Chapter Text
Far out in the Western Coerthas Highlands Seike is standing, heart beating out of her chest.
Her head is clouded, pounding with the beginning of what promises to be a particularly intense headache and her pack is light, lacking all of the usual supplies she brings along when going hunting. Even her aether is bordering on completely depleted — even should she want to, she can’t teleport back to safety.
Madness , the hunt clan would call it. Ever since being initiated they had instilled in her the importance of being well prepared, of doing her research and of picking marks she is absolutely sure she can handle. The remaining Scions too had urged her to be careful, had bid her think of how important she is to what they do before she risked it all on a cheap thrill.
And Seike has thought of it, has turned down jobs and offers and treated herself with a care she usually reserved for others but today —
She wants to feel it.
Perhaps it is the grief of a broken shield still lingering underneath her skin, screaming at her to pay attention. Perhaps it is the white-hot rage surging through her when she thinks of Aymeric in a hospital bed, pale and shaken and so, so small.
Perhaps it is all of that and more finally spilling over, the knowledge that wherever she goes terrible things are bound to follow — that she is shackled to a fate destined to bring ruin upon those she loved whether she wished it or not.
Knowing there is no way to back out today has her lips twisting into a bitter version of a smile, a grim sort of satisfaction having settled deep once she came far enough that no one could notice and decide to talk her out of it.
She couldn’t tell Alphinaud about this, about how she looked at Ysayle and saw the lot their respective blessings had saddled them with. That sometimes the thought struck her — if she had taken the blow for Haurchefant, would Hydaleyn have intervened and saved her? He wouldn’t understand, she knew that. The young elezen was idealistic to a fault and who was she to shatter that illusion?
She couldn’t confide in Y’shtola as the miqo’te had a way of getting under her skin that she thinks might make her try and crawl out of it right now, nor could she turn to Thancred as much as she might want to — the man had enough troubles of his own and could barely look her in the eyes ever since being told they knew nothing of Minfilias whereabouts.
Besides, what would she say? That sorrow weighed so heavy on her she feared it might bring her to her knees at any moment? Would she tell them she wakes up screaming warnings that would never reach the people they were meant for? What good would it do to place that burden on them, Seike thinks, when there is nothing to do about it.
No. This she would face alone — and that’s what brings her here, feet planted as the cold Coerthas winds sends raven hair whipping around her face.
The sun sits high up in clear skies and the landscape stretching out in front of her could be mistaken for a painting were it not for the monstrous beast pacing restlessly a good few yalms ahead of her. It is huge, colours stark against the whites and greys of the icy fields. It prowls the abandoned village buildings as if it were king — which, admittedly, out here she guessed it was.
The Kaiser Behemoth.
Tantalus, her ever-loyal choboco companion, warbles softly and presses his beak to her shoulder as she regards her hunt mark with knitted brows. It had appeared shortly after the calamity and claimed the lives of countless fools brave or stupid enough to try and put it down — and that’s about all she knows of it.
She had snatched the bill as the sun rose with no thought as to what it contained or where it would send her — all she knew was that she needed to get out of Fortemps manor before the weight of sorrow lingering in every room there crushed her. Out, out, out of the place where no one dared look at her as if she would break if they did.
The ground shakes with every step the Behemoth takes and Seike tilts her lance downward, muttering a quiet ‘stay’ to her companion. He didn’t need to be punished for her bad choices. She considers her point of attack briefly — far too briefly to be sure of herself, but her blood sings with the need to do something . Fight something.
A deep inhale, then —
Engage.
The air whistles past her ears as she propels herself with a spineshatter dive, driving her lance into the thick skin of the Behemoth with gritted teeth. The beast howls in pain and surprise, loud enough that it makes the very air around it vibrate. It blindly slashes at nothingness, searching for its assailant as Seike does a backflip.
She lands on a fleck of icy ground and scrambles to stay on her feet as the Behemoth turns on her with flaring nostrils. Seikes grip on her lance grows white-knuckled — far from the easy hold Alberic had preached when he taught her that move the first time.
A tight grip means tension. Tension means mistakes, could mean death.
Aren’t those the kind of stakes she wanted today though?
Focus, she tells herself as the monster lowers its head and snorts, claws curling into the ground underneath it. The world seems to hold its breath as the two assess each other, tension building in the silence. Seike is the one to break it, launching her lance into the Behemoths flank with a shout — a challenge — and instantly following with a jump to grab it again. The beast shakes violently until she’s flung aside, sweaty fingers slipping on the weapon still lodged in its flesh, swearing as she tucks herself as small as possible and rolling away.
Focus , she tries again but the calm that she usually reaches for when doing battle eludes her and getting her lance back costs her with a graze of claws over her shoulder, the pain making her cry out. There is no time to recover from it though as the Behemoth lowers its horns and prepares to run her through — it is only years of muscle memory that saves her.
Seike swears again, a long ugly litany of curses as she tries to find her footing. Where intent and movement is usually crystal clear to her is now a haze, like she’s viewing everything at a delay. They trade blows equally for a time as she falls back on instinct and adrenaline — Seike slams the butt of her spear across the Behemoths eye socket, the Behemoth strikes her ribs with a blow that makes the world flicker black for a good minute.
But.
As time goes on Seike is struck by the dawning realization — that she is in no shape to win this fight. She should be calling it off, should be chalking this up to a loss and turn back but instead the frustration burns in her. She takes bigger risks, opens herself up to more mistakes in the hopes that by gambling she can still clutch the win.
She refuses to back down. She needs this.
Spiraling . That’s what she’s doing and Seike knows it, hates that she knows it, strikes out wildly until she’s out of breath and as the Behemoth faces her with uncaring eyes she can taste the glorious, dizzying edge of fear.
The thought of Alphinaud crosses her mind just before the beast charges and her blood runs cold as she wonders what he would say if they find her here. He would never forgive himself and that’s what makes her tap her linkpearl twice, spitting out the blood in her mouth as she prays it’s not configured to Alphinauds line — it crackles loudly before Thancreds smooth voice comes from the other end and it nearly makes her sob in relief.
“Thancred here. What’s the matter?”
“Western Highlands. Gorgagne.” Seike manages to choke out before she has to avoid another swipe, hearing Thancred bark a question followed by a mad scramble before the line goes dead.
From there it’s a blur of movement, exhaustion nipping at her heels as she does her damndest to stay alive until Thancred arrives with help or the Behemoth claims her life. The snow is flecked with blood from both her and the beast and there’s a numbness to her injured shoulder that she doesn’t really want to think about, the cure she tries to cast fizzling out and dying before even becoming visible.
Time slows to a crawl.
Dodge. Duck. Move, move, move.
Her pulse roars in her ears, like the crashing of stormy ocean waves hitting a ship.
Then —
Then.
A hand, so impossibly warm. Fingers on her pulse point and someone shouting in her ear, a foul-tasting drink poured down her throat. Seike spits and gags on it, instinctively trying to get away from whoever is forcing the vileness on her.
“Thank the twelve, at least I know you’re alive.”
Seike blinks against the warm light of the setting sun, Thancred slowly solidifying in front of her. He is holding a half-emptied potion bottle, crouched down in front of the Behemoths unmoving form. Steam is evaporating from its skin, meaning it can’t be long ago that he dealt the killing blow.
She has never been happier to see him.
“You’re godsdamn lucky your chocobo was halfway back to Falcons Nest and could get me to you in time,” Thancred says quietly, holding the potion toward her. Seike tries to reach for it only to whimper, hand falling back down as her shoulder protests with a violent throb. Thancred purses his lips, shifting closer so he can tip the bottle against her lips.
With the other hand he brushes her hair away from her face with a gentleness that’s at odds with the dark expression he wears. Seike averts her gaze — she doesn’t want one of his lectures, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything.
Seike wonders how terrible she must look for Thancred to pass up the chance to scold her and while it should be sobering it is instead rather amusing, a chuckle working it’s way up her chest only to turn into a violent cough that tastes of iron and dirt. Thancred either doesn’t notice her brief levity or he doesn’t care, setting the empty bottle down on the ground.
“This will tide you over for the time being — but you’re in no shape to move and lucky for you, you chose to call for the one person in your vicinity who cannot teleport nor heal. As I had no time to alert anyone else, we will have to stay here for now until I can run for help and someone picks us up.” He startles as Seike makes a noise of protest.
“Don’t,” she swallows thickly, trying to convey her desperation as best she can. “Tell yet. Please.”
Thancred frowns, looking unconvinced so she leans into his hand, hoping it will somehow make her request more clear. “Please.” She says again. If there was anyone who would understand her right now, it was Thancred. Even if he hated her for her role in Minfilias sacrifice, even if he couldn’t stand to be around her — she selfishly wished he would grant her this.
There is no way she could face Alphinaud or the Fortemps family like this, battered and broken due to her own selfish wants and needs.
She searches Thancreds face, disappointment blossoming in her chest when she realizes he still keeps his eye fixed on a point just to the left of her. It makes her feel like a misbehaving child and if she had the strength to do so she would demand that he looked at her, would give voice to the conflict that has been building between them ever since finding him in Dravania.
But this is not the time or place and she thinks that if she tries to speak again she might throw up as her body starts to catch up with the pain. She focuses on the crisp, cold air and the way it contrasts with Thancred’s warm palm, lets the discrepancy between the two sensations anchor her as the rogue considers what to say.
“Seeing you like this would make everyone worried sick,” he settles for finally, saying it slowly as if trying the words out. “And as my linkpearl was crushed under the paws of that gentlemanly behemoth you chose I would have to leave you here to call for help.” Seike sees the concession for what it is and sighs in gratitude, adrenaline leaving her all at once as the inevitable confrontation with the rest of the world is pushed back.
“So lets see what kind of shelter we can scrounge up, eh? One of these houses must be somewhat decent,” she’s not sure if he’s talking to her or himself, closing her eyes with an exhale.
Selfish, selfish, selfish. But she is so grateful that she can’t bring herself to care.
Thancred looks around and she can practically hear the gears turning now that his mind is made up and he can consider the best options to move forward. It has always been one of his biggest strengths, she muses deliriously. The way he accepts the world for what it is and works with what he’s given.
She is glad that he was the one on the other end of the line.
“Hey, don’t pass out —” is the last thing she hears before slipping into blissful nothingness, Thancreds warm hand still resting on her temple.