Archive of Our Own

It was days like this when Thancred quietly wished he’d been stationed anywhere but Thanalan. With the headache punishing him as if he’d been on a night-long bender and the muscles of his neck and shoulders aching like he’d been run over by a chocobo cart, the last thing he needed was the desert sun burning him alive.

Being inside the walls of Ul’dah, which provided an abundance of shade and basins of water to cool the ambient air of the Steps of Nald, made it only a little more bearable. That the very idea of flirting for information, a task he both excelled at and thoroughly enjoyed, filled him with such exhaustion told him he probably hadn’t slept enough.

But he could not afford to slack in his work for even a day; he had to keep an eye out for primal and Ascian activity in Thanalan – for Louisoix, for Minfilia, and for all of Eorzea. A bit of a headache would hardly have stopped Y’shtola or Papalymo from doing their part (though Yda might have needed some persuading, that was what Papalymo was good for). Thus, he set himself the task of surveying the aetheric currents, which required significantly less conversation.

Entering the Arrzaneth Ossuary provided some relief, thanks to its comparative darkness and the windcatcher funnelling cool air down to the statue of Thal, providing solace for the worshippers. After his quick prayer for Louisoix, Thancred equipped the aetherscope he kept fastened to his shoulder.

It was a marvellous piece of Sharlayan technology. Looking through it, the aether was so clear Thancred had to remind himself that he could not, in fact, reach out and touch it with his bare hands. The currents ebbed and flowed, gentle ripples which experience had taught him were completely normal and expected, especially with the thaumaturges deeper in the ossuary currently performing a ritual.

Observing the currents also made the wake of disturbances incredibly obvious. They were expanding from the west, and a little to the south. How many yalms away was that? It appeared quite a way outside the city walls, near the Sultantree, perhaps? If so, he would have to stop by the dispatch yard to ask Papashan about it.

He reattached the aetherscope to his arm and kept up a brisk walk as he headed out of the Gate of Nald. Outside the amenities of the city, the unforgiving Thanalan sun beat down on him, worsening the tired ache behind his eyes. The refugees camped outside in their slums had his sympathies, but he had neither the time nor the energy to spare for them, heading straight for the dispatch yard.

Papashan stood on the platform, eyes scanning the horizon. There was a deep furrow to his brow, and his mustache was greasy from running his twitchy fingers through it. Upon Thancred’s approach, he nevertheless stood to attention and greeted him cordially.

“Ah, Master Waters. What brings you to my station?”

“Hopefully nothing, but I would verify some strange aetheric activity in the environs of the Sultantree. Would you happen to know anything about it?”

The old Lalafell shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I do not. Ah!” he cried, just as Thancred had bowed to leave. “But please, do make your way there post-haste! My lady has run away, you see, and my Sultansworn have found no trace of her. I just sent an adventurer down to look for her near the Sultantree, but if there is an issue that has caught your attention, competent as he is, I fear one man may not be enough!”

An adventurer, to look for the sultana herself? Even disguised as “Lady Lilira” and unrecognisable to the general populace, that was a rather dangerous task to entrust to anyone other than the Sultansworn.

“Of course. I shall endeavour to find them.” It spoke to Papashan’s desperation that he would hire an adventurer in the first place. “What does he look like?”

“Oh, thank you, Master Thancred,” he said, and looked ready to collapse on the spot with either relief or exhaustion – likely both. He perked up as he explained, “You won’t miss him – he has rabbit ears! And not the kind they give the attendants in the Gold Saucer, but part of him, like a Miqo’te. In all my days, I’ve never seen anyone like that before.”

A man with rabbit ears? Not since his last visit to the motherland had Thancred seen a Viera. Their men were famously a much rarer sight than the women. Perhaps that was why Papashan had seen fit to employ him for this task; this man was unlikely to have any Monetarist ties. He couldn’t be tied to any Syndicate families at all, or Papashan would have known not to trust him.

That didn’t mean the sultana would be safe with him, but he doubted her trusted guard would have sent any adventurer who happened to pass by out on this task. There must have been some context Thancred was missing.

Thanking the elderly Lalafell, he hastened south.

A Vieran man. For one to be in Ul’dah, he was far from home. Not as far as Sharlayan, perhaps, but the idea of it somehow felt more out of place in Eorzea. Maybe that was just because Thancred wasn’t used to seeing any here. He’d have to ask his colleagues if they’d seen any in their respective city-states.

As he finally reached the towering Sultantree, he slowed his steps, leaning carefully around the edge of the small path which carved through the sandstone down to the roots of the sacred tree.

Down the other end was a young Lalafellin woman clad in simple hempen cottons – the young “Lady Lilira,” as it were. A tall mage stood watchful guard over her, practically looming in his height. Thancred couldn’t see his face, only his ginger hair, which appeared to be in the awkward stage of growing out from a much shorter cut, and the tufty rabbit-like ears perched atop his head. This was the adventurer Papashan had mentioned, the Vieran man.

He was dressed in the shabby clothing of a novice thaumaturge, as many adventurers beginning in Ul’dah did – and, contrary to popular belief, how most also ended. He was pleased to see, however, that while the Viera’s gaze was momentarily on the sultana, he stood tall with his wand at the ready, and his ears turned at the slightest sound and then some, sounds Thancred probably couldn’t hear at all.

One of them was pointed directly at him. The Viera knew he was there, and was prepared to fight him.

“Show yourself,” he said, as if it wasn’t already clear that Thancred had been rumbled.

Her Grace startled out of her prayers to the Sultantree, standing to face him with an expression that was indignant and trying not to look surprised. The Viera must have been quiet, or not been there for long.

Thancred stepped out from around the rock face, keeping his gait leisurely as he descended towards them. The Viera looked him up and down. His gaze was oddly intense, clearly assessing him as a potential threat. Added with the strong line of his nose, not to mention the additional head of height he had on him, Thancred could admit to himself that he was a mite intimidated.

He swiftly—too quickly, perhaps, for his dignity—averted his gaze from the adventurer and bowed to Her Grace. “Forgive my selfish desire to assure your welfare, O Lilira.”

Much like the adventurer, she was unimpressed, but far less calm about it. “I don't recall requesting an escort! Simply pretend we never met and continue on your way.”

Thancred affected a nonchalant shrug, projecting a calm he didn’t quite feel. Now that he was closer to the tree, and knew to look for it, he sensed the aetheric disturbance his scope had shown him. It sent frissons down his spine.

“We both know I can do no such thing. It isn't safe for you here alone. It isn't safe for anyone ─ not with this aetheric disturbance... It's as though the dead are watching us… And I'd prefer not to join them, if it's all the same to you.”

Her Grace still looked upset, but her anger was no longer directed at him. She knew the nature of his work, just as every other head of state did, and thus understood that he would not be here if the situation was any less serious than he described.

Satisfied, he turned to the adventurer, and only just stopped himself from jumping in fright. The Viera had silently gotten several fulms closer, and Thancred now had to tilt his head uncomfortably back to meet his eyes – violet, with not a single wrinkle of age in the corners.

“Ah, you must be the one that Papashan mentioned.” He resisted the urge to clear his throat and thus give away his nerves; few people could sneak up on him like that. “Congratulations on finding our elusive young charge. You'll have to forgive Her Impetuousness. What she lacks in discipline, she makes up for in stubbornness. You should return with us. The stationmaster will be eager to thank Lady Lilira's protector in person.”

It was as Thancred said this that he noticed the Viera’s incredible ears were tracking something. An infernal screech resounded from above, and he saw it, too – a monstrous creature, flying towards them on its bat-like wings. Its black skin stretched taut over its skeleton, its hands all knobs and claws. It hovered before the only entrance to the passage and unleashed a roar of challenge from its pointed maw, yellow eyes fixated on the three people near the Sultantree.

A creature of the void. This was no doubt related to the disturbance.

“Alas, the stationmaster will have to wait. Dear Lilira, for my sake, please stay out of harm's way.” To her credit, Her Grace wasted no time acknowledging his words and scampered back to the roots of the Sultantree. Thancred looked back up—urgh—at this adventurer. “As for you, dear friend—for Lilira's sake—please stay in harm's way!”

The man graced him with no more than a quick nod before raising his wand and beginning to incant. Thancred spared him one more glance before he took the vanguard; the adventurer would be better than nothing, but he was obviously still a novice mage.

“Come, let's attend to our uninvited guest!” he quipped, drawing the voidsent’s attention by unsheathing his dagger and swiping at its long fingers. A fireball from the adventurer made it screech, and Thancred stabbed it in its side.

Thoroughly pissed off, it roared and swiped at him. Thancred stepped back before lunging again. Dark shapes out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

“Lovely, it brought friends!” he shouted to the adventurer. “Leave the big one to me! You handle the rest!”

One more fireball struck the voidsent Thancred was fighting, before he heard the next impact one of the two new voidsent swooping past him. The swing of his dagger embedded it in one of the monster’s clawed, spindly feet, and he dodged its retaliatory swipe at his face.

Thancred retreated a few steps more to reassess when a flash and near-deafening bang erupted behind his back. He quickly checked over his shoulder, yet it was the voidsent whose charred corpses littered the blackened circle of dirt. The lightning had struck the area a few fulms behind Thancred, but the sheer power behind it had made it feel ilms from singeing his hair. The remaining sparks of electricity ceased right at the adventurer’s toes, and his face was the picture of calm. He was uninjured.

Thancred quickly adjusted his initial assessment of him. Though his equipment was that of a beginner or layman, he was clearly an old hand at spellcasting. Thancred was far from an expert—this was the field of his more magically-inclined colleagues—but there was a concerning amount of power behind his spells; like passing a torrent through an alchemist’s funnel, he seemed to be pushing his wand close to shattering.

And he was restraining himself from doing just that, sending an ice spell at the voidsent Thancred was, frankly, only keeping busy – his skills were more suited for subterfuge and sabotage than direct combat. It screeched in far worse pain than it had to any of his own strikes, and from the horrid chill biting at his hands, Thancred almost felt sorry for it.

Almost, because of course its screech had also summoned more of its kind.

“More of them!? Really now, there are limits to our hospitality!” Thancred quipped, as four more creatures flew to their fellow’s aid.

The adventurer made no acknowledgement of his joke—Tough crowd!—and only took the few steps forward to get in range and throw ice spells at the newcomers. The first two fell to one spell each, and the second pair got struck by the same burst of ice.

Then, the adventurer’s focus turned to the original voidsent Thancred was still occupying, and he unleashed another bolt of levin upon it. With a final pained screech, it collapsed to the ground. He kept his dagger at the ready, but it didn’t move again.

With a sigh of relief, he sheathed his weapon. As the adventurer behind him surveyed the terrain, Thancred swiftly descended the path to the Sultantree.

“Are you unharmed, Lady Lilira?” he asked, offering his hand to help Her Grace up over the roots.

“I am, thanks to your timely arrival.” She leaned on his hand to step over the uneven root. Once back on solid ground, she looked behind him and gasped, “Oh!”

He turned around just in time to see the Viera collapse to his knees and fall forwards in a dead faint. Her Grace hurried to him, but Thancred’s Hyuran stride quickly saw him past her and to the adventurer.

“Hey, can you hear me?” he asked, shaking him. No response. He rolled him onto his side by the shoulder and checked his breathing. Slow, but not concerningly so, and no sounds of strain.

“What’s happened to him?” Her Grace asked, having caught up to stand beside them.

Thancred slapped the adventurer’s cheek, noting that it wasn’t overly hot, but he still didn’t wake.

“Not heat exhaustion, at least, so that’s good,” he explained to Her Grace. If anything, the Viera looked like he was simply enjoying a good, deep sleep after a hard day.

Had the aetheric disturbance caused this? It was unusually potent, more than usual for Ul’dah. Or had he overdone it in his spellcasting? Somehow, despite the power behind that fire, lightning, and ice, Thancred doubted that his reassessment of the man’s skill was off – he was powerful, but not careless. He was otherwise uninjured, and quite lucky at that, for a fall from standing was no laughing matter. Thancred adjusted him to lie in a stable lateral position in the shade of the rock wall. He would have to see what caused him to faint when he awoke, and carefully – it wouldn’t do to scare him off.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed that the Viera’s famously good looks graced not only to the fairer sex – this one even had a beauty mark under his left eye. His pale complexion and freckles would no doubt fetch him the affections of no few maidens, were it not for the unfortunate sunburn.

“Well, we shall have to see what’s wrong with this young man when he awakens.”

“You have the right of it, Your Grace.”

Yet as Thancred said so, it occurred to him, then, that the adventurer may not have been as young as he looked to her, or young at all, though he could not say for certain how much of a difference it made: Did it mean this Viera looked younger than him, but was double his apparent age? Or was he several centuries old, even? That uncertainty had cowed many attempts of his to flirt with the women of this race.

Her Grace had the patience, or defiance of poor old Papashan, to stay with him. With his presence guaranteeing her security, she returned her attention to the Sultantree and resumed the prayer he had interrupted. This was a sacred site, after all, where the ruler of Ul’dah traditionally sought the wisdom of their forebears. What unrest had motivated her to come here this day?

Thancred activated his aetherscope and observed around the roots of the tree. As he’d suspected from the lighter atmosphere, the aetheric disturbance had gone with the voidsent. Removing the scope from his face, he looked at where the creature had first come from, up in the tree branches. If any masked persons of interest had been responsible, however, they hadn’t lingered.

A light groan and shuffling in the dirt drew his attention to the poor Viera behind him.

“Ah, coming around now,” he said to the adventurer, who was blinking awake. He didn’t appear to be in any pain when moving, but he shook his head (and with it, his ears) as if to clear the cobwebs. Any period of unconsciousness would be concerning and was something to consult a healer about—though Ul’dahn prices rarely permitted such—yet this man was remarkably calm. He seemed pensive.

And Thancred knew that look. Perhaps he had been too hasty in assuming that fainting spell had been caused by the aether.

If so, then maybe…

“Would you mind telling me what that was?” Her Grace asked, having concluded her prayer.

Thancred shrugged. “If I only knew. A denizen of the void, at any rate.”

“The voidsent? Here? But how?”

“The question isn't ‘how,’ but ‘who’ ─ we're not dealing with bookless bandits,” he warned. Then, as the Viera stood up, he asked him, “Don't suppose the answer came to you in a dream? No sooner did you fell the beast than you fell asleep. Too much aether, no doubt.”

He offered the excuses jokingly, but these were the only two causes Thancred could think of: either this man was unfortunately sensitive to the disturbance in the aether, which was generally a good thing for a powerful mage, or he shared Minfilia’s gift.

His frown was surprised, so one of Thancred’s suggestions had struck a chord with him. Which would he pick? He seemed to consider his words carefully – too carefully, perhaps.

“That voidsent creature left behind a crystal.” His cadence was measured and low. He had an accent but, frustratingly, Thancred couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d heard one like it before. “When I got close, a kind of magick overwhelmed me, and it showed me…”

He hesitated, and his ears were alert – assuming that position meant the same in Vieran and Miqo’te body language, for he did not appear to have a tail to read. From his facial expression, he seemed to be weighing his options on a decision he did not want to make.

He looked worried, but Thancred saw something more.

“Go on,” he said in his most encouraging voice. You want to tell me.

Something seemed to both crumble and lift in the man, but he tensed further, ears alert, stance wide.

“A starshower,” he admitted. “A voice said ‘hear, feel, think,’ and she was a crystal, too.”

He stopped, then, looking like he was damning a cascade. But Thancred had heard enough. He was describing the Mothercrystal, a vision of her much like the ones Minfilia experienced.

No matter which way he could have answered Thancred’s prompt—“dream” or aetheric disturbance—it would not have proven which one was the truth and which the lie. But that only meant he should keep an eye on this adventurer, be he a friend with the Blessing of Light or a foe pretending to have it.

The Viera was remarkably cautious, however. All at once, Thancred was grateful for Her Grace’s silence in that moment, as she had carefully schooled her expression into one of abstract curiosity, as if none of this held any significance to her, as if she—unlike, say, Her Grace the Sultana Nanamo Ul Namo—knew nothing of the Echo whatsoever.

“Interesting... I hadn't considered the Crystal,” Thancred lied, affecting nonchalance before the tension grew too heavy. “But of course... This changes everything. Hm? Oh, just thinking aloud.”

Translation: I know exactly what you’re talking about.

The adventurer’s gaze did not leave Thancred’s. He had understood.

“At any rate,” he continued, as though oblivious to the pointed staring, “we haven't a moment to spare. I must return and report this at once. I leave Lady Lilira in your capable hands!”

Her Grace gave a rather impetuous huff.

“How dare you pass me about like a swaddled babe! I shall return and tell them myself! And besides,” she said to the Viera, “you should see a healer about that fainting spell of yours before you serve as an escort again. Good day to you!”

Without so much as curtsy, she stomped off towards the city gates.

“As you wish, Your Impetuousness,” Thancred called after her, as if he would actually let her out of his sight. To the adventurer, he said, “I suspect we shall meet again before long. Until then, do try and stay awake!”

Yes, this was someone to keep an eye on. And Thancred had no doubt the fellow would be keeping an ear out for him, too.

From inquiring with Momodi and asking around Ul’dah, Thancred had learned a few things about this intrepid adventurer:

His name was Levania Spring, who had come to Ul’dah only recently with little more than the clothes on his back and the wand in his hand. He’d registered with the thaumaturge’s guild and was already making waves as an exceptionally gifted disciple. His name was also gaining renown upon both the opulent and impoverished streets of Ul’dah, for he’d been helpful to any and all requests for an adventurer’s aid, no matter how bothersome or trivial or poorly rewarded. By all accounts, the man was a good egg.

As for the things Thancred did not know:

Where Levania had come from before arriving in Ul’dah, what had driven him to choose the city of gold specifically, and why he was so powerful a mage even before spending much time with the thaumaturges’ guild. These had been the first three questions that had sprung to mind, given an utter lack of records to his name – and on this matter, Urianger had reminded him that it was Vieran cultural practice to assume new names when they left their native forests, though even he was foggy on the details.

Levania’s age was also unknown. He looked no older than Thancred himself, but he knew better than to judge a Viera’s age by their appearance. This wasn’t the most relevant piece of information, but it did make his appearance in Ul’dah and his magical power all the more curious.

What was most frustrating to Thancred personally, given his specialisation, was the accent. He had not often heard Viera speak, few as they were, nor did he know anything near enough about Vieran population movements to make a guess. He could only tell that it was trying to sound more Eorzean than it was, and that something in his hindbrain itched at the parts that did not.

Lastly, and most importantly, was the question of whether or not Levania had the Blessing of Light. One fainting spell and curious claims to a very specific vision did not prove much alone, not when Ascians had possibly been involved with the events beneath the Sultantree.

It was mightily inconvenient, then, that Thancred was late to the second aetheric disturbance of Ascian persuasion in as many weeks. He’d passed a group of loudly complaining Brass Blades fleeing from the direction of the Sil’dihn ruins and arrived in time to witness a stone golem collapse, and the aetheric disturbance dissipate with it. As he hurried down the hill to the spriggan-infested water’s edge, he took stock of the young Hyuran men—refugees, probably—who must have been caught in the scheme, and—

Well well well, how curious that this particular adventurer was present at the scene of the crime once again.

“Damn, seems I've missed all the fun.” Thancred quipped, once he’d taken in the scene, and he kept his posture relaxed as he approached the familiar face. “I see you didn't need my help this time.”

Not that he had needed the help last time – Levania still had the gear of a novice, but the bearing and power of a veteran was unmistakable to those who knew what to look for. If he was a veteran adventurer, he hadn’t earned his experience while registered in any of the three city-states’ guilds or military forces, or they would have found him much sooner. So, had he used a different name, or earned his martial prowess elsewhere?

Yet another unknown to add to the list. Thancred was not a fan of how long it was getting.

Thancred didn’t get the chance to contemplate this mystery further, for Levania’s face twisted in pain and he teetered where he stood. Thancred caught him as he fell backwards, clutching his head, and that—

Now that certainly looked like the Echo. Some of Minfilia’s stronger visions knocked her out just like this.

Levania seemed to have the instinct not to completely collapse to the ground this time. Thancred called his name, but his ears didn’t even twitch at the sound, remaining pinned back against his head. A squeeze of the shoulder confirmed he couldn’t react to touch, either. He likely wasn’t aware of his surroundings.

He carefully sat Levania down. Though he was in pain and his mind was absent, he stayed sitting somewhat upright, swaying but stable. What was he seeing? What had triggered it? Thancred had just walked up to him, and—

Damn it. If this was an Echo, he had to really hope Levania would be on their side, otherwise there went his cover!

One thing at a time – with Levania settled for the moment, he needed to address the victims of this scheme. He knelt beside the one nearest to them, a bespectacled young man sitting exhausted but conscious on the ground, who had been watching with undisguised concern for Levania.

“What’s your name, and what were you doing here?”

With a glance at the fallen adventurer, who could offer no comment, the man swallowed before answering, “Wystan, good sir. I… I had hoped to exploit a new vein of ore in the ruins, but the Brass Blades… I was a fool to trust them.”

The pieces fell neatly in to place: Wystan must have spoken of entrepreneurial dreams within earshot of the wrong people, and gotten Lord Lolorito’s unwelcome attention. In the years he’d worked in Ul’dah, Thancred had found stories like this to be sadly common.

If Levania had had the courtesy not to swoon into his arms, Thancred would have attended Wystan first. Fortunately, while he looked battered and shaken, he did not appear too badly wounded.

“You’re lucky to be alive, then,” he said gently. “You did well to hire an adventurer to protect you. Still, it looks like they gave you quite a thrashing. Can you walk?”

He helped Wystan and his fellows stand. By then, Levania had woken and stood back up with nary a sound.

Conspicuously ignoring him, he activated his linkpearl. “It's me. I was too late. Our person of interest had already quit the scene.”

Levania’s ever-so-expressive ears were pointed at him, but he also surveyed the state of the Hyurs who’d gotten into the scuffle. He was listening, and no doubt curious, but he didn’t seem to especially care that this was known. When Thancred finished speaking, the ears swivelled, listening for any more danger.

“I see,” Minfilia replied through the link. “Pray, could you inform General Aldynn of your findings, then return to the Waking Sands? The better to make your report and discuss how we might corner this Ascian.”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “Very well. I shall be there anon.”

Thancred ended the call, and met Levania’s eyes. He was...skittish was the wrong word—there was no fear in the way he held himself—but wary in the manner of a cornered beast. And should it come to blows, Thancred stood a very real chance of losing hard. He could not afford to spook him.

If Levania had spoken true about his vision of the Mothercrystal, he no doubt had questions for someone like Thancred, who had been unsurprised by what he’d seen beneath the Sultantree. That he yet remained quiet spoke of remarkable patience, so Thancred could throw him a bone: even if he was not gifted with the Blessing of Light, he was owed some transparency on why they’d met again.

“My colleagues went to great lengths to provide me with the means to detect aetheric disturbances, but every time I find one, you seem to be in the middle of it. I'm starting to wonder if it might not be simpler just to follow you around. Sadly, I have business elsewhere. Tread softly, my friend,” he warned, addressing both Levania and the refugees, “The carefully laid trap you dismantled was clearly sanctioned by Lord Lolorito. I heard the Blades mention him as they fled. Believe me when I tell you that he is not a man to be trifled with. The sultana's enemies grow bolder by the day, and I suspect they have the support of outside forces.”

“Thank you,” Wystan said to Levania. “If you hadn't come along, those bastards would surely have slaughtered us all. I would speak with you further, but it isn't safe for us to linger here. Find me at the Coffer & Coffin later. Until then, stay safe.”

Levania nodded as the refugees got ready to leave. Truly a man of few words, Thancred thought for a moment, but on closer inspection, he did look like he could use a rest. Was that his natural skintone, or was he a bit too pale?

“I shall accompany Wystan and his men.” he said. “They need protection ─ and I need more information.”

Information about Levania himself, among other things, and especially more testimonies regarding his character. He still had shockingly little information on the man beyond his name.

“Ah, but where are my manners? I have yet to properly introduce myself,” Thancred realised aloud. If Levania was someone to be concerned about—or had just experienced an Echo vision about him—then he likely already knew. If not, he deserved to know. “I am Thancred, a humble scholar surveying the flow of aether in Thanalan. It is an honour and a privilege to make your acquaintance. I hope when next we meet it is under more auspicious circumstances. Farewell!”

With that, he herded the men to begin the climb up and out of the ruins. Yet one more thought gave him pause. “...Ah. Wait a moment. It occurs to me that we may have…”

Levania was watching him closely, and had rather very honest eyes. Perhaps too honest to be true.

No, it wasn’t yet the time. Thancred needed to be absolutely certain before inviting him to the Waking Sands – Minfilia and the others were counting on him.

“Never mind,” he said, and did his best to ignore the disappointed droop of those ears. “Fare thee well!”

With a parting wave, he followed Wystan and his men up the path. He had questions to ask them – about the trap that had been set for them, about possible Ascian involvement, and about the adventurer who’d saved them.

Wystan’s testimony had been nothing short of glowing: Levania had allegedly heard of him through the rumour mill of the ore beneath Sil’dih, and had sought him out at the Coffer & Coffin. The Brass Blades had already joined the operation by then, so Wystan had had little payment or work to offer him. Instead, he’d asked that Levania feed and entertain the young orphans of Stonesthrow that tended to follow him around. Once he’d done that, the Brass Blades had told Wystan that they’d found the ore. He’d invited Levania to witness the event on a whim and with no promise of payment.

Thancred had warned Wystan then about what a foolish decision that had been: Had Levania been any less scrupulous, he could very easily have stabbed him in the back for a quick gil just like the Brass Blades.

Nevertheless, he could forgive the young man for being so trusting; feeding orphans for no reward whatsoever, then escorting and protecting him from a very obvious trap devised by a very dangerous member of the Syndicate was highly unusual. No Ul’dahn would do such a thing, nor many adventurers without a promised reward, yet Levania had done just that.

Thancred confirmed as much with the children of Stonesthrow once Wystan had given him their names. They’d attested to Levania’s kindness, giving them Wystan’s ginger cookies as well as what food he’d had on his person, and also to his stern advice that they return safely home, as Wystan was getting into a possibly dangerous situation and did not wish they come to harm.

Not long after, Thancred caught wind of serial murders targeting members of the thaumaturge’s guild. The details were being covered up, but that had only meant he needed to listen harder – enough to learn that the events had involved the guildmaster himself, his brothers, a denizen of the void, and that Levania had been involved in solving it.

Either this Levania Spring was a saint, or he was playing the long game in earning the people’s trust for an as-of-yet unknown ulterior motive.

Freshly teleported into Black Brush Station, Thancred leaned against the chocobo fence for a short rest in the shade. By his headache, he was overdue a quick drink and a minute of relief from the sun.

It had been a while since that last aetheric disturbance, and so he’d increased his patrols, day and night, stopping only to eat, drink, and sleep in the different Thanalan settlements. He had not even reported to the Waking Sands lately, stopping by Vesper Bay only to survey the aether for anomalies before leaving. There had not been a single one since that incident in the ruins.

After a few generous gulps from his waterskin, he activated the aetherscope to observe from beneath the shade. When last he’d checked in Horizon, the flow of aether had been reassuringly placid.

When he looked this time, waves surged from the east. Something big was disturbing the flow near the Unholy Heir.

The Ascian. It had to be.

He sealed his waterskin, secured the aetherscope to his shoulder, and ran towards it.

By the time he’d crossed the creek and the Unholy Heir was in sight, so too had the disturbance grown visible to the naked eye – dark-aspected aether cloaked the base of the rock formation, filling the water basin with a fog that weighed heavy on the soul itself.

And in the thick of it, Levania Spring laid low a gargoyle with his pillars of ice magic.

“Whence springs this preternatural might!?” cried a man, and deeper in the fog was exactly whom Thancred had expected – a masked mage robed in black, the Ascian responsible for all of this.

Levania gave not a moment’s pause as the voidkin collapsed in the water before he rained lightning and fire down upon the being.

Thancred had to laugh as he unsheathed his knife and joined the fray. “You certainly have a knack for getting into trouble!”

The Ascian cast fire upon Levania, which he dodged, before stepping back to evade Thancred’s swipe.

He sneered. “An unwelcome guest. No matter, all shall fall before me!”

Thancred lunged with his knife, driving the Ascian back. Just as he wondered what was taking so long, Levania cast an even greater fire spell, which struck as much water as it did the Ascian, boiling it instantly. Thancred shielded himself from the rush of steam as best as he could, while Ascian screamed.

“No mortal should possess such strength!”

Just how much power did he put into that spell?

“Keep it up, Levania! We almost have him!”

The man didn’t answer him, only casting lightning and ice spells in quick succession. As soon as the flash-boiled water cooled enough, Thancred pressed his own attack, slicing the Ascian’s arm before ice exploded from his chest.

“Unnngh…” The Ascian finally collapsed, cracking the ice sheet that had formed on the water’s surface. “That the wisdom of the Paragons should be brought low...by mere mortals…”

Then he fell silent and still. This body had been abandoned – as dead as Ascians got.

“Paragons?” Thancred echoed. “This is indeed a disturbing revelation...”

The sound of something creaking and breaking made him turn, just in time to see Levania’s wand crack down the middle of the shaft, shattered bits of its gemstone dropping into the water. If Thancred had to guess, because Levania seemed not the sort to neglect maintaining his gear, he’d used more magick than his wand could handle with that fire spell, and perhaps the rest, too.

The events of this day confirmed one fact, above all – Levania Spring was no friend to Ascians. And after all of these encounters, the man deserved an explanation.

“We had long suspected the involvement of the Bringers of Chaos ─ Ascians, to give them their true name,” Thancred said. He knelt to inspect the body, the thin ice sheet cracking beneath his feet, and it confirmed what he already knew to be inevitable – whoever this body had once belonged to was dead. “But we could not be sure they were responsible for the recent disturbances until now. As if the sultanate needed any more enemies…”

“You Sharlayans have crossed paths with Ascians before, I take it?”

Hearing Levania speak for once, in that damnably ambiguous accent, startled Thancred for a moment. “Well, we've certainly─ Wait. I don't recall telling you about my homeland.”

On quick mental review of their past interactions, he certainly had not mentioned Sharlayan, nor did he expect anyone else Levania could have asked would have told him – those who knew about Thancred’s job also understood the need for discretion. So, he could not have found out through conventional means, but Thancred was quite familiar with the other one.

“Ah, yes, that's right ─ you're one of the gifted.”

That earned him alert ears—their size made them so comically expressive—and a raised brow. Perhaps that was the vision Levania had had in the ruins of Sil’dih, something about Thancred being Sharlayan. In hindsight, hadn’t he been less wary of Thancred after waking up from that?

“You know, this marks the third time I've found you in the midst of trouble.” He grinned. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a lodestone for it! Anyway, I'm glad I started following you around. Who knows what grand conspiracy you'll stumble upon next!?”

“So, you have been following me,” Levania growled, and dread settled in his gut.

Levania stood tall, uncomfortably so, ears raised up and forwards. His eyes were sharp and upturned, an effect intensified by that blue liner in the corners. His hands appeared relaxed, and he was freshly disarmed, but from what Thancred could see of his toned arms and calloused fingers, he also looked like he could put up a fight physically.

He took a step out of immediate clobbering range and held his hands up in a show of peace. “I jest, I jest! Had I truly been watching your every move, I wouldn't have taken so long to intervene in your latest altercation.”

Levania’s stare did not grow any less menacing.

“But all's well that ends well, eh? Our masked friend is no more, and while I very much doubt we've seen the last of his kind, his demise will likely grant us at least some respite. And on that note, I must away. Until next time, Levania.”

Steadfastly ignoring the stare in his back, Thancred waded out of the water and left the basin.

He hadn’t lied: while he had certainly done some research on Levania, and requested his colleagues have a quick look in their domains as well, it was truly a matter of chance—or perhaps fate—that had repeatedly led them to the same incidents over and over. However, he could see how this looked, especially to someone who had things to hide.

But he could not leave Levania alone now – he had communed with the Mothercrystal, and thus made himself an enemy of the Ascians. The Scions needed him, and he needed them.

—Levania Spring is what’s known as a Viera, a notoriously handsome race to which the titillating stewardesses of the Gold Saucer sadly pale in comparison. And I do not mention his good looks lightly! They have been noticed by no few scouts of certain discreet establishments among our streets, and a trusted source revealed to me that some of these offers were even accepted! One must remember that adventurers often come to Ul’dah with histories of tragic and unfortunate circumstances, and thus may choose rather less savoury forms of employment once the novelty of slaying beasts and delivering goods wears off.

It is well-known that this young man has taken many jobs both over and under the table, and that he may be persuaded for even the most paltry sum. This recent arrival to our city of gold has been making waves among all echelons of Ul’dahn society, and I posit that this could represent an exceptional opportunity not just for the adventurously inclined fields of commerce—

Or so read the newest op ed in The Mythril Eye. Thancred normally paid this paper little attention, but he’d had no choice but to buy a copy once he’d spied that name in the headline. Now, he wished he had not handed over his coin – The Mythril Eye was supposed to be a finance and economics publication, but it seemed the speculation on how Levania might affect the markets was only there to justify the dubious reporting on his sexual history. He would have to write an anonymous complaint to the editorial board.

Sooner or later the incident at the royal banquet would make its way to the papers, as well. If this nonsense was any indication, the reporters would eat up the news that their newest toy had fainted mid-conversation with General Aldynn – or perhaps they’d say it was before the sultana, if they considered that a more scandalous version of events.

(How many Echoes did that make? Three, that Thancred was aware of, in the span of not even as many moons. Poor man – Minfilia’s were not nearly so frequent or intense.)

Thancred rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to stymie the headache. He’d only wanted to do some further research while he waited for Levania to arrive at the Hall of Flames. Now he was just miffed at the worst parts of Ul’dah again. The city had its charms, of course, but when it decided to be terrible, it could be really terrible.

—Master Spring has, sadly, declined an interview.

He rolled up the paper and stuffed it under his arm (it wouldn’t do to waste perfectly decent kindling), and just in time. It was easy to see Levania coming. Even without the added height of his ears, he was taller than most of the Hyurs and towered over the Lalafellin population. His pallor also made him a beacon under Thanalan’s sun. It seemed he’d managed to procure some sun-protective ointments since their first meeting, for he was looking significantly less sore in the face.

Once he’d entered the Hall of Flames, Thancred carefully picked his way through the crowd to lean against one of the pillars of the building. Levania’s back was to Thancred, but he was close enough that he could see and hear their conversation. After how their last interaction had soured, he had resolved to keep a bit of distance, now that he was actually following Levania. General Aldynn noticed, but helpfully did not acknowledge him. He handed Levania a pair of letters with his seal.

“Five years ago, we looked on, powerless, as our brothers and sisters were taken from us at Carteneau ─ first by the Garleans, and then by the thrice-damned primal called forth by their treachery,” General Aldynn explained. “Not a day goes by that I do not think of my fallen comrades…”

Levania was holding himself incredibly still. It shouldn’t have stood out, except that, among the Immortal Flames, it became clear to Thancred how unnaturally straight his posture was. Any relaxation suddenly appeared very intentional, in the same way he would fake the ease of someone who belonged in places he really did not during infiltrations, an ease which he had learned and projected as needed.

“...And of the Warriors of Light, of whom no trace remained. The tragedies of the Calamity are not so easily forgotten ─ nor should they be. In remembering all we've lost, we're reminded of what we still have. And so I mean to mark the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Carteneau with a memorial service honouring the fallen. It is my hope that my counterparts in the Alliance will agree to do the same. And I would have you bear my words to them as my personal envoy.”

...Was Levania a spy? Thancred had considered the idea before. It was impossible not to, given his propensity to appear where Ascians did. However, he was undoubtedly one of the Blessed, favoured by the Mothercrystal and an enemy of Ascians. The Scions needed him on their side, and it seemed he would be inclined to join them, were he offered the chance – Thancred had poked and prodded and planted enough seeds that he was certain of it.

If only he could pinpoint where he’d heard that damnable accent before. It was so subtle, so missable to those who weren’t paying attention, just the way he occasionally stumbled over a word, a consonant off there, a stress too much there. Eorzea had definitely not been Levania’s birthplace, but neither was Thancred convinced that his accent was from Dalmasca, which all Viera were native to.

“Why me, General Aldynn?”

What? Thancred refocused on the conversation – and by the sudden and unusual hush which had fallen around the Hall of Flames, he was not the only one listening in.

“It is an honour, of course, that you would choose me,” Levania continued, head bowed and ears flattened, “but I’ve not been in Ul’dah for so long, nor am I one of your Flames. Is there none more suitable for such a role?”

Had Thancred just heard that right? Was he trying to decline the Flame General’s mission?

“Your deeds mark you out as the nearest thing I have to a Warrior of Light,” General Aldynn replied. “Nay, I can think of none more worthy of the role. The question is: will you accept it?”

Levania had just saved the sultana from a scandal that would have seen her dethroned by the Syndicate, solved a serial murder case haunting the thaumaturge’s guild, and fought off Ascian-summoned creatures no less than three times. With one hand he slew pests and brigands, and with the other he fed the orphans of the refugee slums. His name was so well-known to the residents of the city-state it would soon be falling from the mouths of newborn babes!

That was the most he had ever heard Levania say in one go, and it was depreciating himself. He was remaining silent before the general for an uncomfortably long time.

But finally, even as it looked like it pained him, he nodded.

The Flame General smiled. “Then it is agreed. You will journey to Gridania and Limsa Lominsa as my official representative. Now, that's a great many malms to travel, but I've neither the time nor patience to wait around while you do it on foot. I hereby grant you permission to use the airship routes connecting the three city–states. This pass serves as proof of your privilege. Gone are the days when airship travel was available to all. The ever-present threat of imperial attack has forced us to impose drastic restrictions out of concern for public safety.”

Levania had helped countless people in Thanalan, rich and poor, for rewards both commensurate and insulting, toiling day and night to better the lives of the people he met. He’d attended the sultana’s royal banquet as an honoured guest, for goodness’ sake. Why in the world would he be so reluctant accept the honour of representing Ul’dah to the other city-states? Why keep his head bowed so? Surely not out of some misplaced sense of humility.

“These passes are only granted when circumstance demands it ─ as in this case. Though there were others who insisted you be granted one regardless. Aye, Levania, I am not alone in seeing it… Your potential is plain.”

It clicked.

Registering under a name with no corresponding port, military, or residential records, trying to sound Eorzean when he clearly was not, his wariness of being watched, the aggression at being followed – there were as many reasons as there were dunes in the Sagolii for why someone chose to become an adventurer, but Levania’s were clearly not wealth and glory. He was humble. His actions made that much undeniable. Moreover, he misliked the fame he’d won in Ul’dah, and not merely because of the sleazy reporting on his private affairs.

Whatever Levania had been in the past, he was running from it. Perhaps he had committed some sort of crime, or he was fleeing unfortunate circumstances. The latter was more likely, given how little he’d arrived with in Ul’dah. As for his paranoia, perhaps he was fleeing a specific person or group? Those ears of his were hard to hide, so changing his name would have been his only means of escaping whatever his circumstances had been.

But then the bleeding heart had gone and made himself famous, and news of his deeds, including descriptions of his rather unique appearance, were beginning to circulate within all of Thanalan, if not already without.

This complicated matters. He would hardly be the first person with a dubious past to join the Scions. Much as he’d tried, Thancred couldn’t truly begin to guess what exactly Levania was running from and why, but he was not one to throw stones from his glass house.

So, the better question was this: did Thancred trust him?

“But I have said enough. In the name of the sultana, I bid you go forth. See for yourself the wonders of the realm for which the Warriors of Light risked all. Rise to your calling and fulfil your promise. And should your path be barred by man or beast, strike fast and true, for victory belongs to the bold.”

Would Minfilia trust him?

“Now go, Levania, and heed the Crystal's guidance should you ever lose your way.”

Levania stood straight and tall, his ears no longer flattened back. Then, he placed his hand over his heart in a gentle salute, head bowed over the letters. “I will see these missives delivered, General. The fallen must be remembered.”

The Flame General smiled sadly, and Thancred found himself mirroring the expression – that grief in Levania’s careful voice was the most sincere he’d ever sounded.

Yes, Minfilia would want to meet him.

Bearing the Blessing of Light, a bleeding heart even against his own interests, and a powerful mage, who mourned Carteneau just as they did. He had some concerning quirks and dubious habits, but whoever he had been before he was Levania Spring, he was a good person now. And if his circumstances were anything like Thancred suspected, he would likely appreciate the kind of work and insight they could offer him.

As Levania left to find the airship landing, Thancred activated his linkpearl. It was high time he recommended this adventurer to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.