Chapter Text
[Takes place the evening after traversing the Labyrinth of the Ancients.]
The stars are endless in the heavens above Saint Coinach’s Find that night. Reverberation of voices and laughter break through the faint hum of the singing crystals surrounding the humble settlement. Cheer is in abundance; the secrets once contained in the Labyrinth of the Ancients have been revealed. There isn’t a single historian who isn’t rejoicing… except for –
G’raha Tia stomps his foot, folding his arms over his chest with an exasperated huff.
“You are a sore loser, G’raha Tia,” Cid chuckles, reaching over the small table to gather his Triple Triad cards.
A makeshift three by three grid has been created using parchment paper and a crudely drawn outline atop an overturned box being used as a table. Nevertheless, it serves its purpose well, providing all with a source of boundless entertainment for the evening.
G’raha frowns as he collects his own cards, giving his deck a half-hearted shuffle. “You wound me, Master Garlond,” he murmurs. “This is the fifth game in a row you have bested me.” He raises his head. “Surely you’re not playing dishonestly.”
“You think I’m cheating?” Cid laughs, joined by Rammbroes, Wedge, and Biggs by the fire they’ve encircled. The scene is warm and good-natured, sullied only by G’raha’s disheartened response at losing at every game.
“Perhaps you should face another player,” Cid suggests with amusement, “to prove it is not through any particular method of mine that you find yourself utterly defeated.”
“I’m afraid the rules are lost on me,” Wedge says.
Biggs nods beside him. Neither of them knows how to play.
Rammbroes puts his hands up in surrender, one of them holding a tankard of ale. “Don’t look at me. I want no part in this.”
Cid turns his head, spotting Ulyana alone across the camp, seated on a stump with her back toward them.
“What about Ulyana?” he suggests with a nod in her direction. “I am sure she will play you.”
She presses a piece of chocolate between her lips, gazing boredly into the distance – but her ears give her away, swiveling in the direction of the men speaking excitedly behind her.
“He’ll only lose again,” she calls out in acknowledgement, making no effort to turn around.
G’raha stiffens where he sits. “Won’t you say that to my face?” he challenges her, giving Ulyana a competitive look from forty yalms away. Then, louder than before, “Or does your unyielding will stop at card games?”
Warrior of Light’s ears twitch at his provocation.
She meets his gaze from across the camp. The firelight at his feet highlights the discrepancy in color of his narrowed eyes, turning one orange and the other a stark shade of amber.
Ulyana mozies over, smoothing down the cloak drawn around her to block out the chilly night air. She joins the circle of men, sitting across from G’raha Tia at the other end of the homemade Triple Triad playing board.
“You may use my deck, Ulyana.” Cid slides the pile of cards over to her, and she begins to shuffle through them as he speaks. “I say you both inflict a game rule of your choosing, to keep the playing field fair.”
G’raha hums thoughtfully. He fingers through his five-card deck, lips pursed.
“Swap,” he decides.
Ulyana’s dark eyes flicker up to him. An interesting decision.
“I’ll choose Plus.” She gives G’raha a small smirk.
His nose wrinkles slightly.
Cid nods in acknowledgement. “Alright, then. The card that is leftmost in your hands will be passed between you now.”
Ulyana flicks the card up with her pinky, sliding it skillfully between her index and middle fingers. G’raha reaches over to pluck it from her grasp, the tip of his thumb brushing her fingers as the card passes between them. Then, he hands her his, carefully positioning it to be held at one of the corners as if to avoid any further accidental contact.
She’s amused by this. It’s almost endearing how much he wants to avoid her after inciting the match himself.
Ulyana looks down at her cards. She chose the Plus rule because this deck has quite a few weaknesses against the other rules; it’s the safest for her circumstances.
“Best two out of three?” she asks.
G’raha looks up from his cards. “A fair suggestion.”
“And now for my contribution.” Wedge flips a single gil into the air. For a moment it glitters just like every other star in the sky until it comes crashing back down into his palm. He slaps it onto his arm, and all lean in to assess the result.
“Tails!” Biggs declares excitedly. “That’s you, G’raha. You’re first.”
G’raha’s tail swishes behind him. Rammbroes scoots a bit closer to look at his cards as G’raha’s fingers hover over them indecisively.
After several seconds of deliberation, he plays one.
Ulyana wins the first game, then the second. G’raha then asks for the best of three out of five, and he wins the next two – prompting Ulyana to want to play a four out of seven….
The two Miqo’te continue to play into the night even after the others, one by one, retire for bed.
Ulyana uses her foot to rekindle the dimming fire beside them. They’re losing light needed to see the cards between them. The fire crackles, sending ash into the air as it flickers tiredly back to life. It’s barely holding on, as if the campfire itself wishes to withdraw for sleep.
“Ha!” G’raha tosses his last card down, effectively winning the game. “That is…” he pauses, ears flattening as he does the math in his head, “my eighth win against your ninth.”
“Eleven out of twenty seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” she asks, a teasing tone to her voice as she reaches over to collect her cards. “You sure you want to keep going?”
“Do not tell me you wish to stop while you’re ahead.” He chuckles, gathering up his cards into his hands and giving them a brief shuffle. “Or is it that you’re fearing I may win over you yet?”
“There is nothing about you I find frightening.”
She smiles, but her eyes hang heavy, half-lidded with exhaustion. Ulyana feels weakened from the battle with the chimeras that once dwelled in the Labyrinth of the Ancients. She is still feeling the effects from the day’s work.
It’s G’raha’s turn to flip the coin. Heads.
Ulyana plays a card, putting it smack dab in the middle of the board to confuse him.
“I consider you rather fearsome,” he responds, placing a card above hers to claim it. “I’ve read a few accounts regarding your kind in books, though to see a reaper possessed by a voidsent with my own eyes…”
Ulyana shoots him a puzzled look as she sets another card down onto the playing board. “What do you mean by kind?”
The fur on his ears bristles. “A-ah, I say kind as to refer to your lineage,” G’raha responds, claiming another one of her cards with his own. “I meant nothing contemptuous, I assure you.”
“I took no offense.” Ulyana gazes up from the board, back straightening a bit as she regards him curiously, brows slightly furrowed. “But, I’m interested to know how you were able to discern that my lineage has anything to do with my skill as a reaper.”
She places a card between two cards claimed by G’raha, initiating the Plus rule, and gaining all three.
He sighs, contemplating both what he wishes to say and how to dig himself out of this situation to secure a win.
“Your fighting style.” G’raha answers without playing a card just yet. He holds it in his non-playing hand. “It is identical to one of the only recorded testimonies remaining of the first war between my people and the Garlean Empire. Modern reapers do not attack quite so aggressively, and tend to be far less airborne.”
Ulyana’s fingers press into her three remaining cards. “You really are a walking history book, aren’t you?”
G’raha smiles at that, finally playing his next card.
“Where is it that you hail from?” she asks.
It would be hard to pinpoint which war he’s speaking about, as the Garlean Empire fought and sometimes conquered so many lands throughout its bloody history.
“Corvos.” The word is wistful. Whispered. “I left when I was still a young boy for Sharlayan, due to the overhanging threat of Garlemald once again.”
Ulyana sets a card next to his, gaining a point from it. “I wish things weren’t as they were, how they still are now,” she muses, watching G’raha intact the Plus rule, gaining all of his points back.
“It is not all bad,” he responds, anticipating her next move. His eyes meet hers from over the rim of her two remaining cards. “I was given the opportunity to nurse and indulge in my interests, which I would have wanted regardless of the conflict.”
Ulyana plays a card, but it is fruitless. G’raha wins the game.
Instead of cheering how he usually does, chanting and shoving the victory in her face, he remains still. Calm.
“My parents escaped Garlemald about thirty years ago,” she tells him, not yet bothering to reach for her cards. Not yet. “My mother was pregnant with me when my father assisted in the uprising against Solus zos Galvus.”
“That mayhap explain why reapers are no longer used in their military,” G’raha realizes with a quiet chuckle.
“That’s my dad.” Ulyana says the words with fondness. She reaches up to brush her bangs away from her face when a cold breeze rolls between them, swift and powerful. “My father was born and raised in Lapis Manalis. He taught me everything I know.”
“It seems our ancestors may have once fought against each other. How strange. Surely our paths crossing is of no mere coincidence.” He reaches for one of the cards in front of him, tapping the bottom corner idly with his fingernail as if trying to stitch together the meaning of their alliance then and there. “But I can’t say I’m displeased that fate would have it so we may be so friendly now.”
“I wouldn’t exactly have called you friendly with the way you provoked me earlier.” She snorts a laugh through her nose as she reaches for her cards. Her finger slips over the one G’raha’s fiddling with, pressing down to give it a gentle tug toward her.
“‘‘Twas all in the spirit of the game!”
He lifts up his hand and she tucks the card underneath the other ones she’s gathered. She must make sure Cid gets all of his belongings returned.
“A game in which we’ve come to a tie,” Ulyana points out, tucking the cards safely into one of her cloak pockets. “Shall we continue this tomorrow?”
G’raha frowns, contemplatively glaring down at his cards still in place. Then, he reaches out to shuffle them toward his chest. “I would accuse you of avoiding your inevitable defeat if I weren’t so godsdamned tired.” He yawns, collecting them into a neat pile. “Allow me to walk you back to your tent.”
The two Miqo’te put out the fire, and walk toward the residential area of Saint Coinach’s Find. The settlement may as well be considered a small town of its own, just one constructed of large tents and makeshift wooden stalls instead of brick or stone. It has its own economic system here, even, one that leans less heavily on gil and more so a bartering system.
Small tents have been constructed in this quaint sector for visitors such as Garlond Ironworks, Ulyana, and G’raha, each person getting a tent large enough to accommodate a bedroll and a few belongings, but not much else.
Their footsteps quiet the closer they approach. They’re careful to not wake anyone already sleeping — which is the majority of people, if not all except for G’raha and Ulyana. It is a task that requires a bit of tact and effort, as the crystalline shards crunching under their boots cannot be entirely avoided.
Ulyana winces as the tent rustles when she loosens the knot keeping it closed, creating an irritating rustling sound.
“Hope you’re ready to lose tomorrow,” she whispers, placing one foot inside. Her eyes glance beyond G’raha’s, noticing the thin blue line already glittering on the horizon far past his shoulders: the beginning of dawn.
The crystals around the camp provide just enough light for Ulyana to catch a smirk as it appears on G’raha’s face before he draws up the hood of his cloak with a flick of his wrists, guarding any further expression in shadow. “I would not count on it if I were you.”
Despite the hood, Ulyana doesn’t miss the way his tongue flashes at her from between his lips. Clearly another competitive taunt.
She sticks her tongue back out at him, blowing a raspberry in his direction before ducking into her tent and abruptly latching it closed.
But not all the way.
Seconds pass. When she hears his footsteps receding, Ulyana peeks out from her tent to watch G’raha’s tail swish behind him from underneath the hem of his cloak as he jaunts away. The pep in his step is so self-assured that she’s nearly jealous.
“Forgive him his eccentricities, indeed,” she grumbles, repeating what Rammbroes uttered earlier that day.
Moments later after G’raha crosses the camp, he bends and dips his foot into his tent, head turning –
– and she bolts backward into her own.
Ulyana’s hands flail at the flap, using the string to tug it down and pull it tightly shut before winding it around the stake to keep it in place.
She groans as she falls back against her unmade bedroll. Her arm rests over her tired, aching eyes, head and heart both pounding, praying that exhaustion takes her.