The Spirals of Ishgard

“So cold so cold so cold!” A young Lalafell lamented, hugging herself to try and ward off the cold that seeped even through her thick layers of clothing. She let out a low whine, her mind wandering to her brief stay at Costa del Sol after her failed endeavour as an Arcanist.

This only further depressed her. The cold was so powerful that the memory of Bloodshore's beaches just served to aggravate her, and remembering how the Carbuncle had ran away instead of helping her fight made her more miserable.

“At-choom!” She brought her gloved hands to her face, instinct dictating she shielded her surroundings by the byproducts of her cold. “Ah!” In so doing she missed the chipped spot on the bridge's masonry. She grit her chattering teeth as she prepared to shield herself.

“Careful, Tataru.” A strong hand prevented it, grabbing Tataru's shoulder and steadying her body again. “Looks like they haven't repaired all of the bridge yet.” She sighed in relief and stared upwards, at the hyur clad in a blue and white glacial coat, long cocoa locks trashing in the freezing winds, green eyes smiling down at her. “Well, we did slay a giant dragon on it. Plus a few dozens smaller ones.”

“Wonder how they disposed of the bodies.” The third member of the group piped up, visibly shivering. Well, Alphinaud had always been ill prepared for rigid climates. Probably has something to do with his usual attire. “Vishap collapsed right on their front door.”

“It was a close call. I still owe Juni one for that.” The hyur sighed as they resumed walking, now keeping a hand on Tataru's back. “I bet they just pushed them off into the Sea of Clouds, anyway.”

“How do you push something that big?” Tataru wondered out loud, vividly recalling the description her tallest friend had made of the giant dragon. He just grinned down at her.

“Same way you kill one. You get creative.” She chuckled and Alphinaud let out an audible shudder.

“While you 'got creative', did you perchance take an exact measurement of the Steps of Faith? Or should I craft myself a tomb out of snow?”

“Hmm…” The Hyur brought his free hand to the left side of his face, activating his black visor. The Ironworks craft came to life and shifted itself over his left eye. “Oh. It's a hundred meter in front of us.”

“Twelve blast this storm… Come on, Jusso. Tataru.” Jusso and Tataru shared a laugh and the Hyur bent down to whisper to her.

“Wouldn't that make it worse?” Tataru suffocated a laugh before they fell into stride again, following the former commander of the Crystal Braves towards the gates of Ishgard.

As she did, though, she couldn't help but think how her adventurer friend seemed to be doing his best to be more chipper than usual, and that didn't sit well with her.

She had had to escape the Rising Stones to avoid capture -or worse- at the hands of former allies. She had burst in tears more than once.

Alphinaud had been stripped of everything he had built, every step he had made towards an united Eorzea made vain in the face of greed. He broke down almost to the point of no return. Tataru dreaded what could have happened had he been left alone.

The Warrior of Light hadn't even frowned.

The White, as he had been christened by his seniors, had been accused of regicide. Of the Scions, he alone had escaped Ul'dah, every single one of his companions sacrificing themselves to grant him a chance. The Crystal Braves turned on him, he found himself exiled from both his home of Gridania and the Maelstrom in Limsa.

Almost every single one of his allies had either betrayed him or was currently out of reach. Knowing the Hyur's capacity for empathy, she could only imagine what was going on in his heart. Yet, not a peep.

As the gates of Ishgard came into sight, Tataru couldn't help but wonder: what could keeping all that grief bottled up do to a person?

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