Are your eyes open?

Sometimes. I can feel myself falling through the sky, or down a building; from a tall height or down into a hole.

Do you see these places, or just feel them?

I feel them, and when I open my eyes, I see a flash of it before I wake up, like falling out of the dream back into my body.

Do you hear anything?

I hear voices.

Your own, or someone else’s?

Both. Sometimes I hear my own thoughts, sometimes it’s other people talking to me, or about me, or around me. It’s kinda hard to pinpoint. I sometimes hear my mother.

Are they unhappy things?

Very.

What sorts of things?

I’m a waste, not worth anything. I’m a terrible daughter, uncaring and unconcerned for my family. I’m a spoiled girl, who is too hard to please. I’m stubborn and unwilling to listen to reason, and think of things too simply. I’m easily duped into giving things up for the affections of another. Stupid.

You speak as if you accept them as fact.

I speak what they say from my point of view in a dream.

Do you believe them?

It’s quickly becoming difficult not to.

Is it affecting the way you interact with others?

I’ve become paranoid that people are trying to use me. I no longer sleep with my boyfriend. He needs to earn my affection.

Did you ever have this kind of opinion of your relationship before the dreams started?

No. I was perfectly happy. We were happy enough. I didn’t think to make him earn my love for him, but I guess he should. No girl should ever have to spend on the boy, right? He’s supposed to be the one taking care of her.

Does he not take care of you?

He’s… self-centered.

And you only realize this because of what you hear in your dreams?

Yes… but, see, I’m happy to just be with him. I love him. I want him to love me.

Is it not unrealistic to play that sort of game if you’re already together?

But it doesn’t feel like he loves me the same way I love him. He isn’t centering his life around me.

… What is your definition of love?

Selfless love for another. The willingness to do everything in your power for that person. To want a future with them. To want to freely express your feelings for someone.

And you feel your dreams are telling you that this is a one-sided love?

Maybe. Maybe I’m in denial.

Are you perhaps inheriting your mother’s fear of how people perceive you? Is it not enough that you are happy, even if he isn’t expressing his love in quite the same way as you do?

She is the last person I want to become. Scared, intimidated, but lashing out. Like a mouse cornered.

Do you love your mother?

Yes. She will always be my mother, even if she will never see life through my eyes.

Back to sleep then.

Yes, back to sleep…

“Are you sure you know how to work this thing?” Lazarus asked cheekily, knowing full well that her skill with magick and Mist were far beyond any normal hume’s. He took up a position across from her, with the waystone between them. It stood three heads taller than Lazarus, resembling a giant pawn stolen from an elephantine chessboard, and then engraved and enchanted to stand guard in this tiny alcove; a once-lowly pawn whose severed head now had a vicious-looking crown within reach, but not the hands with which to grasp it, for the crown floated above it, turning slowly in silence. It was doomed to stand as a testament to man’s never-ending desire for power. Whether this impression was intended by its creators, they would never know.

Syde regarded the ornate pillar as an oracle peers into her smokey mirror, with her arms outstretched, feeling for its magicks. The nethicite in Lazarus’ hand grew bright and seething, then the tall monolith began to pulse in return, surrounding them with an elaborate ring of light on the stone floor. The blinding white engulfed them, and what Lazarus experienced he would later recall as a distinct sense of “fading in and out of existence”. Their surroundings reformed about them, like shadowy paints coming to life. The light died away, and they stepped back to take in their predicament.

They were unmistakably underground (as underground as they could be, on a floating mountain top); cavernous walls rose around them, ledges formed of wayward stone and stalagmites, and Mist flowed.

The Mist within the island pooled here, ancient and cooled. With no outlet, it had remained trapped like brandy in a chocolate cherry. It was aged and rich, yet it felt wizened and supernatural. Syde took a deep breath, as if she could drink in all of the wisdom and power that personified the Mist. Lazarus eyed her cautiously, “Syde?”

“It is… as poisoned water to a parched plant,” she said, dazed. “As if the air were filled with rum.”

Lazarus reached out to steady her, concerned for her sanity. He’d heard stories of Viera gone mad from Mist, but this was not a sign of hysteria, but one of being drunk on power. He’d heard stories of Vayne Solidor and his ruthlessness in his quest for ever-lasting power; raw power such as this would surely have driven him to sheer lunacy. Lazarus had counted himself lucky that he had taken to the skies when the Empire crushed Dalmasca’s royal family.

She took a step, then thought it better to perhaps take a seat instead. Never had she been so overwhelmed by such beauty and coolness, like a mint on the tongue, but laden with such a dangerous scent. He patted her shoulder, and walked a short distance away to peer over the edge of the ledge the waystone had placed them. “I suppose that old map was right. This nethicite was the key to getting in.”

He was taken aback by the sheer depth that awaited them below, never thinking once that the island had been so deep. In the darkness, all he could make out was the dull glow of the Mist, and what he thought were a several pairs of eyes reflecting light towards him. They had all felt the Mist stir when the sky pirates entered; they would be waiting for them.

A slender hand grasped his shoulder, and he turned so quickly that she took a tentative step back. “We leave as soon as we can. I hope the Mist does not change me as it did them.” Syde nodded silently, and they began their descent, following the narrow ledges carefully.

Ferocious beasts, small and large, met them as they followed their path, hoping that the other end had not crumbled and left them no path forward nor back. They could tell that many wild wolves had been caught here, changed into fierce canines with fur that blazed flames, or lightning. Others walked on their hind legs and towered over the pirates like a giant.

“Ahead, we’ll reach a wider ledge!” Syde’s keen eyes had finally become accustomed to the dimness and spotted a ledge that split into three prongs between attempts to fend off a swarm of monkey-like creatures with 6 arms and hooved feet. They edged their way towards the platform, desperate for more space for their feet to take hold to battle properly.

Just a few feet away, they decided to abandon their struggle for space and dive for the platform, rather than risk any more nudges towards the edge of their skinny pathway. As they readied themselves for the onslaught of foul creatures charging at them, the ledge they were just on broke off cleanly, and fell away with nothing but fading shrieks to mark its descent.

However, the duo did not have time to contemplate their close brush with possible death, as their platform trembled violently, shaking off the other pathways just as cleanly as the first. Her ears picked it up first, before Syde could see them peeking over the edge of their newfound footing. That familiar sound of a million tentacles slithering against each other was followed by at least fifty small malboros creeping up the lip of the platform to surround them. They stood, not towering as Syde’s mark did before, but about knee-height, and in greater numbers.

“No end to this, is there?” Lazarus spoke as if highly annoyed at a buzzing fly at a polite dinner. He eyed the creatures nervously, knowing full well that they were menaces to a viera’s sharp nose — meaning that he may have to fight this battle alone if he could not revive his partner should she fall.

Syde, however, had other plans. She was already working a charm to keep the malboro’s signature debilitating attack from hindering them. Gripping her sword, she braced herself for the onslaught of tentacles; she taking one half, and Lazarus the other. The creatures, though large in number, were surprisingly easy to dispatch; a slash or two rendered them into a pool of slime. Thus, the battle became a simple algorithm of slashing at anything they could reach, systematically working their way through the crowd of malboros, and healing themselves whenever necessary.

A short while after, when the last malboro had melted, shrieking into the cavern’s emptiness, a new path opened itself to them. The platform, disjoined, with no paths leading off, floated towards the cavern wall. A line of silvery light traced the shape of a doorway in the stone surface, glowing white a moment, and then fading to the grind sound of a door opening into darkness. They stepped through, unsure of what the next room would bring.

“I sense Mist here, slumbering beneath us,” Syde said, as they took rest at a nook in the mountainside.

“Well, you did say there was Mist trapped here,” Lazarus replied, clearly not understanding why she would comment on it in that particular fashion.

“Not the Mist we chase after, Lazarus, Mist from the rocks themselves. This island is brim-full of potent magicite. More, perhaps, than Bhujerba, and with a similar taste to the magicite in the Lhusu,” she said, toeing a pebble by her foot.

“You mean…”

“This island did form of land close to Bhujerba’s native ground,” she answered conclusively. “Ruthy had hypothesized it as well, and surmised that it, too, would have large amounts of magicite hidden within. It is no doubt the reason why it stays afloat, and at so great a distance from the skycity,” Syde turned her gaze westward, where Bhujerba bustled, ignorant to the visitors on one of its moons. “The other island we visited had only traces of magicite, far weaker than the power that lies in the dirt beneath us here, yet it floats much closer to Bhujerba.”

“So, the magicite within Bhujerba’s mines resonate with those of its satellites, causing a gravity of sorts,” Lazarus nodded, hand on his chin, and staring at the fragments of land drifting between them and the monstrous island.

“I wonder. If the Bhujerbans mine the last of the magicite out of their home, will it loose its hold on the islands around it? Will it fall out of the sky, dragging many of its satellites with it? Will this island stay afloat of its own accord?” she looked on somberly towards the city, with its magnificent wings of Magicite glistening in the late afternoon sun.

Lazarus stood, dusted off his trousers, and walked to the edge of the nook to peer at Bhujerba around the corner. “Perhaps the Magicite wings will keep their city afloat, even with empty mines.”

“Perhaps. But Kirin believes that the wings stand for the sole purpose of emanating a peaceful atmosphere to ease violence and anger in the citizens,” she said, her tone clearly projecting a pessimism to his optimism.

Wordless, they proceeded upwards still. Whatever awaited them in the cavern was stirring, and they each realized in a different fashion. Syde he felt the the Mist stir in her vieran blood, whereas Lazarus, holding the nethicite, felt it grow warm and shine a brilliant white. He followed her apprehensive stare to a waystone at the top of their climb.

“Ah, good. I was wondering when we’d find one of these,” Lazarus said in a subdued gentlemanly excitedness. “I’ve read so much about them, you know.”

That said, do feel free to leave suggestions when you think something can be worded better, or things can be arranged more succinctly. This means you, specifically, Meg.

Rays of sunlight broke through the curtains and painted soft streaks across her shoulder bare of blanket. Her Garnet eyes opened, albeit hesitantly, to see the sun splay playful colors across her dormitory walls. From the angle, she could tell it was later than her usual bed-rising, but then again, who’s to tell a sky pirate when to be out of bed?

She stretched her supple limbs out, still under her blankets, hoping to enjoy the soft warmth just a bit longer, and found instead that her muscles were still protestingly sore. Syde exited her blankets slowly, one limb at a time, slipping off over the edge of her mattress. She pushed herself up into a wobbly stand and carefully made her way to the wardrobe to dress — perhaps in something lighter today. Wearing her armor was out of the question, as it had borne several cracks and tears from the previous day’s adventures.

She appeared moments later at the kitchen table wearing a simple white dress whose collar hung across her shoulders, and sat down with a mug of hot water. She was pining for a mug of Salikagreen, yet the dwindling supply in her cupboard had inspired her to be more sparing with tea until she could find another supply of tea leaves. Sighing, she sipped her hot water carefully, imagining that it were steeping with the sharp blossom-flavored leaves of an oft hidden shrub in the Salikawood.

“We make for Bhujerba this afternoon,” came Lazarus’ voice from the doorway. “Intel says that the guards haven’t found any trace of that surge of Mist the synthesis created, but that they’ve relaxed their guard again.”

Syde turned, wincing slightly at the muscles knotted in her lower back, and saw him leaning against the door frame with a pleased look on his face.

“Excited for our next treasure, are we?” she could not keep the amused tone out of her words, despite the breathlessness her sore ribs injected into them.

“Of course. Can’t keep a pirate from his treasure, that wouldn’t do at all,” he said with a light laugh. “That, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a dress.”

——–

Since Kirin was busy mending her armour, she would have to do this mission in the dress she’d put on that morning. It was the only one she owned that was made of light-as-air material, and the skirt was short enough  and slitted properly for her to battle relatively unhindered. Much as she denied it, she would not admit that a small part of her liked it when Lazarus approved of her wearing a dress.

She stepped down from the Trefoil‘s dock onto hard crumbly stone, taking care that her footing didn’t send her tumbling down to the sea again. Syde shook out her ears in the light breeze, then took in her surroundings.

What little water had existed up here on a small floating island drifting about Bhujerba had long since drained away. She could see part of a riverbed that held water-polished stones, long-deserted of any moisture. A glance upwards, though, proved that there was still precipitation here. Ice and snow capped a tall peak that dominated the island, just above where they were intending their trek to take them.

She saw, just below the snowline, that faint glimmer of Mist caught inside a cavern. Ruthy had guessed weeks ago that this particular scrap of floating rock was crafted from a part of the land which Bhujerba lifted from, but not necessarily a piece that fit onto Bhujerba itself, from the similar terrain features between the two. This had led to the idea that the Mist she sensed had been contained within the island since its uprooting. There was no telling what creatures had been stranded here as a result, nor what they had become after being trapped here with the seething Mist.

Syde unsheathed her blade, turning around to wait for Lazarus to come down as well. He strode leisurely down the ramp, adjusting his coat and shirt as if making a stage appearance.

“While we’re gone, keep the cloaking device on, Ruthy. We don’t want any Bhujerbans noticing that we’re here,” he said with an offhand note. “We’ll keep in touch. As much as we can with the nethicite in hand, anyhow.”

Raising her paw in salute, the moogle raised the ramp, and the ship disappeared.

“Shall we?” Syde gestured with her sword.

A weathered path wound them through beds of smooth rock and dusty grass, and up and down slopes of varying degrees. Once, they skirted around a few wandering Elementals. Elementals were temperamental at best, usually ignoring travellers unless they wielded Magick in their vicinity, and had the power to destroy any living creature if they so much as breathed wrong. Syde and Lazarus had decided it was best to only battle fiends that attacked them, and avoid anything that could be eluded. They wanted to preserve their energy for when they reached what laid ahead, and the idea was to use the Mist above to enhance cast magicks to their advantage.

Oddly, the trek up to the small entrance was tame, offering only the resistance of a band of wolves, and two younger Adamantoises.

“Is it just me, or does it seem too quiet here?” Lazarus asked cheekily.

“Wish not for foolish difficulties. Rather, wish for some Godly favour. You Humes confund me still,” Syde dusted off the front of her dress.

“Not much of of a climax if we don’t build on the excitement, Syde. Haven’t you ever heard of suspense?”

“It is suspense enough what lies in the tomb.”

“You’re sure it’s a tomb? We aren’t even sure this is the right island.”

“The formations are too accurate to the map you stole from the palace. It cannot be coincidence,” she answered surely. “What worries me is the warning inscribed on the back.

‘So rose such a power that could not be controlled that its creator, in defiance of the Gods, was sentenced to a cavern deep-seated and hidden. He would be forever its keeper clothed in Mist. Til the Mist sets, shall the power sleep.’

I only hope that what we take is not more than should be unleashed into the world.”

I suppose I’ll start moving my dreams over next.

Refusing to let the sweatiness of her palms show, Syde moved to place the Dark Crystal between a trio of thin prongs. The pounding of her heart trembled her tapered fingernails, yet she managed to place the shard properly. For those unfamiliar with Viera, they would have thought her calm and in control. For the few who did, it was easy to see the signs of tremendous stress on her. Her eyebrows were drawn minutely downward in concentration, her ears twitched at every bump and crackle, and her normally calm composure was fractionally less stoic.

Taking a few steps back to allow the Moogle room to perform diagnostics, she released a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Concerns piled upon worries upon stress. Not only was it illegal for them to be doing such things, if any one thing were out of place, the entire residence would be destroyed in a tumultuous geyser of Mist, along with a sizable portion of the skycity. They had agreed that she would stop the experiment if she sensed a dangerous amount of Mist, yet doubts of that sort of failsafe screamed behind her eyes.

What if it came too quickly for her to stop it? What if she was too consumed by the Mist Frenzy to realize it? What if –

With a shake of her head, she tried once again to concentrate on the task at hand before she realized that she’d been thinking longer than expected — a habit she had still not learned to control even after six years out of her village. Viera often sank into their own thoughts so deeply that time is meaningless, a trait that came with having a long lifespan, and from a lifetime of daily meditation in her home village.

“Yes, indeed, this sample is perfect, kupo. The proportions of the facets are just right, even at this minuscule scale, kupo,” Ruthy continued, obviously excited about their project, regardless of its potentially lethal ramifications. Syde wondered idly if Moogles ever feared frontiers of experimentation for the danger that it imposed. It seemed that Ruthy was impervious to the sort of thought.

A few moments more, and the experiment began with a great whir.

Her ears told her that raw energy derived from magicite coursed through the black cables connected to the pronged setting. It sounded much like a tiny river of Mist to her. Almost instantly, she could sense the Dark Crystal’s response to the feed of energy. It resonated a perfectly timed pulse that increased in heaviness as the input increased. Ruthy had suggested that feeding Holy power to the Dark Crystal would be best, as the two would balance each other, giving neither element an advantage.

The energy feed increased with each pulse, heightening the crystal’s response. The moogle and viera watched intently; the Mist bleeding from the center of the room pricked like a fine pain in Syde’s body. A pulse, and then another, the power feed overran that of the crystal’s own, when finally –

It stopped. It was as if Syde had been inside a great bubble, submerged under water thicker and heavier than any water Humes could know, suffocating her, when suddenly that sphere of pressure instantly retreated. She had been bracing harder than she’d known, for she suddenly found herself pushing forward against nothing and falling to her knees, paralyzed. Her long ears drooped in the weariness of bearing such a seething of power. Her sense of hearing had been swept away by the rush, and for a moment she feared that it was permanently burnt out.

She felt Ruthy’s excited hop-hopping through her fingertips bracing her body’s weight on the floor. As sound and feeling slowly returned, she realized that Ruthy’s excitement was of success, not fretting nor scampering to safety. The procedure had transformed the Dark Crystal into a shard of nethicite. Manufacted nethicite had recently been banned by the Archadian Empire, due to the late autocrat Vayne Solidor’s abuse. The new Emperor, young Larsa Solidor, had decreed that its creation and use were outlawed for the time being, until they could devise regulations and laws to oversee its mass introduction to Ivalice.

Syde shook her ears out, regaining composure and grasping the situation. “Time to fly, Ruthy. We mustn’t be here when the troops come,” she interrupted Ruthy’s exclamations of a kind of joy that only scientists feel when an experiment goes exactly according to plan.

——-

Moments later, a troupe of Bhujerban Sainikah burst into the room, only to find it bare and uninhabited. The dust still sat in layers on the floor, the windows boarded up, and a musky smell of oldness clung to the room. Seeing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, they moved onto the next residence in search of the sudden outburst of Mist.

——-

Syde sat in the cockpit of the Trefoil, sipping another cup of Salikagreen. She could hear Ruthy’s squeaky steps, bouncing to and fro, in the lower quarters, exclaiming wildly about their successful experimentation. She could also smell cleanliness; Kirin had come in and cleaned the upholstery and the control panels while she and Ruthy were away. She would have to remember to thank him later.

Lazarus had taught her, not long after they first met, that the people of Ivalice depended on interaction with each other. Her coldness and otherworldly detachment that were vieran trademark had caused unrest amongst the moogles. They’d thought her displeased of their workmanship, and scrambled to perform at her liking, to no avail. Lazarus had finally had to tell her that they were looking for a sign of approval, and friendship. She had been taken aback, unsure. In the Wood, approval was granted by the Wood herself, and no other. All viera could hear the Green Word, thus there was never a need for displays of approval from others, nor did the viera need care what others did not say.

“… Miss Syde’s handling of the hover was masterful, thrilling, kupo! One day, Kirin, you must ride with …” and on went Ruthy’s excitement. Hear ears caught a clinking of glass.  She thought it an overreaction that they would toast Bhujerban madhu to an illegal accomplishment. She knew their celebrations would not last long, for the moogles had such weak alcoholic tolerance that their very first shot of the stuff had proven more than enough entertainment for the rest of the night.

——-

Even she had been surprised at how well Ruthy had devised the setup to quickly collapse into a manageable suitcase. Well, the smaller the better. Who could have guessed that the tiny case could fit so much? She had picked up both Ruthy and the case, and dived out the window. She’d realized just as her body cleared the window frame that she had, in fact, overshot their exit in her anxiety, and had fractions of a second to hook her leg around the hover’s seat to stop an endless drop down to the shores of the Phon Coast. Ruthy had landed on the passenger seat perfectly, seemingly unruffled by the whole plan, setting to work magicks of her own. Syde saw the room rearrange itself; the dust fluffing itself back up into layers untouched, each particle falling back to undisturbed rest, each footprint erased. Even the window rippled, growing a new pane of glass. The ends of the boards that had covered the window grew new fibers to fill in the hole, knitting itself back to the way it was.

With that, they were off; Syde rushed the hover off towards the Tchita Uplands, where a rendezvous point had been set. It was then that she noticed that the hover was flying lower than she wanted, and like in a dream gone wrong, the hover would heed her no more, and continued to lower as if it were losing the strength to hold them in the air.

As they slowly fell out of the sky, Syde fished a small crystal out from a discrete pouch in the side of her armor. It was the colour of fresh blood, though its original colour had been a blue deeper than the most priceless sapphire. “Lazarus!”

A detached crystalline voice responded, “Syde? What’s happened?”

“The hover, it refuses to heed me. We descend over the Phon –” and before she could go any further, the crystal’s glow winked out. It was then that she realized that all magicite aboard the hover were failing — including the skystone that kept it aloft.

The sea rushed up to meet them. With the last of the hover’s momentum, she twisted her body around and threw her weight into a skidding turn that prevented them from diving head first into the unforgiving water. The rounded underside of the hover skidded like a pebble in a pond a few times before it finally toppled over and flung the viera, moogle, and precious suitcase into the sea-polished side of a tall peninsula of jutting boulders surrounded by silky white Phon sand.

Syde didn’t remember reaching around to shield Ruthy, though she later recalled that when her back smashed into the boulder’s face, she had the tiny Moogle in her arms.

——-

She’d woken with bleared eyes, and the smell of blood aging in the air. Her ears rung; a lonely sensation after a life of hearing almost everything around her in perfect detail. She thought for a moment that she could feel her body no longer, but was proven wrong when she attempted to sit up. In fact, she felt everything, even the muscles she never knew existed. She did eventually get to her feet, however, and stumbled to the cockpit, if only just to see the sky.

The mu sat curled in a pile of fluff by the door, emanating a gentle melody for rest. It chirrupped helpfully when she entered, drawing her attention to a steaming pot of tea by her co-pilot’s chair. No doubt Lazarus had been expecting her to wake. She settled into the seat as gently as her muscles would allow, and let out a deep sigh when she could see the unobstructed view it offered.

She saw that they were anchored at a floating island over the Paramina Rift, one that looked as if a God had reached a hand down from the skies and scooped the top of a moutain away, and sent it flying on its own orbit.

She achingly poured herself a cup of tea — with both hands — and sipped its gentle flavour, letting sound return slowly to her battered ears. She tried to taste the tea as fully as possible, letting the initial splash of it hit her tongue, then felt the flavour transform as she swallowed, leaving a slightly dry sensation behind, as most teas are apt. She closed her eyes and let her ears see for her.

Ruthy didn’t so much walk as she did waddle down the ramp of the Trefoil. Her short bat-like wings allowed her to fly, but they had been cramped against her tiny body these past weeks replacing much-worn parts in the engines, and performing general maintenance on the airship. Feeling cramped was nothing new to her, despite her already very small stature. The small spaces in the engines called for moogles, but their race were also long infamous for their genius in all things mechanical, naturally heightening her credentials. She took a long, adorably luxurious stretch, fluttering her wings a few times, and shaking her long harish ears out. The pom-pom that sprouted from atop her head bounced merrily above a set of goggles, “Ah, but it’s nice to breathe some fresh air, kupo!”

“You can have all the fresh air you want, as long as the Trefoil is in good shape,” Lazarus surprised her, appearing to have suddenly materialized. Ruthy turned around to see him leaning against the ramp’s railing, arms crossed in a relaxed manner. His Dalmascan-Archadian-cross accent was dashing at the very least, and his piercing blue eyes outshone most of the crystals that she had seen in her lifetime. “How goes the work, Ruthy? Is she ready for flight again?”

“She’ll be ready by sundown!” Ruthy answered, nodding enthusiastically, sending the orange pom-pom hopping madly. She was no less than ecstatic. She enjoyed hearing the engines hum happily when they were working at peak efficiency; she was so familiar and intimate with the machinery that the ship itself almost spoke to her.

Her assistant, Kirin, wafted down the ramp, wobbling subtly in the air. His usual dreamy look had put a soft smile on his lips — and a smudge across his nose as well, it seems — and his small round eyes seemed clouded in a fanciful gaze behind his eyeglasses, allowing him to bump right into Ruthy before noticing he was already outside.

“Oh dear, kupo! Apologies, Ruthy! Oh! Lazarus!?” In a mad dance of frenzied flailing, flapping of tiny wings, and hopping, Kirin was sent tumbling to the ground and rolling to a stop some feet later. Ruthy had near fallen over the platform altogether, leaving her dangling by a hand off the side of the well-crafted metal grille.

Lazarus raised an eyebrow, amused at Moogle antics. They were scientific geniuses, but not perfect by any means. It was an impossibility, in his eyes; no one could be perfect. Lazarus was far too picky about perfection anyhow, though he was fairly sure he had come across what could be labelled as close to perfection incarnate as possible. “Good work, Ruthy. Have her ready to take off at sundown,” he smiled easily, and strode off to leave the two to sort out their untumblings.

——-

Entirely dressed in her armour already, Syde sat at the table, sipping a light-coloured herbal tea whose tea leaves were quickly depleting in supply. She had taken a good lot of belongings with her when she left her home to journey, including a heaping stash of her favourite tea, Salikagreen. She savoured every sip of the tea, fully enjoying its entire flavour, from the gentle way it washed onto her tongue, to the light-bodied reminiscence each swallow left behind. She mulled over a large crisp parchment covered in numbers and symbols written in her own hand, as if it were the morning paper.

Lazarus waltzed into the kitchen right then, marvelling at the way the sunlight brought the entire room to a golden glow, with Syde in midst of it all. Her long white hair reflected a halo of light about her face, contrasting her lovely cocoa skin. She was his quiet and introspective fantasy, the greatest treasure he could ever have hoped to find on any of his pirating expeditions.

Both she and a tiny bundle of white fur looked up at his entrance, a soft smile crossing her lips against the cup’s paper-thin porcelain. The mu chirrupped a welcome at his entrance, and immediately a soft morning tune reached Lazarus’ ears. He’d grown quite fond of the tiny creature and its atmospheric themes, though was unsure how to name it, or if it even needed one; it seemed to get on just fine without one, and it didn’t seem to mind the pranks that Ruthy played every so often to prod it into playing different melodies.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, he smiled, “We’ll be ready to sail by sundown, as per Ruthy’s diagnosis,” he announced jubilantly, clearly very eager to take to the skies again.

“Good, I have the necessary synthesis devised. We will begin shortly, after Ruthy and Kirin stop arguing about whose fault the collision was,” she smirked. Her ears were beyond keen, and let her in on secrets carried by winds and birdsong. Lazarus was startled that she knew already, even though they had been partners nearly five years, she continued to amaze him. Her ears twitched slightly at his expression, “Did you think I hear them not?”

Shaking his head, Lazarus only responded, “You do seem to know everything, Syde. Are you sure the synthesis will be safe? I’ll not have you within a chamber of exploding Mist. A proper pirate needs his first-mate.” He pulled a chair for himself and sat down, trailing fingertips down the side of her arm. She was nervous, her posture belied her sure tone.

“It will be well; I am confident in the calculations. Ruthy also agreed that they were correct,” she said. That the moogle had agreed on their correctness buoyed her confidence, but did nothing to diminish the pessimistic side of her that was waiting for some miscalculation error, or a mishap in the laboratory. She knew well that high concentrations of Mist could drive viera into a frenzied rage, even madness, yet another worry nestling into her nerves. Viera were already inherently sensitive to the presence of Mist, the source of all magick in the world of Ivalice.

Mist, itself, remained one of the greatest mysteries that nearly all magickal philosophers had tried to reason out, with a distinctive few who had dared experiment with it. Mist resembled climate regions, spreading from area to area, expanding to dominate new territory. There were no chronicled cases of Mist receding from an area –only spreading — and in almost all cases, mutating the species and terrain that lived in the area. It was a grim thought. What would Ivalice look like in a few centuries’ time?

At the next mining site, the smell had grown strong enough that she needed to rest and appreciate the breeze as she stood by the bridge’s rails. A glance below showed that patches of greenery behind the marshmallow clouds — a breathtaking view that she wished she could share with someone. She suspected that the Malboro was not far ahead from the odor’s intensity, and pulled out a map to see if the terrain would be favourable for battle.  She traced her sharp eye from the mine entrance to her current location, then looked at the pathways that lay ahead. There, only another mining site ahead, was a small hidden cavern that would be missed by anyone without a proper map — and a very likely nesting spot for a reclusive fiend. She was lucky to possess a newly detailed map of the Lhusu, and all of its hidden corners. The only problem with maps of the mines here was that the mines themselves changed constantly. With all the retrofitted reinforcements to accomodate for all of the mining, there were now caverns where there were none a few months ago, and walls where there were passageways last week.

Bracing herself for the growing rank stench, she continued on her way, sprinting towards the cavern without stopping for the Haunted Skeletons that rose to challenge her with rusted steel. After crossing another suspended bridge with a breathtaking view of the clouds, she rounded the bend into the cavern and found a sight that heightened her disgust for the Malboro species.

The young woman who’d been kidnapped laid helpless in a cocoon of putrid slime, whimpering softly. The Malboro’s numerous eyes stared Syde with an hot expression. The creature itself was hideous, a monster composed entirely of numerous tentacles which served as its main mode of transportation. Rivulets of sickly green slime drooled from a gaping mouth that displayed rows of saw-jagged teeth, above which squirmed clusters of black eyes, each atop their own tentacle. It bellowed in rage at having its dinner interrupted, spitting acid at her before advancing.

Her blade in experienced hand, she immediately dispelled the fiend of its protective magicks, then proceeded to slash away at his tentacles, intending to debilitate it of much movement or attack. She received moderate damage in return, which left thin acid-covered lashes on her smooth cocoa skin. A few times, she was knocked back against the cold rough walls, scraping her calves. She persisted in her attacks, buying herself some time to heal when needed.

Somewhere in the part of her mind that registered emotionless thoughts when she was focussed on a single task, she thought to herself that this mark was far too difficult to have been considered easy enough for an entry-level bounty hunter. She concluded that the distressed man at the tavern had likely marked it misleadingly in an attempt to attract more bounty hunters as she ducked a violent swipe that bent a steel support beam

With one final plunge of her sword into the heart of the cluster of trimmed tentacles, the Malboro fell with a deafening final roar and dissolved into a vomit-green cloud and a damp spot on the cold ground.

Taking a brief moment to heal herself, Syde proceeded to cut the frightened woman out of her sticky prison. It was only until the woman was fully freed from the cocoon that she noticed that the cocoa smell had steeped into the cavern air, and emanating strongly from the kidnap-ee. The slight figure took a deep breath as she attempted (and failed) to knead the Malboro slime out of her hair and clothing. “I thank you, bhadra. You are most courageous, saving me like that. I would embrace you, but I fear I am in no proper condition to do so,” she gestured at her current state of uncleanliness.

Syde shook her head slightly, her long black-tipped ears swaying, “No need. Your husband sent me. My reward rests with him.” Her lilting voice and brief sentences may have struck anyone as cold, but it was as in her nature; she found it more difficult to express with words than actions, and seemed sometimes to have a knack for knowing another’s thoughts.

At the closer distance, she was able to take appraisal of the lady’s clothing, which seemed made of fine silks and soft cottons; a lady of some stature in the Skycity? She sat for a short while, resting, perhaps waiting for the dizzying smell of the Malboro to finally diffuse.

“My name is Lilihwa,” she introduced herself at last. “The Malboro snatched me away from my newly-wedded husband just as we were settling down for a picnic. It was a most surreal experience, you see. It was like the beast had planned a meal of me. First, it took its time eating away the chocolates my dearest had gifted to me, one at a time, as if it were saving me for last.”

The seemingly random kidnapping now made sense to the Viera; the beast had taken Lilihwa away because it had had a penchant for chocolate, and had perceived her as a particularly large helping of such. She shook her head at the irony that a monster with so many eyes could not tell between a Hume and a lump of confectionary.

Happy only to be alive and to be able to see her new husband again, the lady asked, “Pray, what is your name, huntress?”

“Syde,” she answered simply, pronounced ‘Sid’. “We must return soon. The hour is late, and your husband has waited long for you.”

——–

The petitioner had waited for them at the foot of the stairs by the entrance to the mines, and was most overjoyed to see his darling beloved returned to him. “Thank you, bhadra!” he exclaimed, almost throwing Syde’s reward at her. “We will never be able to thank you enough for reuniting us from this peril, please, take what you may.”

Syde’s full lips smiled genuinely, “The reward is enough,” she hefted the pouch of gil, confirming that she was satisfied. She wanted them to finish their thanks as soon as they could, as she felt in the way of their rather affectionate reunion. She watched as the couple departed hurriedly; no doubt Lady Lilihwa was in dire want of a hot bath.

She, herself, returned to the residence, to find him awaiting her. “Oh? Back so soon?” A grin pulled at her lips, one which he returned whole-heartedly.

“I missed my leading lady,” he replied cheekily. “Now, what mischief have you been up to?”

“Nothing as exciting as plundering the palace’s jewels,” she eyed his “earnings” on the tabletop. “Just a short hunt for chocolate.”