Alright you lovebirds," Tarja interjects before they can get too carried away, "save the honeymoon planning for the privacy of your own room. I have other patients who need attending."

Cheeks burning at the jest, Jill stands with Clive and offers her friend a meek parting glance before they depart hand-in-hand. No one stops them as they make their way through the hideaway's halls. Likely because they know Clive has been put on bedrest and fear their physicker's ire, or perhaps because they wish to give him and Jill the privacy they are deserving of. They're not granted it immediately - after all, while the bedroom itself has remained Jill's, Gav has been making full use of the office space - but once their dear scout relieves the solar of the last of his effects Jill is free to take her beloved into her arms and relish in the reality that at last, at last…

Clive is home.