Chapter Text
“What did you say this was called again?” The dry heat of Amh Araeng buffeted Ryne’s face far less than it would have if Gaia weren’t sitting directly in front of her on their new two-wheeled ride home.
Gaia spat out another few flecks of dust - she’d have to invest in some sort of face covering if they planned to use this means of travel often. “No one at the Facet was sure what to call it, to be perfectly honest.”
“If it’s so exotic, how ever could you afford it? Don’t tell me… you didn’t touch that gil we set aside for a new kitchen?”
“Heavens no. Truth be told, I’m just as excited as you about that - though we will be using it for actual meals.” Gaia felt Ryne’s face pout into her shoulder, an exaggerated gesture that was overly theatrical in a way that might feel like sarcasm to someone who didn’t know the Oracle of Light better. But Gaia knew too well that Ryne couldn’t help being utterly genuine in her every word and deed - a trait that had been equal parts annoyance and inspiration throughout their perilous quest to restore the Empty. “Supposedly that Viis’ curious orb was thwacked one too many times and started prattling on about transportation schematics, and the smithy was all too curious to try its hand at a prototype. Norvandt’s geography was apparently too treacherous for anyone to want it though, so they offered it to me at an exorbitant discount if I could figure out how to make it work.” Then she sighed in resignation, more to herself than Ryne, “Just because I can pilot a skyslipper…”
The gentle giggling from behind momentarily distracted Gaia; Ryne’s arms wrapped tighter around her waist, holding on while she righted their course. “With your penchant for midnight hues, darkness, and hammers, perhaps they mistook you for some alternative sort of blacksmith.”
“Ha! As if we need to lift so much as a finger near a forge with Rayla around.” Conversation stilled as the Crystarium rose up over the horizon, majestic and impending but feeling somehow out of place despite being more intertwined with the recent history of Norvrandt than almost anywhere else. Hmph, doesn’t that sound familiar, Gaia mused to herself. As if reading Gaia’s mind, Ryne began to fidget and almost lost her grip as she too seemed distracted. “Careful, even Oracles aren’t immune to nasty brush burns. Keep it steady.”
Ryne pouted once more, pausing for another moment before speaking up, barely audible over the ghastly engine noises. “What is there for us, exactly?”
“How do you mean? Silly, we’ve got the Festival-”
“I know we have the Festival, and the Crystarium, and Lyna and all our other friends, but that’s not what I…” she trailed off, collecting herself. “My education, my training, my name and even my very life as a free person were entrusted to me by my friends... by my family... by Minfilia. I want to make the most of it, to fight for the future of this world, but what about when there’s no fight left to fight? Even after we stopped Vauthry, there was always some urgent problem to tackle or a villain that needed to be vanquished. It’s not like I don’t enjoy having time to myself - or spending it with you - but being Ryne has meant all of those other things since the day I got the name.”
“Well, I quite like Ryne as she is, with or without the incessant tumult. And besides, I was dropped from the sky into a fight and have scarcely been here for two moons since; it seems we’ve both got some soul-searching to do, like it or not. For now, let’s focus on the good things we can bring to Norvrandt, like free amaro rides for the children and coffee biscuit taste testing stands for those with more discerning tastes.” Gaia began to slow down for their approach, in part to avoid scaring the citizens too much and in part because stopping smoothly was still not her forte.
“I am definitely going to bring that up at the next planning meeting.” Even before the infernal thrum of the engine had stilled, Ryne’s playful giggles erupted into a full snort; how something could be both grating and cute was a mystery to Gaia, but all things considered, seeing her friend back in good spirits was more than worth it.
Gaia felt exhausted. In truth, they’d really done nothing of note: the usual morning biscuits, a ride out to Mord Souq to drop off the report, and a brief conversation with Captain Lyna before returning to their conjoined suites at the Pendants for the evening. She could blame the lingering effects of her abduction, but that was a flimsy excuse, she knew. Though emotional moments of introspection were always more Ryne’s specialty than hers, even Gaia could admit to herself that Ryne’s doubts had struck a chord in her own soul. Declaring her right to a life of her own was simple enough when the only alternative was losing everything she held dear. Facing the task of discovering for herself everything that life might entail, however, left her confidence wanting. Still, no use prattling on in my own head. Come to think of it, it was nearly sundown when they’d separated to freshen up and prepare for an evening reading or merely chatting the night away.
A thud from Ryne’s half of their abode jolted Gaia, timed as though it were the manifestation of her concern. Her actual manifestation unfolded itself from the fabric of the void into her hand, a hammer somehow elegant in its bluntness and comfortable in its heft. She carefully nudged open the door, weapon at the ready in case a would-be assassin dared to strike at her closest companion, and… sigh. Gaia huffed and laid her hammer against the wardrobe before tiptoeing forward to get a closer look. There was Ryne, fast asleep on her own bed, surrounded by strewn parchment and an inkwell precariously left open with her hand lightly curled around it. Though Gaia briefly mused over whether the midnight blue hues could suit Ryne, she knew blotchy patches of ink would be a miserably ineffective means of changing up one’s look. She reached over, glancing at Ryne’s visage for any hints of a rude awakening, and deftly sealed and relocated the container to the stand near the headboard.
Satisfied with the save, Gaia turned to sneak back out of the room, but was startled to find Ryne’s fingers had found purchase around the hand she’d left lingering on the bed to steady herself. It was a subconscious yet firm grip, and though Gaia could easily break out of it, the writing on the parchment caught her eye and compelled her to stay a moment longer.
A few repetitions of the alphabet were followed by simple nouns and phrases: their names, some locations around Norvrandt, Captain Lyna, Rayla, and many others that Gaia assumed were the names of other acquaintances she was still struggling to recommit to her shorn memory. All were still only barely legible, but it was a marked improvement from the last time she’d chanced upon Ryne’s writings. Why… what was she… Gaia gasped and lost whatever focus she’d had on the pages as it all became clear. She vaguely recalled remarking about Ryne’s shoddy penmanship when they’d first discussed keeping a journal, and just recently Ryne had dutifully assisted with every aspect of their recent report on Eden except putting pen to paper herself. They’d discussed beginning the journal before Festival preparations were fully underway, and she’d seemed oddly chipper about them both writing the first entries together. Seeing as that was only a week away…
How long has she been practicing in preparation? How idiotic must she be to not ask for my help? In the haze of half-formed thoughts flying around Gaia’s mind - as well as a guilty relief that there might yet be hope for her diary’s legibility - she’d dragged a light wooden chair towards her with her heel and sat down next to the bed, hand still tangled haphazardly in Ryne’s grip. She stifled a yawn, taking great care not to wake Ryne, but it seemed slumber was intent on taking her as well. After what seemed like ages, the part of her considering getting up rose to a forceful nudge, as if it was yet another voice occupying her mind. Your back will be sore all day tomorrow, this chair is quite poorly padded, your dress could get wrinkled; sensible advice, all told. Yet when she saw Ryne’s gentle breathing, calm and content, any trace of unease vanished. That voice may as well have belonged to a more conniving villain than any she’d yet known. Resigning herself to her fate, she slumped into the uncomfortable chair and closed her eyes, Ryne’s gentle grasp the last thing she felt as she drifted off to the realm of the fae.