Chapter Text
G’raha Tia sat at the edge of the newly completed city wall, his legs dangling over the precipice as he stared into the endless, oppressive light flooding Lakeland’s sky.
His jacket, worn thin from overuse, carried the faint, unfortunate scent of rot—no thanks to weeks without a proper wash. And yet, for the first time since his arrival in the First, he felt a sense of peace settle within.
It had been a grueling ten years.
At first, he hadn’t even realized he’d been cast back to the wrong point in time. He’d tried everything he could think of to summon her, each attempt failing more spectacularly than the last. After his third failure, he’d resolved to calm his mind and throw himself into the vast libraries of the realm, even to wander its lands. To learn of its people.
The more he explored Norvrandt, however, the deeper the despair crept into his heart. G’raha liked to think of himself as resilient, but witnessing death and horror at such a scale—the sight of men turning to monsters, bearing the knowledge that this fate lay inescapable for many—struck his resolve to its core.
So he’d banded together with a group of survivors, choosing instead to build something tangible: a city.
A final bastion of hope in this light-devoured land. A safe place where people might find respite. It had taken years of resolve, sacrifice, and sheer will to bring it to life, but at last, the city wall stood tall, a testament to their resilience.
His gaze fixed unbidden on the distant Crystal Tower—beautiful, powerful, and unyielding, just like her .
For a moment, his usually stoic demeanor softened, and the weight of leadership lifted briefly as he allowed himself to remember her.
Her. The tiny, stubborn Au Ra with piercing cyan eyes and raven hair, her fierce resolve pulling him in from the very start. Her laughter, her teasing during their explorations of the Tower, the unspoken bond forged between them as they fought side by side.
How he ached for her. His heart yearned to be by her side, even if only for one fleeting moment.
But in this fractured world, in this broken timeline, she lay forever beyond his reach.
Every time despair threatened to crush him, every moment of unbearable emotion—she was the one he thought of. And here, all he had was the unending light and the Tower’s silent, unwavering presence.
Before his mind could fully wander, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind him.
“Exarch—”
G’raha quickly turned over, and saw a Hyur guard running towards him, in a swift motion, he jumped off the wall, as he asked the Hyur,
“What’s wrong?”
The guard, visibly distressed, explained that there had been an attack near one of the newly built city walls. Without hesitation, G’raha summoned a group of nearby guards, directing them to approach the scene with caution.
When they arrived, it was clear a Sin Eater had attacked a group of travelers; some lay badly wounded, and one was bleeding out.
G’raha murmured a healing incantation under his breath, stabilizing the most critical of the injured while instructing the guard to assist the rest. Then, without delay, he sprinted toward the Sin Eater.
Years of hard-earned experience guided his every move, and in a matter of moments, he struck down the creature. Panting, he scanned the area to ensure all was safe, just as one of the guards called out,
“There’s something here!”
He turned, seeing that the other travelers had been tended to, and cautiously approached the area the guard indicated near some crumbling ruins.
As he rounded the corner, he spotted something hidden in the bushes—a figure, crumpled against a wall. He soon realized it wasn’t another Sin Eater, but a young Au’Ra girl, injured yet alive.
He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he approached, his voice low and soothing,
“It’s alright now. You’re safe.”
The girl turned around, black hair tumbled over her face, and when she looked up, her cyan eyes met his.
For a moment, his world stopped.
His breath hitched in his throat, and for the briefest of seconds, he wasn’t in Lakeland anymore—he was back at the Crystal Tower , teasing a tiny, stubborn Au'Ra who wielded a bow with unmatched skill.
Hypshay
“Hy…..”
Her name came unbidden, whispered from his lips before he could stop himself. His heart squeezed painfully, the memory of her flooding his mind in an instant.
There was a moment when he silently hoped that against all odds, the gods, in some cosmic twist, had granted him a final chance to see her again. That fate had returned her to him.
But as he looked into the girl’s eyes, he knew.
It wasn’t her . It couldn’t be.
This girl, though she looked so much like—so painfully alike—was not her.
She would have been standing tall, pride and fire in her gaze, cutting down all her enemies, refusing to let herself show even a hint of weakness.
Swallowing the ache building in his chest, he quickly knelt beside the injured girl, his voice gentle but steady as he asked,
“Can you walk?”
She blinked at him, her expression dazed yet grateful. "I-I think so," she murmured, her voice faint but steady.
G’raha scanned her for injuries before gently helping her to her feet, gesturing for her to join the others. As she moved away, the girl cast a quick glance back at him, blushing faintly.
"I owe you my life," she said softly.
She continued speaking, her voice carrying gratitude, though he could barely focus on her words—the resemblance was too striking, as if fate itself had contrived a cruel joke just for him.
His hands trembled slightly as he channeled a gentle healing spell over her injuries, as the spell ended, he managed a faint smile.
"You owe me nothing," he replied, his voice calm but distant. "Protecting those in need is what we do. Nothing more."
The girl blushed again, "Still… thank you."
G'raha nodded, pulling himself to his feet and stepping away. Every part of him screamed to leave, to get away from this girl who reminded him too much of what he had lost. He offered her a final glance, his heart twisting painfully as the resemblance lingered in his mind.
Without another word, he turned and left.
That night, alone in the silent depths of the Ocular, G’raha Tia allowed the tears he had held back for so many years to fall freely. In the quiet, where no one could see, he let his sorrow consume him.
He knew he had to save her.
No matter what.
—---
For the next few months, G’raha buried himself in work, keeping the Crystarium running, training the guards, managing the Sin Eater threat, anything to distract him from the storm inside his heart.
But as if fate was not cruel enough to him, every time he passed through the corridors or the city streets, there was the girl, always helping, always nearby.
She would bring him and the guards lunch on occasion, something simple but thoughtful—a small gesture of gratitude that never went unnoticed. He thanked her each time with a soft, measured smile, though the sight of her only made his heart ache more deeply.
She looked so much like her .
If anything, it just reminded him more of all he had yet to do: to see her, to save her, to rewrite their history.
He was intentionally trying to keep his distance, but the way that girl looked at him made his heart heavy. He knew she harbored feelings for him, the shy glances, the way her voice softened when she spoke to him.
He had seen it all before—he was no longer the naive Miqo'te he had been in his youth.
But G’raha Tia’ s heart had long been claimed by another woman, he was here because of her , because the need to save her was unbearable.
His heart would forever belong to her and her alone.
And yet, there were moments—split seconds, fleeting as they were—where he almost let himself imagine.
What if she was her ?
But no, every time he saw the girl, she was just another reminder that she was not here.
And so, he buried himself further in his work, adding to his already crushing load to make the ache in his heart bearable.
In his studies, he delved through thousands of ancient tomes until one day, a particular text caught his eye.
It detailed the account of an Allagan noble who, intoxicated by magic, fused himself with a purified crystal, gaining immense power at the cost of gradual crystallization of his body.
A flicker of something stirred within him—a possibility—but he quickly dismissed it, reassuring himself that there had to be another way.
For now, he clung to a fragile hope that, before his time ran out, he would find a way to save her—that perhaps fate would be kind enough to give him this one mercy.
So G’raha lets the thought go, before he devoted himself to more work.
—---
One night, when he was reading in the quietness of the Ocular, his door was knocked.
“Come in.”
He called, closing the tome, half-expecting it to be the city planner with another late-night request. But when he looked up, his breath caught—the girl stood before him, her cyan eyes focused unwaveringly on him, a blush coloring her cheeks.
He tried to say something first, but was interrupted by her, as her fingers clutching at her skirts,
“I, Exarch, there’s something…I want to tell you.”
He opened his mouth to speak, thinking to cut her off with a polite joke, as he’d done with others before to save them both from the disappointment, but somehow, when she looked at him with those cyan eyes, something inside of him stirred.
Somehow, with the gaze of those cyan eyes, G’raha Tia lost the ability to simply talk.
And in that moment of hesitation, the girl has already mustered enough courage,
“I just…I want to thank you again. For everything you’ve done. For saving me, for being so kind, for…”
She trailed off, her words catching in her throat.
G’raha could feel it. The weight of her unspoken confession hung in the air, and it made his heart sink. He raised his hand, trying desperately to stop her.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “And I know you’re… busy, and you have so many responsibilities, but…”
She looked up at him, her cyan eyes shimmering with hope and vulnerability. “I just wanted you to know that…I’ve grown to care for you. A lot.”
G’raha’s heart cracked, the guilt flooding him in waves. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself before he could respond.
"It’s not worth thanking me for, truly. I only did what anyone in the Crystarium would have done."
His voice was softer than usual, a gentleness to it as he forced himself to meet her gaze, feeling she deserved at least that much respect.
But he could already see her disappointment in those cyan eyes.
And no matter how much he told himself, the resemblance hurt him all the same— her cyan eyes, full of disappointment, when he closed the door behind him three centuries ago and looked back from his shoulder one last time.
"You’re a remarkable person," he began, his words slow and careful, each one weighing heavily on him. "You’ve shown such kindness, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve brought to this city…but…"
He swallowed, feeling his heart crack as he forced the words past the lump in his throat.
"My heart…belongs to someone else."
Tears began to well in the Au’Ra girl’s eyes, and G’raha cursed himself silently, all too aware that he had hurt her in ways he hadn’t intended. He offered her a gentle smile, struggling to convey his regret as he spoke softly,
“You deserve better.”
There was a long pause before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “If… if you don’t share the same feelings I do… then why?” Her voice cracked slightly. “Why do you look at me like……like you are……”
She could not finish, tears already streaming down her face as she held a hand to cover her mouth.
G'raha’s heart tightened. He had never meant to hurt her in this way. He struggled for words, his throat dry, the silence stretching between them like a chasm.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.
“I, I am sorry if that’s how you have felt…It’s not what you think. You remind me of…someone. Someone I lost long ago.”
He couldn’t say her name.
The mere thought of speaking it aloud, of saying her name into the empty air, without hearing her voice respond, was unbearable. His heart clenched as the memory of her flooded his mind once more.
The Au’Ra girl stared at him, her expression softening as she pieced together the truth.
“Someone you love,” she said, her voice laced with understanding—and a deep, unspoken pain.
G’raha nodded slowly,
“I apologize,” he said quietly, “If my actions caused you pain, that was never my intent.”
She did not immediately respond. Finally, her voice came, hesitant and strained,
“If… If that’s the case… Would it make you feel better…if I acted more like her?” Her hands trembled slightly as she continued. “If it helps, I…I don’t mind…..”
Before she could continue, G’raha took a step forward and interrupted her.
“No, please don’t. You look like her. But you are not like her. And you should not, because you are your own person, with your own life, your own light. And I—”
He paused, searching for the right words,
“I could never do that to you. Or… to her .”
Because no one will ever be like her.
And G’raha Tia’s heart was and would forever be hers.
The girl looked taken aback by his words, but then she mustered a smile, faint and wavering.
“I…understand. Thank you…for hearing me out,” she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible as she took a step back.
Before he could respond, she turned and exited the room quietly, leaving the door closed behind her.
G’raha covered his face with a trembling hand, letting out a deep sigh.
He should be more careful, it’s entirely his fault. He could have avoided this disappointment for her and for him alike, but he had foolishly let himself just a moment of respite, a moment of weakness.
This conversation crystallized something he had long felt in his heart: he needed to be more calculated, more secluded, and above all, he needed more time .
Flesh and blood brought comforts and complexities he could no longer afford. Every moment he clung to his mortal form was a moment further from becoming the being that might yet save her .
That night, G’raha Tia stood alone in front of the Dossal Gate, staring up at the towering structure of the Crystal Tower.
He could not continue living in this half-existence, torn between his duty to the Crystarium and the unresolved pain in his heart.
He had made his decision.
—---
Lyna had been a surprise—a responsibility he hadn’t sought, but one for which he grew profoundly grateful.
When her parents were killed, defending the Crystarium from a relentless Lightwarden attack, they had used their last breaths to entrust him with the care of their only child.
He remembered the look in their eyes, the unspoken plea. And though he knew the pain of forming connections in a world he could not truly remain part of, he could not refuse.
He was old by then, over fifty summers spent in the First.
His heart was a time-worn thing, softened by years of sacrifice and solitude. He’d kept himself at a distance from the people he served, always aware that one day he would leave them, that any bonds he formed would only bring pain when severed.
But that thought held no weight in the face of a child who’d just lost everything.
And so, he took Lyna in, his newfound responsibility and joy.
It was hard at first.
She was fiercely stubborn, a mischievous glint in her lilac eyes as she dashed through the Tower’s endless hallways. He had forgotten the energy children could have; how boundless their curiosity and will could be. She’d dart away in a flash, giggling as he attempted to keep pace, his own legs much too old to match her boundless vigor.
But he tried, every time.
Cooking was another hurdle.
He’d hardly learned how to cook for himself, let alone for a little girl. But Lyna had a sweet tooth—she wanted cakes, she told him, eyes alight with excitement. And though he didn’t know the first thing about baking, he decided it was his duty as her guardian to provide her with whatever she asked.
His first attempt was an absolute disaster. The cake was lopsided, burned on one side, and he was sure it tasted awful. But Lyna’s face lit up as she saw it, and as she took her first bite, she beamed, her eyes shining with genuine happiness.
“It’s perfect!” she declared with all the confidence of a child, and at that moment, he knew he’d do it all again, every burnt cake, every failed attempt, just to see her smile like that.
Lyna became his solace, a small, unexpected gift in the midst of his duty-bound isolation.
One night, under the constant, unyielding light, Lyna came to him, wide-eyed and trembling, unable to sleep. The memories of her parents haunted her, and the unending brightness above only deepened the shadows in her heart.
He wrapped her in a blanket, cradling her small form against him as he began to tell her a story, one that had lived in his own heart for countless years. It was the story of hope, of a promise yet to be fulfilled.
“Someday,” he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing, “when the time is right, a hero will come to the First. A warrior who will drive away the Light and restore the night sky. Let’s call her the Warrior of Darkness.”
Lyna looked up at him, her face filled with wonder.
“Will she really come, Exarch?”
He nodded, a faint, wistful smile gracing his lips.
“Yes. She’s as relentless as she is powerful. Her bow sings, each shot bringing us closer to the darkness we long for. And when she does come…she will bring us back the stars. Until then, we will endure, together.”
“What does she look like?” Lyna’s voice was small, a child’s curiosity mixed with hope.
The question caught him off guard, and he hesitated, searching for the words that had been lodged deep within him.
“Her hair…it’s like the deepest shade of the night sky. And her eyes…” He paused, feeling a familiar ache, the one that hadn’t dulled over years of silent yearning.
“Her eyes are like the highest of the sky, clear and true.”
There was a moment of quiet.
Lyna’s gaze was fixed on him, but she was too young to understand the sorrow hidden in his voice, or the weight those words carried.
But he knew.
He knew how her raven hair and cyan eyes had haunted his every dream and nightmare alike.
—---
Three centuries.
Two centuries of slumbering. One century of solitude, waiting, hoping.
And now, finally, she was here before him. But this was not the reunion he had envisioned.
The look on her face was as fierce and unwavering, her stance poised for a fight as she aimed at him with her bow fully blasted. There was no recognition, only cold, simmering fury in her cyan eyes as she faced him.
He swallowed, trying to find words as she glared at him, but she did not give him the time.
“Mayhap you should know when to call people and when not,” she began, her voice cold as steel.
“Sometimes, ladies don’t like to be interrupted when they’re in the middle of something— especially if that something was someone chasing me with a samurai blade.”
She wasn’t pleased. That much was painfully clear.
“Please! There is no cause for alarm!” he managed, trying to sound calm, but his voice cracked, “I assure you—”
“Send me back. Now.” Her voice was a command, each word colder than the last. Her gaze was locked on him and her arrow aimed right at his heart. “I might not be trained in magic, but that doesn’t mean I can’t kill you right here and now.”
He could tell she wasn’t bluffing; there was no hesitation in her stance. She was a coiled spring, ready to release, and he needed her trust, however fragile, before she decided his words were no longer worth listening to.
He took a steadying breath, forcing his voice into calm even as his heart hammered in his chest.
“...I confess, this is not where I had intended to meet. But the place of our meeting is of no consequence—like the war you wage. Win or lose, the path you walk leads only to oblivion. ”
Her gaze narrowed, her voice dropping to a deadly low as she took a step closer.
“Are you questioning my war against my blood enemy, mage ?” Her tone was icy, her cyan eyes ablaze with hatred. “If the next word out of your mouth doesn’t make sense, I’ll act.”
She wasn’t giving him an inch, and he knew her words were no idle threat. But he couldn’t let her go. Not now—not after centuries of waiting, hoping for this one chance. He steadied himself, choosing his words with care.
“The better path leads you here. To me. I have need of your strength.”
She paused, but her arrow remained trained on him, unwavering.
“As have others. Why you?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust. “You have ten seconds left, mage .”
There was no more time to convince her, only the truth he held close.
“I am afraid such questions must wait. We have precious little time, and your work is not yet done,” he replied, the urgency raw in his voice. “Please, go to the Crystal Tower. I have left something for you near its base.”
She held his gaze, the ice in her cyan eyes flickering with something as he mentioned the Crystal Tower .
He felt a twinge of pain in his heart as he saw her reaction— she still cared , despite everything. But he had to press on.
“All you need to do is find it,” he continued. “And I will take care of the rest.”
He raised his hand, unable to hold back his yearning, though he knew it was a mistake.
“Soon… you will open the doors with your own hands. And I will be waiting for you… here in the First.”
His final plea lingered in the air, soft and desperate.
“Please. Find a way to me .”
She opened her mouth but before she could speak, the world began to spin, and she was gone.
—---
Scholars from NOAH and engineers from the Ironworks eagerly responded to the Scions' summons, joining the search for the elusive beacon. Their mission led them to the trench encircling the crystalline Syrcus Tower on the north side of Silvertear Lake.
The haunting figure of the tower loomed above, each crystalline surface reflecting fragments of memories Hypshay had fought hard to suppress.
Memories of G’raha Tia—nights spent beneath starless skies, promises left unspoken—rushed back, stirring emotions she had tried to bury. She forced down the memories, focusing on her duties with a practiced facade of indifference.
After hours of searching, their efforts seemed fruitless until Biggs and Wedge, studying their findings, turned to her with guarded optimism.
“We haven’t found much, but maybe…if anyone could spot something we missed, it’d be you, Hypshay,” Biggs suggested with a hopeful grin.
With a nod, Hypshay ventured further, moving beyond the areas already scoured.
That’s when she saw it—a small, half-buried metal gear, slick with muck, yet bearing a faint, familiar mark: the unmistakable emblem of the Garlond Ironworks.
Wedge let out a low whistle, squinting at the gear. “Well, that’s a find, isn’t it? Can’t say I remember sending any parts down here. You think we’ve got a counterfeiter on our hands?”
Hypshay crouched, lifting the gear to inspect it more closely.
“It’s strange…almost looks authentic, but—”
Before she could finish, a powerful wave of energy erupted, coursing through her with such force that it stole her breath.
She stumbled, the world spinning as an eerie, ethereal voice clawed its way into her mind—a voice both familiar and disorienting, urgent yet veiled, like a plea tangled in a command.
Clutching her head, she was overwhelmed by its weight.
“I’m waiting… my warrior …”