Wednesday, August 5, 2020

A Bitter Path, Illuminated - Part 9

Spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, up to patch 5.2.

Day 14

                It was early morning when the message came to me. I do not even know if dawn had started to creep into the nearby forests, though I do know that I required a candle to see my way to the door of my room at the inn. I did not get the opportunity to see who had left the message. Where or when they had even properly arrived from, I believe I may never know. The letter they left was in a crisp envelope, with a seal that I still feel as though I should remember.

                I can tell you, reader, that I gasped so loudly at the message itself that I managed to stir my fae friend. She rose from her perch at the window with a start, under the presumption that a thief had broken in in the night and had caught me off guard. Instead I had been surprised by word from my benefactor.

                To tell the truth, I had started to feel as though I would never see them again. I have been here a short two weeks, and still I had started to presume I would never be able to return home. The letter my benefactor had sent me did not necessarily assuage those concerns. They asked for my presence at an establishment I had never heard of for dinner, as they had matters they wished to discuss. It was almost comforting to see something I was at least familiar with, insofar as I can claim to be familiar with the woman. Her vagueness was predictable, at least.

                The remainder of the day was rather uneventful, considering the events of the morning. While I went about some of my planned escapades, my attention could not be captured by meager sights. Every now and then my neck would prickle, and I would search the crowds. I never saw my benefactor, and I do not suspect she was ever present. She had always presented herself as the type of person with better things to do with her time. All the same, knowing that someone else from Norvrandt was present somewhere in the city set me on edge in a way that I could not explain.

                I believe that my benefactor’s presence reminded me too much of the fact that I did not arrive here of my own accord. It made me wonder if I was alone in this type of bargain, or if there were countless others here. Confused tourists, or otherwise. I say otherwise, because the focus on my own wants to escape Norvrandt had blinded me to the fact that it was very likely that I was a piece on my benefactor’s game board. The fact of the matter is that she would not spend her time on something that did not benefit her.

                Niamh was not nearly as concerned as I. She fluttered about, tugging and pulling at people who couldn’t perceive her when she grew bored of whatever it was we were looking at. When we stopped for lunch, she took great pleasure in over-seasoning a few people’s soups. In retrospective I should have not allowed such to transpire, but my thoughts remained elsewhere.

                When the awaited hour finally came, I found myself in a restaurant on the northern side of Gridania. The staff asked if I had visited before, and when I said no, I was regaled with the tale of how long their establishment had been around. I believe they said something about lasting through multiple calamities, but the truth of that I cannot be bothered to verify.

                I was led out to a private patio, where two chairs and a table had been prepared. My benefactor was already there, just as I expected her to be, and we were left alone. In her hand was a local wine, the bottle on the table showing it was a local label. Were you to ask me, I would dare say I could recite to you the entirety of that label. The color of the chocobo on it, and the furry pommed creature holding up the bottle as well.

                The point I am struggling to make, without expressing it so bluntly dear reader, is that I do not know if I will ever be able to forget this conversation.

                There was no prompting when I arrived, and we were left to our lonesome. I inferred I was to take a seat, and I did. My benefactor never once looked way from the sunset that was beginning to sink into the distant trees. It was a beautiful sight, I must admit, especially when paired with the stars that were in constant pursuit.

                “This is much more beautiful than on the First,” she said. The words did not feel as though they were directed at me, so much as a thought spoken out loud. I wasn’t allowed to so much as wrinkle my brow before she answered the question she had left hanging. “The First being the star you are from.”

                Up to that point, I had pondered over this for hours. Deliberated and debated with myself just what it was about this place that allowed it to remain unscarred in a way that people in Norvrandt could only dream of. I had a million questions to ask, and all I could do was allow them to coagulate in my throat in a single word.

                “Why?”

                Before I allow you her answer, dear reader, I wish to indulge in my opinion.  The way she spoke, the topic of which I will recount to you in but a moment, I felt as though this was not her first time in doing so. It felt as though she had read off this script multiple times. Yet the way with which she spoke, forces me to believe that it was not a fantastical play she was reciting, but instead a more concerning service announcement. The only subtle hint of emotion I could feel in her voice, when I felt anything at all was pity. In the way that you feel pity when watching something lesser than you struggle in a trap.

                She spoke of a dried river. A river aether, that was meant to flow between stars. The First, or Norvrandt as I know it, had essentially become dammed, and thus what Light had flooded it had never been allowed to leave. I knew that she would tell me of her solution to this issue, and she did not disappoint. Supposedly a large enough movement of aether on the Source would force everything to flow again.

                I waited for her to lavish me with praise, telling me that she had tried with many, but none had been up to the task. To treat me as so chosen hero from afar. And yet she remained as distant as ever. She did little more than pour herself another glass of wine, and resume watching the sky.

                I did the same as I pondered how to respond to what she had said. I was given little time to do so, as my attention was stolen away by the skies themselves opening. Never in my life have I been blessed to see falling stars. And should you have seen a similar phenomenon, perhaps you think blessing is too strong a word. I disagree.

I feel blessed to have seen it, to have been presented with a vision that I shall keep to myself. A bridge too far, you may believe dear reader, and I cannot blame you. What I can reveal is that in that moment, I felt warm. Embraced. Serene. When I recovered from my stupor, my benefactor had departed. I did not miss her.

                I cannot speak to the truth of her words beyond what I feel. It feels arrogant to state that I believe that I am capable of saving Norvrandt from its woes. Yet the possibility refuses to leave my mind. Words from my vision echo about, filling me with a sense of purpose. It is as though I can hear the cries of my country. I can feel her troubles.

                I must think of a solution.