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You were the Sunshine of my Lifetime.
What would you trade the pain for?
A hundred years.
A hundred years of cultivating, founding, and leading an entire populace of wayward souls to sanctuary. Souls that were desperate to find solace and purpose during a harrowing time.
A hundred years to learn to hone his tongue, to speak with diplomacy, to school his expression and bury the young man he’d once been so deep he wasn’t sure who that was anymore. No, he was the Crystal Exarch now.
And yet, he was staring at his sandaled feet like a lost boy in front of a closed door, hand hovering over green hued iron and wood as if afraid to even graze its surface.
He certainly did not feel like the Crystal Exarch at that moment.
He only had to knock. It would be so easy to do compared to the multitude of things he’d done in the past century preparing for the very path they were treading now. And yet somehow, despite his accomplishments, he hadn’t quite prepared himself to simply knock on a door . It wasn’t as if its occupant was even resting when he could barely hear the muffled shuffling of someone pacing just beyond and yet he hesitated .
He inhaled softly, eyes closed. Heavy was the hood that concealed him, a crown in its own right, but he was grateful for the comfort of it as he reminded himself why he was there in the first place. There were, as always, a hundred things he could be doing; there were delegations to make, injuries to oversee, and an altercation to prepare for as Eulmore would no doubt take offense to the loss of a Lightwarden. And yet, rather than address said pressing responsibilities, he had found his thoughts drifting almost insistently to the distant look in his warrior’s eyes and the troubled pinch in his brow at battle’s end.
A memory drifted over his thoughts like a spectre, haunting him until his feet had led him to the Pendants where all he’d done on arrival was hesitate.
He exhaled. And knocked.
The shuffling inside paused in reply and the Exarch imagined it might have been in surprise though it also could have been irritation over the disturbance. It was late after all now that the unnatural glare of Light had been vanquished and their beautiful endless sunless sea had only grown deeper with each hour. Many were already resting within its embrace or winding down from well-earned and rather inebriated celebrations. But then the shuffling resumed as a voice responded, too muffled to be properly heard, and the door creaked open with curiosity.
“Exarch.” Ah, and it was surprise that met him at the door after all as the young Miqo’te within greeted him with raised eyebrows and an inquisitive look. The expressive perk of his ears made him smile softly with nostalgia though he was careful to make it apologetic at best.
“I apologize, I know I had recommended that you rest after today’s events but I wanted to check in one last time before I find my own respite.” A half lie when the Exarch did not actually intend to rest. He’d slept more than enough to last a lifetime or two after all.
The momentary look that grazed across Fe’on’s face suggested that he suspected that a reprieve from duty was the furthest thing from the Exarch’s mind but it was gone just as quick as a thoughtful look took its place. He could see the brewing debate beneath the other’s furrowed brow but patience held his tongue until the answer eventually came. “Well, the blond was a surprise to see properly but I can’t say I hate it.”
The Exarch chuckled though he could feel something clench in his chest. It was nearly impossible to ignore the golden hue the other’s hair had taken on in addition to the Light he’d absorbed. It was striking compared to the soft, almost mousy brown that it had been before. The guilt in his belly grew heavier no matter how well the change suited him.
“It does rather suit you though I suspect that it is not your only concern.” He paused for just a moment, tilting his head to check if there were any other residents up and about that could overhear before he continued. “Have there been any other side effects?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Just the usual room ghost and all that.”
“It gladdens me to hear that, apparent haunting aside. I know I’ve made a tremendous request of you but that does not mean that I would be unbothered if you were burdened with further woes in addition to my solicitation for your services.”
And there it was.
As if he’d cast some sort of spell, the Exarch watched as the other’s gaze drifted somewhere far away at the very mention of their earlier interaction, though he was not sure if it was the burden he’d bestowed upon him that carried him away or Holminster itself. It made his hand tighten on the metal of his staff briefly as a reflex. It hummed imperceptibly in reply beneath his palm as if to soothe his own swell of anxiety.
“Fe’on?” Rarely did the Exarch utter his name outright for fear that the other might recognize the sound of it on his tongue but the sudden inquiry seemed to be just the right trick to return the blond to the present.
“Sorry. Sorry, ugh, can I-..” A rare mark of hesitation stilled his tongue for a moment before Fe’on shook his head ruefully, something that perplexed him before he seemed to finally find the words and his resolve. “Can I ask something of you?”
“Of course.” A million contention plans sprung up in the back of his thoughts to prepare for the worst.
Did he have second thoughts? Was this too much of an ask after all? Did he suspect?
In his haste to predict and prepare for the worst, smart as he was, there was a simple truth that the Exarch had forgotten and therefore failed to account for.
Out of the three Warriors of Light, Fe’on was the most un predictable.
“Would you lie with me?”
His thoughts ground to a halt.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No ugh, I’m sorry.” Fe’on sighed and smacked his hand over his face only to rub the back of his neck. He stepped back from the door to allow the Exarch to finally step inside as he seemed to suddenly remember that anyone could leave their home and overhear their conversation and the embarrassing turn it had taken. The Exarch stepped in and shut the door dutifully behind him though he didn’t dare look away from the Miqo’te shuffling his bare feet over the stone floor in a way he could only describe as flustered. “It’s stupid.”
A distant memory brushed against his thoughts, warm and nostalgic from a time when everything had been so new. “I’d like to understand. Would you humor me?”
The quiet that fell between them was like a held breath before the blond nodded as the embarrassment of before seemed to bleed out of his demeanor little by little. “A friend once helped me sort my thoughts by lying with me when I couldn’t sleep,” He chuckled, “Though I half suspect it also may have been an effort to stop me from thrashing around at that time. It worked though. It’s kind of become a habit now and again honestly.”
The boy locked away deep within his memory knew this story. But the Exarch did not.
Fe’on scrubbed the fingers of one hand through his short thick crop of blond hair, that same warm sense of nostalgia tugging his gaze aside in a mirror image of his own heart before he shook his head with an absentminded smile that made the Exarch’s chest ache.
“My mentor is on the Source, I’m not yet as close with the other Scions as she is, and it feels wrong to ask the twins given how the past few days have gone and after today.. Well, I’m sure they’re probably catching up anyway given how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other from what Alisaie has told me.” The Exarch didn’t need Fe’on to explain that the two were likely comforting each other through their own horrors in the way only they could. He envied their bond himself though he’d long accepted that he was destined to never be so known. He couldn’t afford to be known.
“And myself?”
“I know, I know. Unconventional but.. you’re the only other party who understands where I’m from and what transpired today. Unless you’d rather I drop all this on some poor fool downstairs?”
“Imagine the uproar.” The Exarch allowed himself to smile, amused by the idea.
“I know, right? Local stranger tries to vent only to reveal he’s from another world and could potentially be the legendary Warrior of Darkness himself. The rumors would be kind of insane.”
He shouldn’t humor this. The risk was too great.
“Well, we certainly can’t have that though it does leave one particular obstacle to tackle.”
“Oh, you’re agreeing to it?”
This was dangerous.
“I’m quite fond of my anonymity and as I’ve explained before, it’s for my own reasons that I remain such. Lying down could-..”
Fe’on waved his hand, unbothered by this declaration as if he’d already accepted the terms of his conditions regarding his identity without the Exarch even needing to make the argument. “I know. I’d be an ass if I harped on you about that now. And besides, the only person that would lose anything here would be me since you could just say no and leave if I did. Lemme just crawl in first and just face away if you want. No shenanigans, I swear.”
This was dangerous.
“Amenable terms.”
The Warrior of Light was already half undressed when he’d arrived, the red gambison he’d arrived to the First in already stripped of its pauldron, sash, and leather with his boots and socks long removed. As he pulled the gambison itself off next to make himself more bed appropriate, the Exarch stepped up to the landing to lean his staff carefully against the wall next to the bed itself. And find every reason to not watch if he was being completely honest with himself, something he rarely allowed. By the time Fe’on had finished, he was already busying himself with politely unlacing his own sandals, knowing that any form of shoe might be ill received in anyone’s bed no matter the age, place, or position.
The laugh Fe’on made as he passed him and climbed into the bed told him it was appreciated.
Feet bare and staff aside, the Exarch stood at the side of the bed, ready to join the dressed down Warrior within and felt like a lost boy all over again. Heart lodged in his throat, he climbed in behind him, taking in the loose white undershirt and the fresh pair of trousers the other had thrown on as he prepared to lie down just short of the other’s back. He was overdressed by far, unwilling to strip further than his sandals when anything could happen, when Eulmore could be driven to respond at any moment. A risk he comforted himself with as a clever excuse. It was just as he was lying down properly and taking note of the extra bedding the other had no doubt requested, that he noticed the arm the blond had raised in invitation, even with the blond faced away on his side, the offer was clear.
Come closer.
He shouldn’t. He should ignore it. He should stay put .
Face burning, he shuffled forward and tucked in behind the other man as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They both wordlessly shuffled just enough so that his arm was not pinned between them and instead beneath the pillows though with Fe’on facing the wall, the arm that was tugged in place around him was the crystalized limb that he was suddenly hyper aware of the other handling.
“Good?”
Good? Good? The question was almost laughable when he could feel a hundred years of self-discipline straining dangerously against his own ancient yearning with a fierceness that nearly frightened him.
He could scarcely breathe and yet he found a way.
Gods but he was so warm he might forget how.
“Yes, it’s comfortable. Is my arm-?” He could feel his hood already shifting dangerously against the pillow as he felt Fe’on lift the blue crystalline limb to peer at it closer. They differed in height by barely an inch and he felt the similarity with stark clarity as pressing against the other’s back left his face close enough to the other’s nape that he was certain his cheeks could melt steel. It was a miracle that he was still breathing normally when every one of his repressed instincts threatened to ruin everything he’d built just to scent him like any other healthy Miqo’te would.
“It’s fine. Is it aether that keeps it.. alive? Is it alive?” There was a dull sensation of the other’s hand grazing over the surface of his arm, fingers dancing over the cleverly faceted surface that still somehow mimicked skin in a strange pantomime of the rest of his flesh. He gripped the topic like a landline, all the while realizing just how shameless the other had grown in his absence when he still remembered a younger version that had reddened terribly over well-intentioned teasing from other NOAH members.
“To harness the Tower comes with.. cost. Though likewise, it cannot have a caretaker that cannot move and so it lends me the means to do so.”
“Sounds like a messy pact.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic, though simplified. Pacts were risky and messy business and he’d taken many risks for his devotion to the task he’d set himself to. He was reluctant to admit the true state of the flesh he lost, though he also suspected that the blond was already tracking the aether beneath from the distant way he could feel his fingers glance from his forearm to his wrist until he stopped at his fingers. But like before, Fe’on did not press or cajole him to explain. It was a relief as much as it was discomforting, if only because it made him wonder just how clever the blond had become over the years.
Actually, perhaps having his crystalized arm about him was a boon rather than a loss. The senses were dulled by the tower’s burden and he found himself less tempted to let his thoughts wander with the rare chance to have the source of his affections beneath his hand. By contrast, it was also a loss as he could not feel well enough to better gauge the rhythm of the other’s own heart even with his palm braced against his chest.
Part of him hoped that it raced ever so slightly though there was no reason for Fe’on to feel anything at all when he was hardly more than a stranger as the leader of the Crystarium. The constant contradiction between longing and resolution was almost maddening.
But there were other concerns to address.
“May I ask about the thoughts that distract you so?”
Fe’on met his words with a soft hum though he could tell by the flick and subtle turn of his ear that he was listening. His own ears remained pinned back in turn as if by instinct to continue to avoid discovery despite the reassuring promise that the other would not look. With every movement of his head, even subtle, his hood continued to progressively slip with the metal accents clinking ever so softly. The cropped remains of the other’s tail shifted but he could not yet tell what it meant when so much of it had been lost.
It was difficult not to mourn the loss each time he noticed it truth be told, as he remembered the thick fullness of the fur it once had with a vague recollection of how pleasant it had been twined about his own, even casually.
“I risk sounding like a homesick kit.” Fe’on remarked softly, his tone bordering on reluctant. The Exarch hummed softly in response, a simple reassuring sound.
“It would be remiss of me to fault you even if you did given what I have asked of you.”
“Truthfully.. this is my first time being truly apart from my mentor Feol. I know I could return to the source at any time and seek her out if I ever truly need her guidance but-..” He could feel the full sigh from the rise and fall of the chest beneath his arm and gave him the briefest of squeeze of encouragement. Nothing more. “I begged to be the one to come here, you know. We were all afflicted by your call but it was her that received the instruction to approach the base of the tower, not me.”
Oh, he had feared that and felt the distant panic of a near-miss to hear how close he’d been to the outcome being wholly different. Being unable to clearly see who he made contact with through the veil between worlds, there had been significant risk that he could have been directing either of the other two Warriors rather than the one he specifically sought. He allowed his tone to be colored with the surprise he felt though, to hear that Fe’on had therefore consciously chosen to make the journey. “You did? I take it from the sound of things that it took some convincing.”
“I did and yeah, it did.” He felt the laugh that came next. “She’s become more than my mentor over the years though honestly. She’s pretty much my mom now and it wasn’t like her fear wasn’t unfounded given the things she’s seen and.. Well. I’m not stupid, I know you’ve been too polite to ask about my tail.”
The sudden turn in conversation was almost jarring had he no trust that it was relevant. Half of him celebrated over finally getting an answer to the question that plagued him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on the other’s backside while the other half swore at having been caught in any way. He’d been so careful to remain detached and professional after all. “What gave you that impression?”
What they were doing now did not count. This was professional. He was simply ensuring that his newly christened Warrior of Darkness was okay.
Fe’on laughed again, unbothered. “I feel like it’s common sense. People tend to just ask, skirt around it, or just pretend it’s not missing at all but you know they’re still wondering. Miqo’te or Mystel, we don’t really lose our tails easily and it’s even rarer for it to remain short from birth.”
“I cannot refute that, given what I’ve learned of your people over time. I assume she witnessed the act then?”
“Of me cutting it off in battle? Yeah.”
The inhale he took was purely involuntary, horror filling his belly and sliding down his spine to his own cleverly hidden tail though he fought tooth and nail to resist the urge to flinch and instead allowed himself to murmur a soft, “Wicked White. Yourself?”
“Yeah I know. But hey, it was me or the tail and I like me more.” Another laugh, his humor no doubt well earned. “It’s a long story, honestly.”
Oh, how he burned with curiosity. “Would it trouble you if I asked?”
“Mm.” Fe’on hummed absently in a way he could only surmise was thoughtful without a face to go off of. “Well, we were attempting to liberate two countries from subjugation and fairly early on, the base belonging to the rebellion of one of them was ambushed. The prince of the Empire that they were rebelling against mistook me for Feol, hurt several of our own, and.. totally ripped me a new one. Like, really really got my ass.”
The fist of his living arm clenched beneath the pillow, safe from sight.
He’d heard about the war to free Ala Mhigo and Doma from Garlemald of course, but the details had been largely summarized compared to the thorough memoir from House Fortemps that had been recovered regarding the Dragonsong War. Much of it the account spoke mainly of Feol and Auva, the third Warrior of their group, but like the Dragonsong Memoir, it mentioned little of Fe’on himself. Until the end.
“During the battle my tail was pinned to hold me in place and when he was about to kill me, I just kind of-” Fe’on made a sound with his throat, a telling swish with an accompanying gesture of his hand. “Freed myself. It was in bad shape anyway and I guess impressed him enough to spare me in hopes I’d give him a better fight later. We figured out later he just had our names mixed up, misheard mine for hers, but it didn’t really matter in the long run. Feol saw the whole thing while she was busy keeping one of our own alive and I just.. remember how she looked after.”
Helpless, he imagined. Horrified and filled with grief for a perceived failure despite forces outside her control.
He knew that feeling well.
“The truth is it made me stronger in the end because it gave me the right push to improve myself, break out on my own for a while and figure out my own path. Self improvement, blah blah. But.. it left its mark. So you can imagine convincing her to let me take the lead and jump through a mystery portal to a mystery place where she couldn’t go with me wasn’t a simple task.”
“I can very well imagine it given what you’ve described.” More than he could ever be allowed to know. “But if there’s much I’ve observed, it is that you can be fairly persuasive.”
“Haha, thanks. I won when I pointed out that if the Tower was involved, G’raha might be as well. And I just couldn’t accept missing the chance. I think she knew.”
His stomach twisted. “Ah, the person you mentioned when we met at the gate. And now?”
Did he regret it?
“Well-” Fe’on’s tone grew somber, his body still. “I can’t help fearing that by doing so, I robbed this world of someone stronger than myself.”
“You did not.” The words were simple, firm, and past his lips quicker than the Exarch intended when he preferred to speak with diplomacy. Always well thought and carefully curated, though the discussion earlier that night did remind him that he was not immune to fits of passion if his speech was anything to go by.
It made his cheeks warm now that he could not be seen as he remembered how he’d been moved to kneel just to address him, to beseech him for his assistance and wondered if the yearning he’d felt had bled into the passion with which he’d spoken.
All along, he’d been struck by the new ways Fe’on had changed from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on him again. He’d been surprised on sight by the change of his hair from wavy mop to close crop, the loss of his tail, and the confidence in his walk but the wonders hadn’t ceased there. He was no longer a scrappy scrawny fresh faced adventurer. He was leaner, ready. The youngest Warrior of Light no longer shied from physical touch and a bit of rough housing from the playful way he’d seen him interact with the twins. He had moved on from conjury to match Alisaie’s own class and fought with skill and intent now, moving in ways he’d never seen. He was unafraid. He was more as he’d become comfortable in his own skin. He’d grown.
But he was still Fe’on . He was still the young man who was hungry for more, who fought with a gaze so intense it made the hair stand up on his neck, and yet still struggled to see what it meant to see himself as worthy. He was still the young man sitting on the bridge of Mor Dhona, wringing his hands as he quietly admitted that he yearned to be proud of himself. To be enough.
He was still G’raha Tia’s Fe’on . Just more.
But he was no longer G’raha Tia.
The Exarch felt his heart soar only to swiftly cage it once more, his thoughts racing to find the right words, words that would make sense coming from him. Words that would fit the Crystal Exarch.
His heart thrashed against the bars, aching to bump his head against him with familiarity, to comfort him with a touch to his hair, to his ears, and wrap his tail around his leg. The ache resonated so deep that his unseen fist only tightened, white knuckled with restraint.
He would not allow himself to think of the rest of his words. He couldn’t.
He was no longer G’raha Tia.
He was the Crystal Exarch now.
And he could never be both.
“Please trust me that I feel it in ways that I cannot express that this path must be true. Just as I knew that I had a role here, I know that you do as well. Perhaps in our journey we will find the truth of your role just as I’ve found much of my own.” With sincerity, the Exarch allowed himself to squeeze Fe’on with firm intent, resolved to express himself properly for such a somber discussion just this once despite how otherwise politely distant he was dedicated to maintain. It was worth the dulled sensation of Fe’on squeezing the arm around his chest back with his own placed over it.
“I haven’t done much yet without the others and the moment you ask me to work with you to save a whole world, I second guess myself. Are you still okay with that? With me?”
“Yes.” He was firm again, bordering on insistent. It has to be you. It will always be you.
“Okay, all right. I concede. If you’re so sure.” There was a soft huff akin to the beginning of a chuckle, defeated but accepting of the inevitable enigmatic nature that all of the Exarch’s answers tended to carry in his desperation to hold on to his secrecy. “You’re really not just saying that to make me feel better though, right? Because I’ll flip over so fast, I swear.”
“On my oath to the people of the Crystarium, I mean it. The severity of your threat notwithstanding.”
This time Fe’on laughed and the knot of his guilt loosened. Just a bit. Just enough.
Another silence slid across them, softer this time as it soothed the somber atmosphere to something gentler. He could feel the adventurer against him relax over time, the faintest hint of a purr just barely audible over the natural ambience of the Pendants from the rumbling of distant pipes to the tick of a clock across the room. It wasn’t long until he realized his companion had slipped into slumber entirely and allowed himself to smile, small and solemn but true before resting his forehead against the other’s nape.
It was like this that he allowed himself to close his eyes, if only for a moment, and breathe.
The scent that greeted him immediately conjured the sea to his mind, the fresh spray of saltwater and the warm unique scent of leather and sun. There beneath it was a hint of oranges that made him smile just as much as it tempted him to cry.
It reminded him of a sweat crusted brow and battle filthy hands producing a fruit from the pouch at his hip. A shy laugh he thought he’d forgotten lingered on the edge of memory as the lost version of his other self complained that he was being made to stay back and observe every battle. He thought of a dying campfire, a cramped tent and the restless anxiety of the young man nearby and the distant scent of distress. The pinch of his brow. The distance in his gaze though not yet seasoned with battle or experience.
He thought of that spectre of himself. He thought of his bravery to reach out to his source of admiration.
“Would you like me to lie with you?”
“Sorry.. was I keeping you up?”
“Not at all. Now move over, allow me to join you.”
“Haha, sure. C’mere.”
“Now, tell me what troubles a talented adventurer like yourself.”
“I’ve been tricked!”
A hundred years for this moment, stolen and secret.
A hundred years for a reminder of the cost of failure.
He would not fail.
No matter the cost.