Chapter Text
The Tower hummed, a low, resonant vibration that rippled through the crystalline walls of the Ocular. The chamber glistened softly and Hypshay stood rigidly, her cyan eyes narrowed in irritation and suspicion toward the pedestal at the chamber's center.
Atop it, the infamous hourglass pulsed faintly against the crystal platform.
"Keep it close if you still want it, Exarch," Hypshay muttered, tail flicking irritably behind her. “I may not be as terrifying as Y’shtola when roused from sleep, but this makes the third time now. And if it caused yet another shenanigan, I’ll destroy it on the spot.”
“Though I share your sentiment, Warrior of Light,” G’raha Tia replied with a rueful grin, “I must caution you—it remains a valuable Allagan relic. One we’ve yet to fully comprehend.”
She rolled her eyes and grumbled, tightening her grip on her bow as she kept a vigilant watch, even through her exasperation.
Still holding a grudge over the previous…incidents. Raha mused silently.
But wisely, he let it go. He knew better than to test her patience when destruction was well within her means—and more importantly, her will.
With a sigh, he offered a small, conciliatory smile before kneeling beside the pedestal, gently extending his hand toward the artifact. As he reached out with his aether, resonating carefully to test for irregularities or hidden magical structures, the hourglass pulsed faintly—resistant, inert.
“Same as before,” he murmured. “No distortions. No anomalies. And yet, something keeps waking the Tower. If nothing else, we might attempt to see whether it responds to Allagan blood.”
“That was reckless, Exarch. Again .”
“Not reckless if the Tower responds to me.” he replied calmly, “Fear not—if it is indeed an Allagan relic, then my blood should allow me to command it, as it has countless others before.”
She raised a skeptical brow but relented with a sigh.
“‘Twould be a reasonable approach—if you’re certain,” she said. “Under better circumstances, I would advise we summon Urianger and Y’shtola first. But our dear Astrologian is off gallivanting with that damned Gunbreaker, and the last time they answered my call was a moon ago.”
She shuddered then, visibly shaking off the memory.
“And I have no wish to wake Y’shtola at this hour. Absolutely not .”
“Nor would I , my star,” Raha said with a grimace. His ears flattened at the recollection of Y’shtola’s reaction the last time they dared disturb her mid-sleep. “Let’s test it ourselves first.”
He was used to this now. His blood had become a tool—convenient, functional, necessary. With a flick of his wrist and a soft incantation, he summoned a magical dagger, the blade hovering just above the inside of his left arm. He was ready to draw it across his skin with practiced ease, like he had countless times before—until Hypshay’s hand intercepted him.
Her fingers curled around his arm, impossibly warm, firm but gentle.
“Careful now, Raha,” she murmured, her voice soft. “You only need a little. Allow me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could protest, she deftly plucked the dagger from his hand and dispelled it with a flicker of her own magic. Her training as a White Mage had refined her arcane prowess far beyond most, and while she’d never claim it, Raha knew without doubt she was among the most gifted healers in any Shard, a much better one than himself.
He watched, quietly mesmerized, as she reached into her quiver and retrieved a single arrow. Then, with a delicacy he rarely witnessed from this fierce, indomitable woman, she carefully pressed the sharpened point against his fingertip—just enough to draw a few shining drops of blood.
And somehow—despite all the wounds he’d endured, all the pain he’d long since learned to accept— this one hurt.
His breath caught unexpectedly in his throat, a gasp escaping him as he winced—not from pain, but something deeper.
Hypshay’s eyes widened at once.
“Ah—I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?” she asked in a rushed whisper, already discarding the arrow and reaching for him, leaning in close. “I must’ve been careless—”
“No, no,” Raha murmured, and before she could say another word, he reached out and pulled her into a kiss.
His blood still shimmered faintly on his fingertips—a stinging, crystalline reminder that this moment was real , no longer a construct of the sleepless nights he had once spent chasing shadows of dreams in solitude.
So this was what it felt like— to be cared for .
And, gods, it hurt .
Lyna’s face flickered through his thoughts, along with the countless others who had stood by him through those long, desperate years. He remembered their concern when he pushed himself too far, how they had worried when he stumbled, how they had seen him—even when he hid beneath that crystalline hood.
He had told himself the distance was necessary. That detachment was duty.
But they had cared anyway. And that —that had wounded him more deeply than the crystal ever could.
“‘Tis quite alright, Shay. Truly. No need to worry—you didn’t hurt me,” he said at last, a faint, coquettish smile curling at his lips. “But it was painful. Mayhap later, you’ll heal it for me, my hero.”
She huffed a laugh at that, soft and fond, her cyan eyes glowing with relief.
“Alright, I will. Now go on with your experiment, my lord.”
He nodded, returning his focus to the hourglass. His expression turned solemn as he stepped forward, extending his bloodstained fingertips toward the relic. Channeling his aether with practiced precision, he initiated the attunement—reaching, probing for resonance.
At first, the hourglass gave off a faint, flickering glow—dim, almost reluctant. Then, as his aether began to align with its inner mechanisms, the resonance deepened. The crystalline artifact began to pulse, its vibrations intensifying with each breath.
Raha narrowed his eyes, honing the thread of connection through his blood. But every attempt to penetrate its defenses was met with resistance. His aether was deflected—bounced back like waves crashing against an immovable barrier.
Until suddenly—
A blinding, searing surge of white-blue aether erupted from the hourglass in a burst of volatile power.
Hypshay felt it before it happened. Her instincts screamed a warning, and in a heartbeat, she lunged forward, trying to shove him away from the pedestal.
But it was too late—the bond of blood held him fast, locking him in place.
“ Stay back! ” Raha shouted, his voice strained as aether surged violently through the chamber, crackling across the air like lightning.
Yet, Hypshay paid no heed to his desperate warnings. In a heartbeat, her staff was already firmly gripped, her outstretched hand reaching towards him. Her aether flared powerfully to life, aggressively surging forth, attempting to forcibly sever the unyielding bond connecting Raha and the artifact.
And—as fate would have it—she succeeded, as always.
The impossibly resilient bond tethering Raha to the artifact was violently severed as her nearly overwhelming surge of aether crashed brutally into their link. It provided him the precious opportunity to wrench himself free, breaking away and leaping back from the artifact.
Hypshay exhaled softly, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden, explosive expenditure of her aether. But just as she was about to instruct him to retreat from the chamber and seek counsel before any further recklessness, the artifact abruptly rose from its pedestal, floating ominously into the air. Without warning, another blinding, white-hot burst of aether erupted from its core—this time swifter, more precise, and somehow aimed directly toward her .
"Hypshay!"
Instinctively, he lunged forward, colliding forcefully with her and thrusting her aside. She struck the crystalline floor hard but rolled swiftly back onto her feet, instantly drawing her bow, aiming defensively towards the now-empty pedestal.
The artifact had now— predictably —vanished, leaving only faint, lingering wisps of residual magic drifting in its wake.
Her gaze snapped back to Raha, heart hammering frantically as she rushed toward his fallen form. Raha lay still upon the ground, his breathing shallow and uneven, eyes tightly shut in unconsciousness.
Hypshay inhaled a deep, steadying breath, carefully setting her bow aside as she reclaimed her staff and gently lifted his head into her lap. With the remaining strength in her body, she summoned forth healing magic, the spells soothing and swift. Quickly, the bruises and superficial injuries upon his body faded under her ministrations.
She forced her racing heart to steady, fingers trembling slightly as she pressed them gently against his throat, relief washing over her as she felt the steady, rhythmic pulse beneath her touch.
Alive. But still, something was terribly amiss.
Her light-blessed healing magicks enabled her to discern his aetherial fluctuations more clearly than ever, and immediately she recognized that his aether was muted, distant—almost as if his very soul had been ensnared in a place her healing could not reach.
Without hesitation, she activated her linkpearl.
It rang longer than it should have before an irritated voice snapped through the connection.
"Asakura Hypshay. Do you have any idea—"
"Y’shtola," Hypshay swiftly cut the Miqo'te off, "there's been an incident at the Tower involving an Allagan artifact. Raha has fallen unconscious, and his aether is severely muted. Pray, fetch Krile swiftly—I lack the expertise you two possess in matters such as these."
"Keep vigilant watch," Y’shtola's irritation instantly shifted into urgency as she replied tersely. "We shall be there shortly."
She ended the call and gently cradled Raha into her arms.
Though unconscious, he felt heavier in her embrace, but with a quick incantation—a levitation spell he had once taught her—she managed to lift and guide him to the crystal bed in his chamber. Her hands pressed firmly to his wrist as she continued to channel healing magicks, her voice low and unwavering with every incantation.
He looked almost peaceful. Yet his complexion had paled, and his limbs remained disturbingly limp. She swallowed the rising dread in her throat and leaned over him, her aether flowing steadily, a constant surge of white-gold light pulsing through her fingers.
It was in moments like these that she regretted not dedicating herself to the study of healing magic sooner.
Shaking her head to banish such thoughts, she straightened, closing her eyes as she summoned another wave of aether, delicately probing around his dulled, distant essence. No matter how carefully she reached, she could not find a true connection—only that lingering, unreachable hum that echoed like a soul lost in fog.
The silence of the Ocular broke at last with the soft tread of approaching footsteps.
Hypshay turned, her shoulders relaxing only slightly at the sight of Y’shtola and Krile hurrying into the chamber. Krile gave a curt nod before rushing to Raha’s side, her expression softening only marginally upon confirming his steady breath. Y’shtola, meanwhile, wasted no time and immediately focused on the aetheric disturbance surrounding him.
As the two women set to work, Hypshay explained everything she could recall about the artifact—clear, concise, though notably omitting certain more intimate details. When she finished, Krile let out a breath and muttered,
“Reckless. Truly reckless. One would expect better judgment from someone who’s lived a century.”
“‘Twas my fault,” Hypshay said quietly. “I should never have agreed. I should’ve waited for you both. Now we’ve lost track of it again.”
“You did what you could,” Y’shtola replied gently. Her tone remained calm, but her eyes were fixed in concentration. “From what I can see, the bond he formed with the artifact is still intact. His soul is caught within some kind of repeating loop. Whatever that relic triggered—it didn’t just trap him. It trapped itself .”
“A loop?” Krile echoed, casting Hypshay a quick glance. “Is there a way to sever it?”
Y’shtola didn’t answer at once. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she raised her staff and began tracing the flow of Raha’s aether with expert precision. Hypshay and Krile held their breath in silence as the Miqo’te’s aether began to gather—dense, glowing, unmistakably potent. It crackled with the same raw force Hypshay herself had summoned earlier. Perhaps that was why they got along so well.
And then, a portal shimmered into being—pale violet, ethereal, threads of aether spiraling around its edges as it slowly stabilized.
“Here,” Y’shtola said quietly. “This will lead directly into the loop entrapping G’raha Tia’s soul. But be warned—it is not a reflection, nor a true memory. It is a twisted echo of his mind and aether. No physical form can pass through it.”
“I’ll go,” Hypshay said without hesitation.
“As I knew you would,” Y’shtola replied with a wry, knowing smile. “But tread carefully. I must remain here to keep the portal open.”
She turned to Krile. “And someone must guard both of your bodies.”
Krile nodded, though worry still clouded her features. “I’ll watch over you closely, Hypshay. But know this—on the way here, Y’shtola had already contacted Urianger and Thancred. They said they’d come with all haste.”
“We can’t afford to wait,” Hypshay said quietly but firmly, then offered both women a warm, grateful smile. “It won’t be nearly as bad as traversing the Rift. And I will bring him back. You can scold him then, Krile.”
Krile exhaled and reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly before reluctantly letting go.
“Then be careful. Come back safely—both of you.”
Y’shtola nodded, her voice solemn.
“Go swiftly. I’ll sustain the portal until Urianger arrives. He may be able to anchor it more fully—he and your Exarch always had a way of understanding the arcane intricacies of time and memory.”
Hypshay nodded back, drawing a slow, steady breath as she approached the portal. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears—but she never hesitated.
“I’ll return shortly,” she promised.
And with that, she stepped forward.
The sensation was immediate—her consciousness peeling away from her body, weightlessness overtaking her limbs as her physical form collapsed softly to the floor. Krile caught her instantly, arms steady.
“Lay her beside him,” Y’shtola instructed gently as she came to assist.
Together, they placed Hypshay’s body carefully beside Raha’s, their hands just barely brushing, fingers aligned in unconscious solidarity.
Krile gazed down at them, her voice barely more than a whisper as she touched their joined hands.
“May your journey be swift and safe, my friend.”
—---
Hypshay was violently torn from familiar ground, her soul hurled into a torrent of relentless, spiraling energy. A soundless gasp escaped her as her consciousness tumbled through the maelstrom—akin to the way she’d once been summoned to the First, thrust helplessly through the suffocating chaos of the Rift.
But this was different.
The fragments whirling around her were not echoes of her own memory—they were his .
His past surged around her, vivid and unfiltered, flashing through her mind in a series of disorienting, heartbreakingly intimate glimpses. Quiet moments of laughter shared in solitude; the gleam of his scarlet eyes reflecting starlight; the tender brush of his fingers across a bed of delicate, wind-kissed flowers. Each vision was saturated with emotion, private and intimate.
She felt as though she were trespassing in sacred ground, stepping through the carefully guarded sanctum of his heart, guilt twisted low in her chest.
Before she could anchor herself, the current seized her again. One shard—radiating brighter than the others—drew her in like a gravitational pull. She hurtled toward it, crashing through the veil of memory with a force that shattered all sense of self.
Darkness engulfed her.
When her eyes fluttered open again, the first thing she registered was the steady, sorrowful rhythm of rain.
Cold droplets fell in relentless sheets from a sky heavy with stormclouds, soaking her skin and garments as she struggled to orient herself. The air was thick with damp earth and silence. And then, she saw him.
Kneeling before an elegantly carved headstone, alone amid a sea of rain-slick grass, was G’raha Tia.
His hair—usually vibrant and wild—was plastered to his forehead, sodden from the downpour. Water streamed down his cheeks, mingling with something that might have been tears, though he made no sound. His shoulders trembled faintly, burdened beneath a grief so vast and consuming it seemed to hollow out the space around him. He clutched something in his lap—flowers, maybe—but his hands shook too much to hold them steady.
Hypshay’s breath caught in her throat as she followed his gaze to the name etched into the worn stone before him.
This was a gravesite.
Her gravesite.