synthneon | au au || ❝ our fate so darkly romantic, i will never leave your side. ❞

au au || ❝ our fate so darkly romantic, i will never leave your side. ❞

tba

AU PLOTLINE

when i thought that i fought this war alone,
we were one with our destinies entwined
when i thought that i fought without a cause,
you gave me the reason why... CODE BY TESSISAMESS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Phya Tayuun always felt alone.

Some part of her, despite having many around her, felt as if someone was missing. A part of her that always ached. The feeling continued to grow the older she became and even to the point where it was consuming. Even from a young age she would watch the knights march into Idyllshire, hoping that she could pick him out amongst the others. Her eyes would intently watch each face to the point where she could tell who was a veteran and who was a new recruit.

None of them were him.

Maybe he couldn't find her.

The thought alone was crushing enough to make her ailments worse. She had always been a sickly child. Conjurers from the South had believed it was the trade for the healing capabilities she was able to tap into. To give was to take, and perhaps what the elements took from her was a stable health. The reason hardly mattered to her in the end. She had spent that winter curled up in her bed at the orphanage, face hidden in the stuffed animal of a fox that she had been gifted one Starlight Eve.

What is the point of it if I can't find you?

Winter gave to spring and an unexpected person arrived in Idyllshire. He hailed from the south, axe on his back, claiming to be an adventurer that had come to help. He was also looking at adventurers to join him in his travels. Several places along the Corethas region needed help and perhaps traveling together might aid all involved. The adventurer had asked her sister (well, adopted sister) to aid him. Something inside her broke at the idea of being left behind, and she rushed to enlist her services as well. It was clear the adventurer--named Ardbert--worried for her health. That wouldn't stop her. She couldn't be left behind by her sister.

Maybe, just maybe, she could find him as well.

The three of them traveled to several towns, all in various shapes of disrepair. Many had decided to leave their homes and move to Idyllshire as perhaps it was the last bastion of safety from the Dravanian Hoard. The proud city-state of Ishgard had fallen decades ago to the hands of the Calamity and those who survived scattered and fought to survive in the lands that had once been filled with green and life, now turned to a frozen wasteland. Phya did what she could to aid those who were sick, sharing her knowledge of potions and healing techniques that did not rely on merely aether. Her own knowledge expanded in each town they visited as well. Perhaps in the future she might find a way to connect all the healers in the towns so they could better heal all.

Their latest destination has turned out quite different from the others.

The town is in relatively decent condition with a thriving sense of community and food, despite all of the conditions. The various people had said their home predated the Calamity, and thus it had not been as difficult to adjust. Especially as they were aided by a knight whose family seemed to be as old as the founding of Ishgard. Tiberius, however, insisted he was no more a knight than Ishgard was a place anymore. He had a family lineage he cared for and protected. The townsfolk and town merely fell under it as the lands were in his heritage.

Their lord, however, seemed to be quite the different story.

The townsfolk never spoke much of their lord. Not out of fear of him, but out of wariness of outsiders. What she, her sister, and Ardbert could gather was that the lord had been gravely injured in the last Dravanian attack and had retired to his manor atop the onlooking cliff to heal. It had been months since, and some had wondered if he had died, or if he ever intended to rejoin them below. Tiberius insisted all was well and that their lord was healing as one was to be expected with the wounds he sustained. Even more, it was not the place of strangers to interfere in things they didn't know.

Phya had other plans.

If she could show they meant no harm, and only wished to help, then perhaps they would see. If she could heal the lord to any degree, then perhaps it would prove to Ardbert that she could hold her own and earned a place alongside him. Maybe, then, something of her would be useful and she would not be left behind...

She takes a basket with her filled with balms, potions, bandages and food to share. If no one had taken the trip to the manor, then surely he was in need of fresh food. The snow is deep, but she presses on regardless. The near summer air is warmer despite the snow that seems to refuse to leave and melt no matter the time of year. She is used to traversing through such conditions to some degree at least. It still takes her a fair amount of the day to reach the top of the cliff and see the manor. Her heart skips a beat but she pays it no mind. Exploring can happen after her self-given mission is accomplished. Though, something of how the floor plan and the decorations of the manor seem not only familiar, but something she might call home.

Phya carefully climbs the stairs and turns the corner. There is a faint sense of aether that runs through the floor almost in a line. At the end of the invisible line is what should be a door. Instead, it is a shimmering barrier, and the door is either broken open or unable to close due to the barrier. Her head tilts at the idea of a barrier instead of a door. Is it to keep others out, or someone in...?

Her hand raises gently to the barrier as she peers inside. There sits a man on a bed with his back to the doorway. Everything in her seizes at once but not from fear. She might have even called it excitement when she was younger, but it is far more subtle of a feeling than that. She knows this supposed lord. Even if his back is to her she knows who it is. His hair may be longer, and his frame smaller, or perhaps faint memories are incorrect after so much time.

It's him.

Without much thought, Phya takes her raised hand and hits the barrier palm open to alert him of her presence. Words seem trapped inside her as a rising panic begins to fill her that perhaps he does not know she is there. Perhaps he has no idea it is her. Once more she strikes the barrier loudly, her lip sucking between her teeth as her ears press to the sides of her head. Again, she strikes, but this time the hits are smaller and more erratic as a sense of desperation takes hold.

Why won't he look to her? It's her, can't he tell? ]

[ Being alone is something Aymeric de Borel knows quite well. He knows it almost as well as he knows loss, as he like so many others have lost so much in a very short period of time. Ishgard, a once proud city-state, is in ruins and her people are scattered to wherever they might find shelter and relative safety. Families have been separated, permanently in some cases and hopefully temporary in others. Aymeric's own situation is one of permanence, as far as he knows. Oh, there is the possibility of a reunion in another lifetime, but that has been of little consolation to him.

Not even the knowledge that he remains the lord of this small town is enough to stir the resolve that he once had. He is all too aware that the people that call this town home still look to him as their lord, but he cannot bring himself to join them, not even to fulfill his duties and his responsibilities.

Instead, he has withdrawn, sealing himself off from the town and the world, hoping and wishing that he could simply disappear. What is the purpose of it all, when he has lost nearly everything? He himself would say he has lost everything, as he has no family, and what people who might have been called his friends have long since departed, he is certain of it. And beyond servants and acquaintances, there is one in particular who is very far beyond his reach, because of a failure on his part to protect her.

None has ventured to ask him to speak about her, nor even ventured to speak to him at all, and he would not speak of it even if they did. He spoke many words to the empty walls around him, but no answers ever came, and so as time passed (weeks? months? it hardly mattered to him), he stopped speaking at all.

That is, until one day, someone finally made the long climb to the nearly empty manor. Not that Aymeric realized it or paid any attention to anything occurring outside his lonely room. There was no point, he knew. If anyone had bothered to approach, they would be turned away by the barrier at the door. If he stirred from his room, he might find their footprints in the snow, or they would be blown away by the wind or another snowfall, leaving him none the wiser. It hardly mattered to him.

But this time, something is different. Nothing about Aymeric's routine, if it can be called that, has altered. He is sitting upright, quite a feat considering his present condition, but he is unmoving and just as silent as ever, when the knock at the barrier sounds.

Whoever has come will surely leave, and so he does not move or speak. Even when the pacing of the knocks changes and increases in apparent desperation, he still does not move. There is the slightest bit of recognition tingling in the back of his mind, but he refuses to pay it any mind. Why get his hopes up, when he has become resigned to simply waiting here as the years continue to roll on by?

Instead, he remains where he sits, but this time, there is a little more rigidity to his posture than there was previously, although still he does not look nor turn. If, as before, whoever has come has done so to stare, they will leave in no time at all. ]

[ Phya watches as his posture changes to be that of being rigid. Is his pain consuming? How deep are his wounds? How much of him has been taken away by years and by the unending war? Does any part of him remain to see that it is her? Or, has far too much time passed, and she is only here to make certain he passes onto the aetheric sea after so long...?

She continues to strike the barrier in hopes that he might turn and look at her. Her eyes widen the moment he begins to lean one way. Her hand slips through the barrier and she pauses for only a brief moment. Why should she be surprised? The barrier is constructed of her magic after all. That is why is feels so familiar. It was her own. Her gaze moves back to the man leaning away from her. Another surge of panic hits her and before she even knows it, she has pushed herself through the barrier. The basket in her hand is dropped.

Aymeric. My Aymeric.

Phya rushes up behind him on the bed. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and she feels quite dwarfed compared to him now. She buries her face in his back, tears already rolling down her face. It truly is her knight. He seems frail and weak compared to what she is able to recall. Her large, almost too large, tail curls around them as she presses her face in further. ]

I'm sorry. [ Her voice is gentle and soft, perhaps he is even unable to hear her. ] I'm sorry... b-but I'm here... c-can I help now? Y-you're hurt badly, aren't you? T-tell me where, and I... I can heal it...

[ Phya gently nudges her nose into his back. It feels as if she has done it before. ] I-I have so much I need to make up to you. I can start there at least.

[ He knew he was in no condition to sit up for any great period of time, and the act of moving into that position took more of a toll than he cares to admit. But the very last thing he wanted was for anyone to observe his weakened state, brought on by his hurts and by his overall neglect of his own well-being. But there seems to be nothing he can do, as against his will, he finds himself beginning to lean over, threatening to fall back down onto the bed.

He tries to prevent such a thing by placing his weight upon his hand, that he might lean against that instead of falling to the bed, but his progress is halted by that very thing, but also by someone's arms wrapping around his frame. He very nearly freezes in place, because it has been so long since he felt another's touch and what it truly felt like.

It takes a moment or two for her words to sink in, as he has focused not on what she says but the sound of her voice and the feel of her arms around him. Why- Who is she? How do I know her...? His eyebrows furrow together as he tries to grasp hold of memories that seem to have been filed far away from his recollections. I know her... We've met before. He recognizes her, not with his eyes, but with how he feels, and with how she feels.

But no sooner does it occur to him that she is the one he lost then another thought, stronger than the others, bursts in, and if not for his weakness, he would pull away from her. I failed her. I was not able to save her.

Suddenly, a great weight settles upon him as the feelings of loss and failure sweep over him, and he lowers his head wordlessly. If he did not need his hands to prop himself up, he would lower his head into his hands, but he settles for what he has already done.

I- I'm sorry I'm not stronger. He feels that he needs to be stronger now to make up for failing her before, and that she has nothing to make up for, when the failure rests with him. The emotions threatening to overflow in spite of the resolve he has had all this time to keep everyone and everything pushed away have become so strong and so suddenly that the effort to contain them causes his hands to begin to shake. ]

Edited 2023-06-12 07:49 (UTC)

[ When no answer comes, she lifts her head with her eyes peering over the arch of his back. Her ears are pressed down to her head as she worries that perhaps he would not wish her to be with him at all. Is he angry at their parting? Does he hold such a resentment to her for leaving him behind? Had she not always been the one to worry of him leaving...? And, then, she was the one to leave. Her gaze lowers for the briefest of moments as a thought comes from deep inside her. One that ripples through her entire being; that causes her to fear and causes her to flinch all at once.

Would you prefer if we were no longer bound at all?

Phya stays still for a moment before a low mewl finds its way from her. It hardly matters if he wishes to be free of her. At least, not at this moment. He is in need of aid. Such other matters can be discussed when he is of strength and sound mind once more. It is a logical answer, a healer answer, yet some ancient part of her deep inside shakes at the mere idea of it.

If you would rather be unbound... I would, because it would be what you wish.

Another soft sound comes from her before she shakes her head to free herself of the overwhelming fear and sadness that threatens to consume her. She pulls her head back to find that his shirt is lightly damp. Most likely sweat from a fever or another side effect of his body attempting to heal itself. One hand raises as she adjusts how she sits to attempt to support his body weight. Fingers lightly trace along the struggling chaotic flow of aether to where it pools.

Puncture wounds. Many of them, in fact. The sensible part of her mind finds it impossible he could survive such an attack. One remains deeper than the others, but, this many should have had to led to fatal end. Her eyebrows furrow as she desperately attempts to find an answer. Something tells her that she knows why he has survived, but, it seems lost in a fog of answers from so very long ago. She felt that once she had such a strong connection to these answers.

Perhaps she is not only a sickly young woman but a forgetful one as well.

Phya shifts once more to gently guide him to lay on his uninjured side. One hand guides his head to the pillows where the other hovers over the various amounts of wounds on his side. His aether is so chaotic but not because of the injuries. It seems to naturally flow faster, wilder, but in a regular directional flow. Unbalanced in a way. She frowns further before hesitantly lifting her gaze to his face. Her hand at his head lifts to brush the long strands of hair from his face. ]

Aymeric. [ His name sounds so different when she says it, versus how she hears it in her thoughts. A disconnect almost between a voice she feels she ought to have and the one she does have. ] M-may I start?

[ Oh, he wishes that he could force his voice to work. There is so much that he wants to say but can hardly find the words and the strength to say it. He knows he has been lying here in this house alone waiting for something to happen, either his own recovery or passing, but he never could have anticipated her returning in the way that she has.

And perhaps it is only his fogged mind telling him that this is the woman he loves, even if she does not look the way he remembers. But perhaps he does not need to see her, not when he remembers her soul.

I waited, hoping you would return. With the way they are positioned, she may not be able to see the look in his eyes, but there is a look of desperation there: a look suggesting a need to believe that she has finally come back. If she has returned to him, then he can finally begin fixing the mistakes that he knows he made, starting with failing to protect her.

His mouth moves as though he wants to try and speak, but his wounds have drained his strength, and when she moves him, he presents no resistance, allowing her to position him however she wishes. Had she been anyone else, he would have forced himself to turn away, or to push away her hands. If he returned to the aetherial sea, then perhaps he would have found the one he lost. But now that she is here, somewhere in his muddled thoughts, he knows he wants to live.

But can he, when he has taken so many wounds and left all of them uncared for? The wounds are barely healed at all, so a part of him would not be surprised if it was too late.

She asks if she might start, and by way of answer, he slowly raises his hand as if searching for someone that is lost. ]

Lantaa... Where- Where are you? [ The name slips from him as his awareness seems to slip between moments of being lucid and being confused. But just as soon as he asks the question, a bit of the fog seems to lift, and he manages the slowest of nods, recognizing that she is still Lantaa, and that she wants to help him. If there is even the smallest of chances that he might recover with her assistance, he wants to take that chance. ]

[ Her attention snaps to him as he speaks for the first time in these brief moments. Her eyes widen and ears lift ever so slightly. Lantaa. That had been her name before--the version of her name only he could use. It feels as if the name itself was a key to something locked away inside her. Faint memories come rushing at her, as well as things she shouldn't know. Places, people, things about them.

Her hand moves to take the one he has lifted. Fingers slide between his and she simply holds it in a way that is familiar, yet feels new all at the same time. After a moment of hesitation she leans forward and rests her cheek against their hands so he might feel that she truly is with him. He seems so drained that he can hardly focus on one thing or another without drifting to the next.

His wounds must be far worse than they appear.

Phya gently nudges his hand before placing it down beside him. Her focus shifts to his side where the injuries must surely be. The hand at his hair begins to gently brush the strands as if she has always done so. The other that held his moves to hover over the wounded area and her eyes drift shut in an attempt to listen to his chaotic spring of aether.

There are several wounds, but one in particular is deep and the source of much of the pain. He was pierced by.. claws, teeth? Both? It is so very hard to tell with how his aether seems incapable to be calm. Her eyebrows furrow in attempt to understand how and why it is in such a state. Then, as if she had asked out loud, the memory comes to her.

Vampire.

Phya tilts her head before lowering to be closer to him. She imagines he cannot speak loudly and thus it may be difficult to answer her question. ]

When was the last time you ate, Aymeric?

[ She believes she already knows. If his wounds have struggled to heal thus, then, it has been some time. He will need not only healing magicks, but to eat, and perhaps even alchemy to help recover with such damage. He is quite lucky he has not died.

Phya gently rests her cheek against his arm as she looks down at him. It feels almost as if she's in a fever dream. She knows he is the knight she had been waiting for all this time... but... part of her can hardly believe it. ]

It may hurt quite a bit once I start. Are you ready, my... [ Her voice catches before she can finish her sentence. "My knight."

Has she truly earned the right to call him such now? After all this pain he has been in because she had died? Surely, this is her fault, as it may not have happened if she had simply lived. He may resent her, hate her, or perhaps not even see her as she is now. Maybe that is for the best. Maybe if he continues to see her how she was he may still love her... ]

[ His fingers curl against hers, and he curses inwardly that his grip is so weak. If he had the strength, he would hold onto her hand as tightly as he could, and if only his voice would allow it, he would tell her how happy he is that she has found him after all this time. It matters little to him that she has changed in appearance; she is still herself, and he loves her.

But as he can do neither of those things, he tries to work harder to force his fingers to curl further against hers. The discomfort he feels from his lingering wounds does not matter. The only thing that matters now is her. He does not wish to succumb to his injuries, not now, but he would tolerate the discomfort from his untreated wounds if it meant having her with him once more.

He dimly registers her surveying his wounds, knowing that she must be wondering at his condition and at the state of his aether. A dim memory surfaces, reminding him that she could "see" the aether of another, and she must be doing that once more. What will she see? He can only begin to imagine, but it must be a rather confusing picture.

Then she asks him when he last ate, and he manages to shake his head from side to side just once. The motion enough is not enough, however, and he forces out the briefest of answer, said with a hoarse voice and all. ] I- I have not... [ His words trail off, although he intended to say more, but that will have to be answer enough. It has been a considerable period of time since he last consumed anything, even though doing so would have sped up his recovery. He felt no desire to do so, as there seemed to be little point in prolonging his life. Until now, that is.

She tells him that it may hurt, but he knows that nothing could possibly hurt as much as losing her did. And aside from that, there is a part of him that believes he deserves to be in this state, and deserves to be hurt as payment for failing in his chief responsibility: protecting her.

With those thoughts in mind, he manages to incline his head just once to indicate that he is ready, whenever she chooses to begin. If it is uncomfortable or even if it hurts, he will simply have to take it without complaint. It sinks in a moment later that she started to call him something, something indicating a sort of possession. What was it that she used to call me...? He knows that they had names for each other, but he cannot seem to remember them now. But if she is looking closely enough, she may notice his eyes lighting up just briefly with recognition. ]

Edited 2023-06-13 04:14 (UTC)

[ Her fingers curl around his in an attempt to show that she is aware he is attempting to communicate. Aymeric is lucky enough that he had been able to push himself to sit. His injuries run deep and it will take some time for them to heal entirely. Time she hopes she will have, as, perhaps she has come to late.

She watches him intently for an answer to her query, gently rubbing her cheek against his arm to comfort him. Her ears lift once more as he manages to speak once more. It seems he is limited to what he can say and how much he can say. Then, perhaps she ought to ask him simple questions if needed. That way he can focus less on the words and more on recovery.

A nod is given. ] You will need to eat after you've rested.

[ She nudges her nose to his arm affectionately before sitting up. Then, her hand moves from his hair to gently rub his arm. A hope is there that it will be comforting as she begins to work. Although, she must admit, she is hesitant to even begin. He is so weak and it may hurt so very much... hasn't she hurt him enough?

Her eyes close and she inhales deeply. The hand at his wounds lowers closer to the fabric that covers them as she begins to weave his aether. It is hard to grasp, and even harder to nudge where she must have it go, but she focuses intently on it. It feels as if her fingers are threading between strands and gently tying them together. It takes time. Moments pass before the tugging and weaving seems to come to a stop. ]

They should stop bleeding for now. [ Tending to the wounds, the possible infection, however... ] One of your wounds is very deep... so deep. It's twisted on the inside now, hasn't it? I-I would need to undo the attempts at healing that your body has done to properly heal it... [ her head tilts towards him and she squeezes his arm. ] Would that be alright?

[ If words fail, looks and gestures will have to be enough for now, although he wishes that were not the case. But that does give him a goal to strive for: to recover and become strong again so that he might speak with her properly. But his barely healed wounds prevent him from moving very much at all, his earlier attempt to sit up aside. If he could, he would lean further into her touch, but all he manages to achieve is a light brush of his arm against her cheek.

At her statement of his needing to eat, the look in his eyes shifts again, and while he is not wholly opposed to feeding from her (he has missed it, in fact), something causes him to hesitate. ] There are rats, in the woods. [ The statement on its own might seem odd, but if she remembers who and what he is, she should understand.

But she begins rubbing his arm once more, and the slight tension that was forming in his shoulders fades, replaced by a feeling of contentment. He maintained that he needed no one's care, but she is not no one.

Even if the process of healing causes him to hurt, he intends to take it without complaint. Considering that he has had moments of wishing to simply pass quietly, letting another take his place as this town's lord, it might seem strange that he is not protesting her efforts to heal. But now there is a reason for him to remain.

His eyes slide closed as she begins weaving his aether to stop the bleeding. It is a strange sensation, feeling the tugging and weaving as she works with his aether. But he still remains silent, letting her do her work. Only when she stops and begins to speak again does he open his eyes once more.

Now they have arrived at the point of needing to actually heal his wounds, and this is when he imagines the discomfort will increase. The dragons he fought with and lost against were fierce with their fangs and talons, and he knows she can see the proof of it in the wounds he has taken.

But if it must be done, then he will simply do his best to bear it. Again his head inclines slightly, and he manages a single word: ]

Yes. [ He trusts that she knows what to do and will do it well, so he has no reason to state otherwise. ]

[ Rats.

Her nose scrubches in a familiar way. They would hardly sustain a vampire, if memory serves, and hardly one as injured as he. The only option is to feed from a larger creature, and she rather doubts he would wish to eat from another in his town. Eating directly from her would be too dangerous in his current state. While she trusts him without question? His instincts may need far more than she could offer in one sitting. Feedings will need to be measured and calculated...

A good thing she brought glasses with her potions.

Phya nods slowly to his permission given. She gently chews on the inside of her lip as she hesitates one more. The idea of causing him more pain after leaving him to suffer for so many years causes a spike of discomfort and even anxiety. While he might approve now, what of when his senses fully return? Will he be even angrier with her after everything else she had made him live through on his own?

Her shaking hand gently moves to over properly over his front. Fingers brisk along until she finds the deepest wound. The one that causes his chaotic aether to twist, knot, settle, and pull more into it in a veign attempt to heal. Perhaps if he had enough blood, then, it would of healed properly. She glances once more to meet his clouded blue eyes. Her heart sinks, for surely, he would not be in such a position if she had not died.

Phya closes her eyes and attempts turn her focus to aiding him. It would do little good if he felt what she did through what little connection there could be due to interacting with his aether. Her fingers press against the wound site in an attempt to take hold of the knotted aether. Her ears twitch in slight frustration as it seems his aether slips from her fingers.

This was so much easier before... has she truly become so inept? Why are things so much harder than she can recall them being in her previous life?

Finally, she manages to grab ahold of the knot by further curling her fingers into the wound. Ears stand atop her head in surprise, but she does not let it stop her. Her fingers gently begin to massage the site, easing the aether into releasing and unwinding itself. It takes time--far longer than she anticipated. A few times she must push again to take hold as the aether as it attempts to slip away from her again.

She attempts to focus on what the aether holds within it, but the emotions and memories attached seem scattered and moving from one to the other. The trauma was deep and sudden. Sharp and digging. The intent was to kill, but he survived. It would of been a mortal wound should he have been anything but what he is. Talons and teeth all at once. Pain, so much pain, but even then something hurt so much more... ]

A dragon? [ She asks gently, tilting her head once more as she attempts to learn what she can of it. ] It attacked... and... bit, or did it claw first...? The intent was to kill ... but it didn't...

[ The truth is, he detests rats almost as much as he detests himself for needing to consume blood to survive. He has, of course, become accustomed to it, and the very thought of it no longer makes him recoil with disgust. But he has seen those who are whole and unspoiled, who do not need to drink the very life blood of others to continue living, and he envies them in a way. But still, he carries on, consuming rats by choice and by necessity, when there are no other sources available. Certainly, he will not reduce the people of the town to the status of being his prey or his food. Even as a vampire, he has drawn the line at certain points.

If he could find the strength and the words to address her worries, he would tell her that whatever pain might come from her healing, he intends to take it in stride. After all, even the worst injury at the claws of dragons pales in comparison to what he felt the day he learned that she was gone: gone because he was not there to save her. A part of him wonders if he will ever forget making that discovery or the dark days that came after it... days that never seemed to end.

He may have forgotten what her process of healing is like and how it feels, so as she begins, he finds himself steeling him for something more or less unknown. But as she works, steeling his resolve turns to stiffening as his body loudly protests against the sudden discomfort. If he is to be honest, it is more than discomfort, as she undoes what little healing has naturally occurred in spite of his failure to care for himself and his needs. The wound is deep, as she surmised, and he clenches his teeth to hold back any unwanted outbursts. He bites his lip unintentionally, which would have gone unnoticed if not for the taste of blood from the bitten area.

As she continues to work, his memories begin to swirl in a confusing blur as flashes of himself locked in battle with a dragon mesh with the present and her efforts to heal him. But a third memory weaves itself into the strange flood of memories: a small figure running, and a flash of blood. His fists clench, and for just a fraction of a second, his eyes gleam red. It is gone as soon as it appears, and he is just Aymeric once more.

She asked if he was ready, and he said he was, but he could not have anticipated how it would feel to have his tangled, coiled aether worked on until it released itself once more. Still, there is nothing to do but wait and try to drown out the unwanted memories from the past. ]

AU PLOTLINE

🕯️ — calamity scars.

reunion. }

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together. }

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