People were talking. She knew people were talking. Real, actual people, with bodies she could touch and faces she could see. She could almost recognize the words, and she tried desparately to make sense of them. It almost brought tears to her eyes when she failed. Hiraiko would’ve given anything to hear voices besides the ones speaking to her from the Astral Signa.
It had been that way since she first tore the weapon from Tzee Xicu’s hands. If she had known then the burden she would be assuming, she would have dropped the relic right away. Even though the art of summoning the Avatar of one of the great spirits was only two decades old, communication with them dated back practically to the creation of magic. In those times and now, one conduit to their world was stronger than any other. The Astral Signa was the link between the two worlds, and as long as she held it, Hiraiko felt as if she were a part of neither.
Now, as she stood in Pso’Xja, clutching the stave with her gaze downcast, she prayed for the focus to hear what Rykoshet and the newly revealed North Wind were discussing. The constant whispering in her ear continued unabated. She could hear the hiss of Leviathan as he recounted how he moved the ocean. Prior to their entry into the catacombs of the Tenshodo ruins, she could clearly make out the burning roar of Ifrit speaking of the near destruction of the Protocrystal of Fire, and how another Summoner had intervened. She heard the ancient and powerful voice of Ramuh, and the gentle, wafting breath which was Garuda. Even the slow, deep growl of Titan was more present to her than the words of people standing directly in front of her. Their voices were in the background now as well.
Peering up through brunette strands drifting before her eyes, she could see the broad, serene face of the North Wind as he spoke to Rykoshet and the others. A green-gloved hand emerged from similarly-hued robes to stroke a cleanly cut brown beard as he spoke. The others nodded or exchanged glances, occasionally offering question or comment. An intent conversation was happening right around her. Yet only one voice emerged, drowning out all others. A voice of awful, crushing power, filled with an undeniable darkness. It said only three words, over and over again, and she struggled to contain a gasp with every repetition.
She clutched the Astral Signa, balancing against it as the voice came again, too powerful to ignore, or disobey.
Come to me.
Pso'Xja was a remnant from times now long past. A massive, sprawling complex of stone and granite, it was a labyrinth of ancient architecture and technology. Though it now existed only under the eternal ice of Beaucedine Glacier, hidden away from the sun for generations, every room and hall was permanently illuminated. Glowing spheres of pale blue and red light hung from the walls at regular intervals. Each row of lights pulsed with a steady glow which had continued unabated for centuries. Through each softly lit cavern, a gentle breeze constantly rushed through, giving Pso'Xja an endless echo that was not unlike the sound of breathing. Were he not seeing it with his own eyes, Rykoshet would have scarce believed such a phenomenon could stem from a single source. As it was, the stem from which the breath of Pso'Xja grew stood before him, gloved hands stroking at carefully maintained beard
The room they had been taken to was bare from vaulted ceiling to granite floor. The stones used to construct it had been laid out unevenly, creating gaps through which the air whistled softly. Wispy cobwebs hung from the walls, and here and there insects skittered by just out of the light. The ceiling was high enough that it was nearly concealed in shadow, making even the open space feel forbidding. There was enough room, however, that all of Rykoshet's small group was some distance apart from one another. He himself was down on one knee, in part due to the abrupt nature of their arrival, but mostly because of the pain shooting through the point where Rennie had stabbed him. Several feet away from him, Vile was on his feet. The black cloak he wore was open, blowing in the ethereal wind as he stood with clenched fists facing their host. At his back, the black jewel surmounting his staff gleamed unnaturally.
Battousai was standing by the entrance to the hall they had initially been teleported into. His features were a mixture of amazement and uncertainty. He continually ran a finger unconsciously down the cross-shaped scar on his cheek, eyes shifting beneath his mop of blonde hair as his Elvaan ears twitched at every noise. His great sword rested in his free hand, blade propped against the floor. Rykoshet's younger brother was obviously unnerved by the recent happenings. How he maintained composure was a credit the elder brother certainly believed belonged to their master.
Betrayil, naturally, was hovering over Hiraiko. The Ninja's black garb made him almost melt into the walls, creating an ominous presence over the Summoner. He made no attempt to disguise the drawn weapons in his hands, and did not move his gaze from the green-robed man in the middle of the room. Hiraiko, on the other hand, only knelt on the ground holding the Astral Signa. She seemed miles away from the rest of them.
"I apologize for the rather harsh conveyance," Rykoshet's attention was brought back to the figure now central to their position. He was calm and even somewhat regal, with an aura of utmost serenity.
Rykoshet’s body was a mass of staggering pains. Being cut off as they were in their travels, Lethe’s water had been unable to fully mend his wounds. That added to the trauma of what they had gone through when the Herald lost his powers was bordering on excruciating. His armor was now pierced where Rennie’s blue-bladed rapier had punctured straight through it, and he could see the half-healed flesh beneath. His arms and joints ached from his furious wielding of Tzee Xicu’s heavy spear. Consistently, his breath would catch in his chest and come out drawn and ragged. He felt cold and hungry. That the team he had brought with him had even reached this far alive was due in large part to miraculous timing rather than any good moves on his part.
Despite all of this, Rykoshet managed to rise to his feet. Their journey was over. They had found the North Wind.
Or, as he preferred, Fill.
“Thank you all for coming out,” the brown-bearded sage said with sincerity. “The situation is, I’m afraid, dire. My movements here are severely limited.”
“You’re the North Wind?” Battousai questioned, arching an eyebrow. Rykoshet’s brother scratched his cheek near the cross-shaped scar he bore. “I figured you’d be taller.”
“This is indeed one of the four for whom I am herald.” Heads turned as Lethe spoke from Fill’s side. The hem of his blue-and-white robes sank into the floor like the stone itself was water. The enigmatic herald of the Four Winds had regained his composure since his traumatic episode earlier. He now stood calmly by the side of his master, though now and again he would shut his eyes, bracing himself as if to catch his balance. Whatever had occurred was clearly still affecting him, if only marginally.
The majority of the attention in the room fell solely on Fill. The sheer weight of his presence was enough to draw eyes towards him, but moreover there was a sense of anticipation. They had completed the first leg of their journey. Now the question lay with what happened next. For the answer to that, the North Wind surely held the key.
“So,” Fill said, clapping his hands together, “what happens next?”
His words struck the gathering like a blow. Battousai nearly tipped over, and Rykoshet could hear Vile’s teeth grinding. “Please,” the Tarutaru managed through a clenched jaw, “do explain.”
Fill gave the slightest of shrugs. His face maintained total composure, but behind him Lethe appeared somewhat startled.
“Lord Fill, have you . . . no plan of escape?” The Herald’s voice lowered to a near whisper at the question.
The North Wind seemed unconcerned. “Escape is one thing. There are any number of questions I’m sure you all have which I will be more than happy to answer before we escape. I meant the other thing.”
A series of confused glances swept about the room.
“Other thing?” Rykoshet sought clarification.
Fill spread his hands. “I thought you might know. Something is supposed to happen here before we can go. Something dreadfully important.”
“That being?” The air around Vile was beginning to shimmer.
Again, the object of their search shrugged it off. “If I knew everything, I certainly would not be trapped in my own home right now. I am only privy to a general notion of the way things should unfold, and do my best to stir the winds in the right direction.” He gave a small smile. “Calm yourself, Vile-Revile. I may not know specifically what that event is, but I am still very much ready to leave this place, and have prepared for my departure in length.”
“How do you know our names?” Surprisingly, it was Betrayil speaking. Hiraiko was behind him now, as he apparently felt it better to put himself between his lover and the North Wind. Suspicion and doubt criss-crossed the Ninja’s face. In their time together Rykoshet had seen Betrayil as positively the most stoic of men he had ever met. The Bastokan never hesitated in the face of monsters. He never seemed intimidated by battles with beastmen. He had not once shown trepidation or reluctance accepting a mission. Betrayil performed his duties quickly, concisely, and efficiently, seldom speaking out of turn or displaying any emotion other than an endless drive to succeed.
If he felt Hiraiko was in danger, however, the situation could change very abruptly.
“Your names were carried to me by the winds,” Fill responded. The tall sorcerer clapped his hands behind his back, taking a deep breath. The caverns and halls surrounding them all reverberated as he did, as if all of Pso’Xja were inhaling. “It was preordained that I should seek you out to ensure my own survival.”
Betrayil’s expression darkened. “We were told Hiraiko had to be here.”
Fill nodded. “Yes. Her name was revealed to me quite expressly. All of what we are attempting to do hinges on her being here.”
“She nearly died!” Betrayil barked, twin katana flashing in the ephemeral light of Pso’Xja. His muscles tensed, ready to lunge. Fill only smiled at him reassuringly.
“Her life is intrinsically bonded to the actions of the Avatars for as long as she retains the Astral Signa – or until she achieves complete mastery of it, as Tzee Xicu did. What you experiencd outside was the result of a titanic upheaval involving at least two Prime Avatars appearing, if briefly, in Vana’diel.” Casting a meaningful gaze at Betrayil, he raised a brown eyebrow above an icy blue eye. “Had she remained in Castle Oztroja, she would have been overcome, and died. Here, I was able to save her before it was too late.”
Betrayil’s glare became hesitant, and he looked quickly back and forth between Fill and Hiraiko. The Summoner was still staring at the ground, clutching on to the Astral Signa. One thing she was not doing, clearly, was drowning in Leviathan’s power. The Ninja’s posture relaxed, though he did not release his weapons quite yet.
“Hold on,” Battousai said, stepping away from the doorway and towards the North Wind. “We’re here to get you out, but we can’t until something else happens here, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know what this something is.”
“Correct, you have heard my words and successfully demonstrated understanding of them.” Fill somehow managed to not sound even the tiniest bit condescending. Rykoshet’s opinion of him improved tremendously.
Battousai pushed on, folding his arms as his eyebrows knit together. “You’re the worst rescue mission I’ve ever been on. How can you know our names, where we are, how to get us here, and supposedly how to get out, but not what’s apparently the actual important thing that’s going to happen here?”
“Knowledge like that does not come easily,” Fill said in a somewhat darker tone. “It involves forces which eclipse my own. Preserving my own life, that is something I have well planned for. Whatever is to happen here beyond that . . . I can only say it must happen, or anything else which does will be without meaning.”
“Well that’s just peachy,” Battousai muttered, blowing a strand of thick blond hair away from his eyes. “So we just wait around until then?”
“There is little I can do,” Fill admitted. “However, while we wait, I know you all abound with questions. The wind carries with it many answers. I will provide them for you as best I am able.”
“Who is Rennie?” Rykoshet demanded suddenly. Fill turned to him, and the serene mask he wore vanished as shock registered in his brilliant blue eyes.
“Rennie?” He repeated. “How do you know Rennie?”
“Lord Kita – “ Lethe began, but Rykoshet plowed over him.
“Lethe called him “Rennie” after he nearly killed me out there in the snow. Tore me right out of a teleportation spell and told me to come with him. When I wouldn’t . . . “ the sorry state of his armor gave mute testimony to the outcome. “Lethe found us, and called him “Rennie.” If Lethe knows him, you must, as well.”
Fill’s attention turned immediately to Lethe. The Herald nodded, acknowledging the truth of Rykoshet’s words. “I would have told you right off, if not for the difficult nature of our arrival. He has indeed returned, with most auspicious timing.”
The North Wind closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. Around them, the winds rushed out through the ruins. Fill’s single breath echoed throughout the entirety of Pso’Xja. “I had hoped . . .” His sentence ended there as his eyes became downcast. After a moment he raised them towards Rykoshet, and there was an unmistakable tinge of sadness within them.
“I am under attack here, as you know,” he began. “A cabal whose names and origins are unknown to me have orchestrated the events which led to the unchaining of Dynamis. You should know, however, that as grave as the situation seems, it would be exponentially moreso if not for us Four Winds becoming aware of their manipulations. We were able to maintain the seals which hold back Dynamis in the Icelands. If not for this, the full force of the Kindred would have by now swept the Middle Lands of all life, and perhaps even expanded further into Vana’diel. As long as we live to maintain the seal, this will not happen.
“Naturally, the cabal seeks our immediate destruction.”
Fill paused, his gaze drifting upwards towards the vaulted ceiling. Rykoshet became aware that despite the roof of the ruins being at least forty spans high, it was still well below the surface of Beaucedine Glacier.
“I am hence restricted in the use of my powers. The winds are inexorably linked together, and should they detect my magic, they will surely be able to trace it back to my brothers. Thus have they placed me in check; I cannot defend myself without endangering others, yet if I do not I will surely be killed.” The North Wind took a moment to let a hooded gaze sweep across those gathered before him. “You are my final maneuver. My options are only to lose or run and live to play another day. As Pso’Xja is currently surrounded by demons searching for a way in to my inner sanctum, seeking out help seemed the only viable solution.”
“This doesn’t explain how you know Rennie,” Rykoshet interjected, taking a step forward. Fill nodded with another sigh, a breath welling up from the cavernous depths of Pso’Xja.
The icy stare of the North Wind leveled itself at Rykoshet. Fill’s jaw was set, and his arms lowered at his side. There was an umistakable tinge of regret in his eyes.
“In order to place me – and now, I apologize, you - in such dire straits, I first had to be found. I did not know how they managed locating me, but if Rennie is with them, I suppose it is a mystery no longer.” A low grumble came from his throat, and all throughout the room dust swirled and cobwebs shook. “Rennie must have told them where to find me, for he once served here, as my apprentice.”
Murmers surrounded her. The other voices had fallen into the background. They were still speaking, but hushed now. Cowed. Not quite frightened, more reverential.
Hiraiko was not like them. She was very much frightened.
She gasped for air as her emerald green eyes struggled to find something real. She saw a small, brown-skinned figure before her, dressed in a tightly-drawn cloak. He was angry, Hiraiko could tell. Furious. He was saying terrible things, accenting his words with blossoms of arcane might that sprang from him menacingly. Vile, Hiraiko knew. That was Vile. The two Elvaan who looked so strikingly similar were Rykoshet and Battousai. They were speaking as well. Only the man in front of her remained silent, watching with those raptor’s eyes. Ever protective, ever faithful. She longed to hear Betrayil’s voice, reassuring her, letting her know she could overcome this. Just being something to hear that she would know was real.
But he did not speak. And she heard only one thing.
Come to me.
“Four Winds,” Vile spat, filling the words with contempt. “It sounds like you created this whole mess yourself, and now want us to clean it up for you.”
“The Four Winds are integral to the survival of Vana’diel,” Lethe protested, but Fill raised a hand before him.
“No,” the enigmatic mage insisted, “let him speak. Ask what you will of me, Vile-Revile.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” the Black Mage rebuked, turning his back in
disgust. “Live or die, it shouldn’t involve us if you’re dumb enough to train someone to kill you.” The Tarutaru tilted his head back, a spark catching from his eye. “When he uses your training to try and kill us, that’s when I just get pissed at you.”
“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Rykoshet interjected.
All eyes in the room turned on him. “What?” Vile asked, in a tone that was not actually a question.
“He told me I had to come with him,” the Elvaan elucidated. “If he had been trying to kill me, he probably would have. He was holding back because he was trying to get me to go with him somewhere.”
Fill and Lethe exchanged a puzzled glance. Vile, however, brushed off the information as soon as he had received it.
“If that’s the case, all the more reason to just get the hell out of here and away from him.” He snorted derisively. “Let the North Wind deal with his problems on his own.”
“Ah,” Fill chimed in, clapping his hands together. “but you see, I was unaware of Rennie’s presence. He is not the one attacking me here.”
“Then who is?”
This time, Fill raised a querulous eyebrow towards Vile. “I don’t know, which leads me to believe it is a member of this mysterious cabal. The only thing the winds tell me is that it is a sorcerer of tremendous power, and one with a connection to you, Vile-Revile.”
The Tarutaru raised his chin, eyes alight.
“What kind of connection?”
Fill shook his head. “The only other thing I can tell you is that when I searched the winds for a name, all I got was the same word, over and over again.”
“Attack.”
Something was happening. What it was, she could not be sure. The air around Vile was growing thick. Rykoshet was talking to him, but being ignored. Lethe appeared tired, drained from earlier in a way no one else was paying attention to. Yet still he stood by his master. The North Wind had the same serenity he exhibited throughout the entire ordeal. He was unflabbable. A bastion of sanity and quiet, stalwart power. The polar opposite of everything Hiraiko felt.
She could barely keep herself from collapsing. Hiraiko clutched the Astral Signa, cradling it to her body. It pulsed with energy. The voice called out to her again. It never grew more intense or insistant, it only repeated the same command over and over. An order given with immeasurable power behind it. An order with no choice but to be obeyed.
Come to me.
Hiraiko had no choice. Obey she did.
“I’ll kill him,” Vile snarled. The air around him crackled with raw eldritch power. “I’ll break him to pieces.” The wizard was in rage Rykoshet had never witnessed before. His longtime ally was practically bursting at the seams with rage. Around him, the air was humming as magical energy snaked off of him in tendrils of multi-colored light. His large brown eyes had gone white as power welled up inside his small body with murderous intent.
“So you know this person,” Fill concluded.
“Actually,” Battousai said, “in Vile’s case this could still mean almost anybody.”
Rykoshet shot a look of warning at his brother, but if Vile was even paying attention to him, he no longer cared. “Where is he?” he demanded of the North Wind. His voice was a growl of hatred. “I’m going to kill him, once and for all.”
“So you say,” Fill replied, “and so I keep true to my word. I will answer your question. This “Attack” is in the Beaucedine Glacier, leading a battalion of demons against me. Even now, he waits outside the easternmost portion of these ruins, battering at the few defenses left in place. It is only a matter of time before – “
Vile never heard what it was a matter of time before. He was already out the door. At his feet, dust and rubble rose in his wake, stirred by the aura surrounding him. Never had Rykoshet witnessed Vile so overcome. He had no idea what could have so drastically affected the wizard, but every intention of finding out.
“We’ve got to go after him,” Rykoshet ordered. He ignored the ache which was his body. Battousai looked uncertain, but lifted his great sword nonetheless.
They had not yet taken their first step after Vile before the strangled cry of Betrayil froze them where they stood.
The Ninja’s katana clattered to the ground. He was trembling visibly. Breathlessly, he kept turning from one direction to another. Almost as soon as he had turned around, Rykoshet knew what the cause of his alarm was.
“I only took my eyes off her for a moment,” he whispered, in a voice which bordered on panic. “Hiraiko,” croaked Betrayil, turning to the others in dismay. “Hiraiko is gone.”
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