Ficlet: Adytum
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finalfantasyxivfanworksTitle: Adytum
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Around Aza, the temple creaked and groaned.
Well, perhaps ‘temple’ was too generous a term, but that’s what Crisp called it when they slunk into the dilapidated, half-crumbled building nestled in a dense woodblock, exhausted and soaked to the bone from the freezing rain outside. There were three of them – there used to be eight that morning – and the mood was quiet and low as they huddled under the shadow of a half-rotted statue of a tiger that crouched on an altar.
“Well, this is fun,” Bluebird muttered. Her bottom lip was split, angry red and half-scabbed over, “Freezing to death in a shitty shack.”
“We’re not freezing to death,” Crisp sighed, nudging together a bunch of dampish kindling she managed to scrounge from the ‘temple’ they were squatting in. Aza watched dully as she gently coaxed the aether at her fingers to ignite, crackling flames reluctantly catching onto the kindling and casting strange shadows around them, “See? We have a fire.”
“A really sad fire if you ask me,” Bluebird said, gingerly pressing the tip of her tongue against her split lip, “Argh, shit. That stings.”
“Stop licking it, then,” Aza said, reaching over to push her half-heartedly, “Idiot.”
“You’re an idiot-”
“Children,” Crisp interrupted, “Don’t.”
They both quietened. Aza glanced about them in the silence that followed, taking in the half-collapsed roof, the spots where water dripped through and formed scummy puddles on the cracked floorboards, the way shadows flickered and danced in his peripheral from the flames. Even the statue’s eyes caught the firelight, the cut glass wavering with a dull, orange glow, making it seem lifelike. It gave Aza the creeps.
“The moment the storm stops,” Crisp spoke suddenly, “We’ll have to move. I don’t want to chance the Imperials catching up to us here.”
“Do they even know this is here?” Bluebird grumbled, “We found it by accident. Practically blends into the wood.”
“Doesn’t matter if they know it’s here or not,” Aza said, “If we found it, so can they.”
Bluebird groaned but didn’t argue. She looked drained – hell, they all did. Aza was aching in places he didn’t even know existed, and he probably looked just as terrible as his two companions. Crisp was covered almost head to toe in thick, cloying mud, her long, silvery hair matted together in ugly clumps, with a dark bruise overtaking her left eye and her cheek slightly swollen. Bluebird looked like she just finished a headbutting contest with a Dzo, her lip split and both eyes bruised, a cut over her nose completing the picture. If he remembered, she had headbutted one or two helmeted Imperials, actually succeeding in goring one of them with her sharpened horns…
It had been a mess from the start, though. Boss had ordered them to stage an ambush on one of the Imperial supply routes along the Glittering Basin, and under the cover of this storm, at dusk, it should’ve been easy. Except they were doing it with the Resistance Fighters, and whilst some were skilled veterans and ninja, there were also green boys, eager to fight for their country but lacking the steel nerve needed for an ambush and… too early. It had been sprung too early, and now the group of eight seasoned mercenaries that was sent to bolster the Resistance was down to three, battered and bruised and hunted.
Aza didn’t know what happened to the fighters they were with. The moment he saw the tide turning he grabbed Bluebird and bolted, with Crisp opportunistically fleeing with them. Some would call it cowardice, the Doman Resistance definitely, but Aza thought it common sense. Out on the Steppe, if you bit off more than you could chew, you spat it back out. It was simple sense. Why die when you can run away and come back stronger?
It was a shame about the other five, but they had been too slow or already dead. Aza didn’t know them that well, either, so luckily, he didn’t have to contend with any guilt about their passing. He had long mastered the art of only emotionally investing in those he cared about, if only because it was easier to deal with this shit if other people were just… there. Marionettes that interacted with him long enough to be of use before walking out of his life again. They only became people once he made an emotional connection, and that was a long, slow process.
Crisp said it was a sign he was a budding sociopath, but Aza called it survival. His heart only had so many pieces to give away now, so he horded what he had with an envy that would put a dragon to shame.
“I hope the Kami of this temple is watching over us,” Crisp murmured with an odd tinge of wistfulness to her voice, “I mean, it’s very dry here, isn’t it? Considering…”
“The roof is still intact here, that’s why,” Aza said, unwillingly to be roped into Crisp’s faith. Gods have been dead to him since he was a child, “Speaking of…”
Stiffly, he leveraged himself onto his feet, ignoring the way stiff, achy muscles pulled and cramped from the movement. He navigated around Bluebird, who was now curled up next to the fire like some humanoid lizard, and towards a fallen beam close by. It was half-rotted, and was wet to the touch, but it was easy enough for him to plant his foot against it, bolster his strength with some aether, and tear up a good chunk of the wood. Splinters bit into his fingers, but he ignored the pain in favour of getting some warmth.
“Here,” he said, returning with his bundle of rough wood, dumping it next to the fire to be fed in with some aether assisted burning, “Since the Kami can’t be bothered to warm us up itself.”
Crisp gave him a look, but she let Aza’s disrespect slide as she picked up a wood chunk and started drying it out, “You’re always so cold, Aza.”
“You need to be cold to survive here,” Aza said, sitting next to his sister. Bluebird looked like she was half-asleep, and she grumbled only a little when he scooted closer, lifting her up enough so she could use his thigh as a pillow. Her horn dug into him uncomfortably, but he endured it, “Thought you’d know that by now, Crisp.”
“I’m a healer. It’s in my nature to prefer warmth and compassion,” Crisp said wryly, “Besides, I don’t think coldness is needed for survival… it’s an imperfect defence mechanism that should be temporary at best. It’s lonely and fearful and, yes, lets you keep a distance from things that might hurt you – but it never lets you grow.”
Aza said nothing to that. It was true, after all.
“That’s not sustainable, Aza,” Crisp said, tossing the wood chunk into the fire, her aether helping it catch, “To enjoy life, you have to suffer its hurts too. To be happy, you have to let yourself be unhappy too. You need to build good, strong emotional bonds with people to help you endure and grow from those hurts, so you become a happier, better person.”
“I have Bluebird,” Aza said, and privately added ‘and Mom and Dad’, “I don’t need anyone else.”
“Bluebird won’t be there for you forever,” Crisp said very mildly.
Aza knew that, but he didn’t want to think about that. So, he turned his head away from Crisp, a clear dismissal of the conversation, and stared up at the tiger statue staring down at them with its odd, glowing orange eyes.
“Well, we’ll see if you understand what I mean eventually,” Crisp hummed, “Boss says we’ll be in Doma for a long while. Anything can happen in that time.”
Like more failed ambushes that might actually end in their deaths? Aza didn’t voice the bitter, morbid thought, an odd twang of homesickness hitting him in the gut. Gods, he really wanted to go home, but Bluebird was stubborn about making a reputation here, to strike out and become famous mercenaries and…
Wherever Bluebird went, Aza went. His happiness and mental wellbeing hinged on her living well and being happy. It was always easier, anyway, to be swept up in Bluebird’s wake and follow her, to do as he was told, like the good little dog that he was. Easier. Comforting, in a way that was visceral and made him hate himself a little.
He closed his eyes and let his head duck a little, listening to the crackling flames and the creaking of the temple around them. It took a long time for the storm to abate, and despite the fire roaring throughout that rainy night, Aza didn’t warm up once.
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Around Aza, the temple creaked and groaned.
Well, perhaps ‘temple’ was too generous a term, but that’s what Crisp called it when they slunk into the dilapidated, half-crumbled building nestled in a dense woodblock, exhausted and soaked to the bone from the freezing rain outside. There were three of them – there used to be eight that morning – and the mood was quiet and low as they huddled under the shadow of a half-rotted statue of a tiger that crouched on an altar.
“Well, this is fun,” Bluebird muttered. Her bottom lip was split, angry red and half-scabbed over, “Freezing to death in a shitty shack.”
“We’re not freezing to death,” Crisp sighed, nudging together a bunch of dampish kindling she managed to scrounge from the ‘temple’ they were squatting in. Aza watched dully as she gently coaxed the aether at her fingers to ignite, crackling flames reluctantly catching onto the kindling and casting strange shadows around them, “See? We have a fire.”
“A really sad fire if you ask me,” Bluebird said, gingerly pressing the tip of her tongue against her split lip, “Argh, shit. That stings.”
“Stop licking it, then,” Aza said, reaching over to push her half-heartedly, “Idiot.”
“You’re an idiot-”
“Children,” Crisp interrupted, “Don’t.”
They both quietened. Aza glanced about them in the silence that followed, taking in the half-collapsed roof, the spots where water dripped through and formed scummy puddles on the cracked floorboards, the way shadows flickered and danced in his peripheral from the flames. Even the statue’s eyes caught the firelight, the cut glass wavering with a dull, orange glow, making it seem lifelike. It gave Aza the creeps.
“The moment the storm stops,” Crisp spoke suddenly, “We’ll have to move. I don’t want to chance the Imperials catching up to us here.”
“Do they even know this is here?” Bluebird grumbled, “We found it by accident. Practically blends into the wood.”
“Doesn’t matter if they know it’s here or not,” Aza said, “If we found it, so can they.”
Bluebird groaned but didn’t argue. She looked drained – hell, they all did. Aza was aching in places he didn’t even know existed, and he probably looked just as terrible as his two companions. Crisp was covered almost head to toe in thick, cloying mud, her long, silvery hair matted together in ugly clumps, with a dark bruise overtaking her left eye and her cheek slightly swollen. Bluebird looked like she just finished a headbutting contest with a Dzo, her lip split and both eyes bruised, a cut over her nose completing the picture. If he remembered, she had headbutted one or two helmeted Imperials, actually succeeding in goring one of them with her sharpened horns…
It had been a mess from the start, though. Boss had ordered them to stage an ambush on one of the Imperial supply routes along the Glittering Basin, and under the cover of this storm, at dusk, it should’ve been easy. Except they were doing it with the Resistance Fighters, and whilst some were skilled veterans and ninja, there were also green boys, eager to fight for their country but lacking the steel nerve needed for an ambush and… too early. It had been sprung too early, and now the group of eight seasoned mercenaries that was sent to bolster the Resistance was down to three, battered and bruised and hunted.
Aza didn’t know what happened to the fighters they were with. The moment he saw the tide turning he grabbed Bluebird and bolted, with Crisp opportunistically fleeing with them. Some would call it cowardice, the Doman Resistance definitely, but Aza thought it common sense. Out on the Steppe, if you bit off more than you could chew, you spat it back out. It was simple sense. Why die when you can run away and come back stronger?
It was a shame about the other five, but they had been too slow or already dead. Aza didn’t know them that well, either, so luckily, he didn’t have to contend with any guilt about their passing. He had long mastered the art of only emotionally investing in those he cared about, if only because it was easier to deal with this shit if other people were just… there. Marionettes that interacted with him long enough to be of use before walking out of his life again. They only became people once he made an emotional connection, and that was a long, slow process.
Crisp said it was a sign he was a budding sociopath, but Aza called it survival. His heart only had so many pieces to give away now, so he horded what he had with an envy that would put a dragon to shame.
“I hope the Kami of this temple is watching over us,” Crisp murmured with an odd tinge of wistfulness to her voice, “I mean, it’s very dry here, isn’t it? Considering…”
“The roof is still intact here, that’s why,” Aza said, unwillingly to be roped into Crisp’s faith. Gods have been dead to him since he was a child, “Speaking of…”
Stiffly, he leveraged himself onto his feet, ignoring the way stiff, achy muscles pulled and cramped from the movement. He navigated around Bluebird, who was now curled up next to the fire like some humanoid lizard, and towards a fallen beam close by. It was half-rotted, and was wet to the touch, but it was easy enough for him to plant his foot against it, bolster his strength with some aether, and tear up a good chunk of the wood. Splinters bit into his fingers, but he ignored the pain in favour of getting some warmth.
“Here,” he said, returning with his bundle of rough wood, dumping it next to the fire to be fed in with some aether assisted burning, “Since the Kami can’t be bothered to warm us up itself.”
Crisp gave him a look, but she let Aza’s disrespect slide as she picked up a wood chunk and started drying it out, “You’re always so cold, Aza.”
“You need to be cold to survive here,” Aza said, sitting next to his sister. Bluebird looked like she was half-asleep, and she grumbled only a little when he scooted closer, lifting her up enough so she could use his thigh as a pillow. Her horn dug into him uncomfortably, but he endured it, “Thought you’d know that by now, Crisp.”
“I’m a healer. It’s in my nature to prefer warmth and compassion,” Crisp said wryly, “Besides, I don’t think coldness is needed for survival… it’s an imperfect defence mechanism that should be temporary at best. It’s lonely and fearful and, yes, lets you keep a distance from things that might hurt you – but it never lets you grow.”
Aza said nothing to that. It was true, after all.
“That’s not sustainable, Aza,” Crisp said, tossing the wood chunk into the fire, her aether helping it catch, “To enjoy life, you have to suffer its hurts too. To be happy, you have to let yourself be unhappy too. You need to build good, strong emotional bonds with people to help you endure and grow from those hurts, so you become a happier, better person.”
“I have Bluebird,” Aza said, and privately added ‘and Mom and Dad’, “I don’t need anyone else.”
“Bluebird won’t be there for you forever,” Crisp said very mildly.
Aza knew that, but he didn’t want to think about that. So, he turned his head away from Crisp, a clear dismissal of the conversation, and stared up at the tiger statue staring down at them with its odd, glowing orange eyes.
“Well, we’ll see if you understand what I mean eventually,” Crisp hummed, “Boss says we’ll be in Doma for a long while. Anything can happen in that time.”
Like more failed ambushes that might actually end in their deaths? Aza didn’t voice the bitter, morbid thought, an odd twang of homesickness hitting him in the gut. Gods, he really wanted to go home, but Bluebird was stubborn about making a reputation here, to strike out and become famous mercenaries and…
Wherever Bluebird went, Aza went. His happiness and mental wellbeing hinged on her living well and being happy. It was always easier, anyway, to be swept up in Bluebird’s wake and follow her, to do as he was told, like the good little dog that he was. Easier. Comforting, in a way that was visceral and made him hate himself a little.
He closed his eyes and let his head duck a little, listening to the crackling flames and the creaking of the temple around them. It took a long time for the storm to abate, and despite the fire roaring throughout that rainy night, Aza didn’t warm up once.
