Chapter Text
G’raha Tia was facing the most daunting battle of his life.
And that was saying something, given that he had once flung himself across time and space.
His own corner in the Baldesion Annex was now a complete chaos. Ancient tomes and arcane scrolls sat piled like miniature towers along the bookshelves, and his desk was an outright disaster. Scattered papers, a half-drunk mug of now-cold coffee, several quills—two of which broken.
In the middle of this battlefield, Raha sat hunched over, one hand buried in his tousled crimson hair, while the other furiously scribbled in the margins of a planner so overfilled it looked ready to combust.
“…No, no, no—that won’t work. She’d see right through that.”
A sudden creak of the wooden floor behind him sent a spike of alarm down his spine. He stiffened immediately, eyes narrowing as he instinctively pulled his notes toward himself like a cub protecting a wounded sibling. But the moment his nose caught the scent of Freesia and ink, his tension ebbed—only slightly.
“Planning world salvation again, dear brother?” came Krile’s dry voice as she leaned over his shoulder.
Raha startled again, ears flicking, and then groaned with a long-suffering look as he shoved the planner closed.
“Do you always move like a ghost? Now I see why Estinien insisted you’re a horrifying woman. Not that I did not know that beforehand.”
Krile, unfazed, circled around him and plopped down onto the cushioned armchair beside his desk, tucking one foot under her as she reached—uninvited—for the pile of disorganized parchment.
“What is this? A blueprint? A contingency plan? A—”
Raha slammed his hand over the page before she could read further, eyes wide with panic.
“I—Nothing of note!” he said too quickly.
Krile simply raised a brow, reached past him with all the calmness of someone entirely used to his dramatics, and plucked the planner from his slack grip before he could react.
“Krile!” he hissed, trying to snatch it back.
But she already held it tight, her short Lalafell frame giving her an unexpectedly sturdy center of gravity. He lunged for it again, but she turned her back, keeping the book just out of reach.
“Twelve’s sake, you’re really terrible at hiding things.”
“Wait, give it back!”
“Did you accidentally schedule a marriage proposal in there? Do you think she’d agree? Isn’t this a bit too soon?”
“This is not funny.” His voice dropped into a low whisper, tail puffed slightly in irritation as he managed to grab one corner of the note, struggling to get it back. “Krile, I’m being serious. No one can see this. Not Alphinaud, not Alisaie, not Y’shtola—especially not Y’shtola and Twelve help me, not Tataru.”
“And Hypshay?”
“No. Absolutely not. She’s the one person who cannot know.”
Krile stared at him, then let out a short laugh that bordered on incredulous.
“Do you hear yourself, Raha?”
“What?” he asked defensively, still trying to get it back.
“Dear brother of mine,” she said with the same dry tone she used when they were children and he tried to sneak extra pudding. “Did you forget the last time you tried to lie to her—”
“I’m not lying to her,” he snapped, indignant. “I simply have... a very good reason she can’t know. Yet.”
“Oh?” Krile’s voice was saccharine. “Does that sound familiar to yourself, Exarch?”
“This is different. This is…”
He floundered, searching for a word that didn’t sound ridiculous.
“Sentimentally foolish?” Krile supplied helpfully.
“Delicate,” he insisted, ears flattening.
Krile stood and grabbed both sides of the planner.
“Let. Go.”
“No. Promise me first. No one sees it.”
“If you don’t let go right now,” she said sweetly, “I will call Hypshay on the linkpearl and tell her you’re working on something very suspicious and won’t let me read it.”
His hand released the planner like it burned him. Krile stumbled slightly with the sudden lack of resistance but quickly regained her balance, triumphant.
“By the Twelve,” he muttered, slumping in his chair. “Fine. But I meant it when I said no Alisaie.”
“You said her name twice.”
“I meant it twice.”
Krile snorted and began flipping through the pages. “Let’s see what all the fuss is abou—oh.”
It was a plan for Hypshay’s Name Day.
Her eyes scanned the first entries.
A jeweled necklace shaped like an Autumn Zephyrlily—"Classic," she murmured with a tilt of her head. A pressed flower encased in enchanted glass, set to bloom every dawn—"Sentimental." A handmade scarf enchanted to stay warm against the cold, embroidered with a quote from Hypshay’s first letter to him—"Predictable."
Krile flipped another page.
And blinked.
Her brows rose slowly as she took in the detailed diagrams, columns labeled emotional impact, potential mishaps, backup plans, and contingency gifts for if Hypshay “accidentally sees it coming.”
“…Emotional impact rating: High. Probability of surprise: 27%. Backup plan: feigned forgetfulness followed by midnight stargazing and surprise reveal,” she read aloud, amused. "You really planned for her guessing your plan?"
"I must," Raha sighed, "Her instincts rival Y’shtola’s—and you know exactly how terrifying that is. This is her first Name Day after I’m back. I want it to be perfect."
Then, the list grew longer and stranger with every turn of the page. Krile rolled her eyes repeatedly at the increasingly ridiculous notions scribbled in corners or hastily added at the bottom of pages.
“A private airship tour over the Ruby Sea? Raha, really?”
“Krile, for the Twelve’s sake, would you stop—”
“Oh, but this one is even better!” Krile exclaimed, “Why would Hien agree to hold a parade through Kuagane?”
“That,” Raha admitted, “was a fleeting moment of desperation.”
“What in Hydaelyn’s name is ‘A troupe of moogles performing interpretive dance’ supposed to mean?”
“That was Urianger’s suggestion. He thought it would be charmingly whimsical—his exact words.”
“And you wrote it down?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t in my right mind,” he admitted grudgingly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But believe me, the next idea was even worse.”
“Five chocobo costumes, plus five matching ones for her own chocobo. Actually,” she paused thoughtfully, “that one might just work. Consider how much she loves Ricecake.”
“That one’s from Thancred,” Raha muttered, pressing his face into his hands. “He said, and I quote, ‘it would be cute,’ and somehow, I believed him. For all of five seconds.”
“Honestly, that's surprisingly sweet from Thancred,” Krile mused. Then, her amusement faded slightly, replaced by indignation as she fixed her adopt brother with an exaggerated glare. “Wait—so you asked Urianger and Thancred, but you didn’t think to ask me?”
Raha shrunk visibly, ears flattened once again.
“Believe me, sister,” he groaned, “I have no idea why I thought that was wise.”
Krile rolled her eyes yet again, but mercifully didn’t press and returning to flip through the final pages.
Then her hand paused on the newest entry—a recent, carefully sketched blueprint, surrounded by detailed calculations. She fell silent, her expression shifting from playful amusement to genuine awe as her eyes scanned the meticulous annotations and beautifully drawn diagrams.
"Oh Raha," she whispered, genuine admiration coloring her voice, "this bow is beautiful."
The Miqo'te turned his head away, suddenly shy.
On the page before her lay a perfectly planned idea: a bow crafted from the purest crystals known to Eorzea—high-grade crystal shards and clusters found in the Crystal Tower alone, each meticulously arranged to maximize magickal amplification, echoing the design of Raha’s own staff. Fine, rare woods imported directly from the Azim Steppe formed the sturdy yet flexible frame, allowing her maximum shooting range.
Krile’s voice softened.
“Why cross this one out? ‘Tis perfect—beautiful, practical, exactly what she’d adore.”
“I already spoke to nearly every craftsman’s guild from Gridania to Ul’dah,” Raha’s voice dropped quietly. “They all told me the same thing: Unlike my staff, where crystals meld seamlessly into metal, blending crystals with wood is entirely different. Even Master Papalymo warned me that melding crystals and wood is nearly impossible. The heat required to fuse crystals properly would incinerate the wooden frame entirely."
Krile frowned thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one finger as the silence stretched between them, until suddenly, her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Actually," she began with a mischievous smirk, "I think I have a solution. There's a friend of mine here in Sharlayan who specializes in melding completely different materials together."
“Krile Baldesion, my savior.” G’raha Tia said solemnly, “Where’s that friend of yours?”
—---
Asakura Hypshay was a bit annoyed.
Well, annoyed was putting it mildly.
She stood leaning against the marble balustrade overlooking one of Sharlayan’s many bustling thoroughfares, the scent of freshly trimmed hedges and the salty tang of ocean breeze doing absolutely nothing to soothe her mood.
Across the street, entirely oblivious to her stare, G’raha Tia was walking cheerfully alongside a smiling Hyur girl—someone Hypshay didn’t know by name but had noticed at least three times this week hovering around him. The girl held a heavy-looking box full of crystal shards, and G’raha, true to form, seemed more than eager to help. Even from a distance, his unguarded delight radiated like sunlight—ears perked, tail flicking with boyish enthusiasm. Whatever the girl had said made him chuckle.
Like a gods-damned fool.
She tapped her feet on the ground once more, peeling her gaze away, and tried to convince herself that this was nothing unusual—just Raha being Raha, eager and oblivious to the countless eyes that followed him everywhere.
G’raha Tia had always seemed blissfully unaware of his popularity.
Back when they were still exploring the Crystal Tower, he’d spent entire bells buried in the center of their field tent, wholly absorbed in deciphering some obscure Allagan script. There had been a young Miqo’te researcher from the Sons who constantly hovered nearby, fawning over every glyph he translated, practically vibrating with admiration.
She remembered one particular incident clearly. The boy, in his eagerness, knocked into the edge of the table and stumbled. Rather than steadying the flailing researcher, G’raha instinctively clutched the ancient text to his chest with both arms, shielding it like a newborn cub. Only after he ensured the artifact was unharmed did he glance down at the poor lad sprawled across the tent floor, blinking as though surprised to see him there.
Same thing when he was still the Exarch.
She hadn’t meant to spy on him that day at the Wandering Stairs. She’d only gone out to fetch a drink after a particularly grueling scouting, hoping for a moment’s peace, when she spotted him standing near a modest vendor’s stall. He was speaking with one of the Elezen guards—a young woman who stood at stiff attention, clearly flustered. But the Exarch, ever composed, either didn’t notice or chose not to acknowledge her discomfort. He merely smiled, offered a kind word, and patted her gently on the shoulder. The poor girl nearly dropped her clipboard. By the time he turned and walked away, she looked seconds from fainting.
The third time was a bit more annoying.
In fact, it had been just a moon ago—barely a few weeks after their return from the First.
She had just finished a grueling sparring session with Alisaie and was toweling off near the nearby training field when she spotted him sparring with the Boulder brothers. Raha moved with surprising grace, his form fluid as he dodged strikes and parried blows with the sword he had become so proficient in wielding. Despite the casual nature of the match, the Boulder brothers were clearly impressed, their admiration practically written across their faces.
When the sparring ended, the Boulder brothers practically dragged him into another match, shouting encouragement and compliments as they prepared for another round.
She chuckled with Alisaie until a familiar voice beside her rang out.
"Honestly," Aenor said with a dramatic sigh, her gaze fixed on the training field, "It’s unfair how they're smitten with the newcomer, the both of them! But I won't let him come between us!."
Hypshay was about to laugh when Aenor continued,
"Not that I blame them," Aenor added, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "He’s... impressive. Not really my type, though. Hmmm, if he were to join us, on the other hand..."
Hypshay slowly turned her head to face the Highlander as her tail flipped once.
Alisaie, still toweling off nearby, caught the shift in her posture and immediately burst into laughter.
"Oh, Hypshay," she doubled over. "Your face! Your face!"
Hypshay ignored Alisaie, her glare fixed firmly on Aenor.
"Let me make something clear," she recalled she’d said, “That stupid newcomer is mine.”
Aenor looked like she’d seen a chocobo start to sing, but before she could answer, Hypshay stood, flung her towel over one shoulder, and shouted across the field toward the sparring trio.
“Hey, you two! Next round, you spar with me.”
And now.
Now she was watching that same stupid newcomer beam like an idiot.
Raha was far away—too far to spot her, too far to sense her presence—but her sharp eyesight caught everything. She saw how he carefully set the box down. How the Hyur girl handed him another filled with odd-looking crystals. How he examined the contents with unblinking focus, like he’d just received something impossibly rare. She saw the awkward smile that curled his lips as he clutched the box tightly to his chest. Saw how his ears perked with unmistakable joy, how his tail lashed behind him with barely restrained delight as he turned to leave.
It was nothing. She bit her inner cheek to suppress a curse. It was nothing of course.
Just him, spending his day as usual—though he’d been secretive around her these past two weeks, like he was hiding something again.
She noticed it in the little things. The way he avoided her gaze whenever she arrived early at his room in the Baldesion Annex. How he was always just a bit too late, his explanations just a bit too rehearsed—didn’t feel like a lie, but not the entire truth either. When pressed harder, he’d just said he’s working on an important project, conveniently leaving out the details. And more than once, she’d caught him skulking through the Annex corridors, slipping into side rooms, rooms that he’d no reason to be in.
Her tail sliced through the air once more as she stood waiting for Y’shtola and Thancred to finish whatever errands they’d been buried under—something about paperwork in the Noumenon.
Too slow. What exactly was taking them so long?
Across the street, she watched as Raha turned to that Hyur girl again, said something clever enough to make her chuckle. The girl flushed and walked off.
Only when she saw Raha step into the aetheryte did a voice call out behind her.
“Ready for a nice meal?”
Her gaze lingered on the fading glow of teleportation before she finally turned to face the approaching sorceress and gunbreaker.
“Let’s go,” she muttered.
—---
The Last Stand was particularly lively that evening, filled with the gentle hum of conversation, the occasional outburst of laughter, and the comforting warmth of fresh-baked bread mingling with the sharp tang of ale. Golden lanterns hung low, casting soft pools of light upon polished wooden tables crowded with scholars, adventurers, and weary researchers, all seeking respite from the day’s labor.
They chose a seat that offered a good view of the sea, and although Hypshay laughed along with her friends’ reminiscences about their recent bounty, her gaze continually drifted back toward the same aetheryte through which Raha had vanished earlier in the day.
Two rounds of ale later, feeling emboldened—or perhaps simply careless enough—Hypshay leaned slightly toward Y’shtola.
“Shtola, you’re...familiar with the customs of Seekers of the Sun, are you not?”
Y’shtola paused mid-sip. “Considering I am one, yes. Why do you ask?”
“Is it common for Seeker males to take more than one mate?”
Y’shtola’s ears twitched slightly, and Thancred nearly choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Forgive me,” Thancred managed between coughs, “but why exactly are we discussing the mating customs of Seekers of the Sun?”
Hypshay took a deep breath, drained her entire mug in one swift, decisive gulp, and slammed it down firmly.
“I think Raha may be interested in someone else.”
A tense, incredulous silence followed—so heavy that the bustling noise of the tavern seemed suddenly distant, the lively chatter dulled as the trio sat in their pocket of disbelief.
Then Thancred leaned back with the slow exhale of a man who’d just witnessed a meteor crashing through the Studium’s ceiling.
“Are we talking about the same person? G’raha Tia—the one who trails you like a lovesick kitten? Or is there another red-haired Miqo’te Archon you’ve been seeing secretly behind our backs?”
“Shut it. I’m merely asking if it’s customary or not.”
Thancred burst out laughing. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that several heads turned their way.
“Thal’s burning balls, why isn’t Alisaie here?” he exclaimed, slapping his hand down on the table. “Wait—why is G’raha not here? I’d pay gil to see the look on his face after hearing those words from your mouth!”
“Thancred Waters,” Hypshay said coldly, “if you so much as whisper a word of this to anyone, I swear on the Twelve I will drown your head in that mug come morning.”
“Come now, Hypshay,” Thancred retorted. “That man barely acknowledges anyone else in the room when you’re present—”
“In fact,” Y’shtola suddenly chimed in at that, “what Hypshay said about Seekers is quite accurate. Seeker males—particularly those in positions of leadership, or Nuhns, as we call them—often take multiple mates. Dozens, even.”
Thancred turned slowly to face her, jaw slack. Y’shtola ignored his expression and went on.
“G’raha Tia’s role as Exarch was rather akin to a Nuhn, at least symbolically. He could very well be accustomed to such arrangements.”
Hypshay’s fingers tightened visibly around her empty mug. “I see.”
Without giving either of them another chance to continue, she stood abruptly.
“Thank you both for your insight.”
Thancred’s amusement drained swiftly, replaced with sudden alarm.
“Wait, Hypshay—”
But she shook her head gently, offering them both a polite, strained smile.
“I appreciate your company. It grows late—I should be going.”
She placed a few gil coins on the table—more than enough to cover their drinks—and turned swiftly toward that same aetheryte, vanishing without another word.
The moment she disappeared, Thancred rounded sharply on Y’shtola,
“You don’t actually believe any of that nonsense, do you?”
“I would think, of all people, you’d understand,” Y’shtola replied lightly, a faint smirk on her lips. “Men’s hearts shift easily. What was it you used to say? ‘Every flower has its own beauty’.”
“That was a very long time ago, thank you,” Thancred scoffed. “And aye, men change. Ordinary men. We’re talking about G’raha Tia. The Crystal Exarch. The man who waited a bloody century for her, built her a garden, and literally turned himself into a statue. You really think he’d be sniffing after someone else?”
Y’shtola sipped her wine slowly, then smiled.
“Of course not.”
“Then why say it? That poor man’s going to—”
“How much do you know?” she interrupted calmly.
Thancred paused. “Know about what? Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”
“That’s because we have—when he’s still the Exarch.” Y’shtola began, setting her glass down, “Even I’ve noticed, he’s been acting strangely these past two weeks. Sneaking around the Students’ corner rooms, quietly conversing with Urianger again. Do you think our Champion hasn’t noticed?”
“She—”
“With no small help from you, I might add. I saw you hand him the seedling the other day.”
“I—”
“All evidence considered,” she continued smoothly, “leads me to one conclusion: he’s preparing something special for her Name Day—which is less than two weeks away. Only she herself would forget such a thing.”
Thancred cursed and set down his mug.
“Very well. You’ve apparently even figured out the accomplice. Then why in the Seven Hells did you say that?”
“Because his constant penchant for secrecy is beyond irritating. Mayhap it’s finally time he learned the consequences of keeping secrets from the one person who matters most,” Y’shtola said matter-of-factly.
“Besides,” she paused. “I still don’t see what she sees in him. Consider this my compensation—for all the lies he fed us back when he was still the Exarch.”
Thancred stared at her for several heartbeats, then visibly shivered.
“I know I’ve said this before—but remind me never to cross you.”
“You already have. Many times.”
“And I am sincerely sorry,” he replied, lowering his head solemnly, “for each and every occasion.”
Y’shtola chuckled softly.
“Though I hadn’t anticipated Hypshay taking it quite so seriously. Still, he might learn a valuable lesson.”
Thancred laughed quietly, lifting his mug to hers.
“You’re far crueler than anyone gives you credit for, my dear, terrifying sorceress.”
She returned the toast lightly, lips curving into an enigmatic smile.
“Consider it a necessary evil.”
Then she leaned in, her smile sweet.
“And if you dare,” she whispered, “breathe a single word of this conversation to G’raha Tia, Thancred Waters, rest assured—what I did to him will seem merciful by comparison.”
Thancred nodded once, swallowing nervously.
“Do I have your word?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered obediently.
—---
G’raha Tia was so happy.
He hummed a soft, cheerful tune under his breath as he stood at the small kitchen station tucked into the cozy corner of the Students' grand hall. Around him, a faint aroma of freshly baked bread and herbs drifted upward as he sliced tomatoes and carefully layered greens onto a sandwich he knew Hypshay favored after a long day.
Everything was progressing perfectly.
The secret Name Day gift was almost ready. He’d picked up the final box of specially imbued crystal shards with wood from that Hyur researcher—who had spent far too long asking about Hypshay.
Initially he answered every question eagerly, proud of her and proud of himself for being able to answer the question, but eventually it started to rub him in the wrong way. He understood, he really did. His hero and guiding star inspired that sort of devotion. But that didn’t mean his eyes didn’t start twitching whenever someone declared themselves her biggest fan and asked for just one kiss or to plan to accidentally run into her with a bouquet.
But still, he really appreciated the help, because what mattered was the bow.
With Urianger and Krile's assistance and his own working, two suns from now, the weapon would be complete. He planned to bring it to Master Peperoto for final tuning and adjustments—there was no one else he’d trust to ensure its perfection. Thancred had generously tracked down rare autumn zephyrlily seeds for him too. Perhaps he’d plant them in the small, sheltered garden at the Baldesion Annex first…unless—
He glanced at the pouch of gil resting on the counter, the one he’d carefully filled bit by bit since his earliest days at Sharalyan. He could finally afford a modest home in Sharlayan—or anywhere she’d like, besides her Doma home. Something that belonged only to them. A sanctuary where he could fill an entire garden with lilies for her.
Raha smiled at the thought—things were finally falling into place.
He had the last pieces of tomatoes in hand when he heard footsteps approaching, recognized the cadence and scent instantly. Hers.
He nearly dropped the cutting knife in his rush to meet her at the hall, brushing sandwich crumbs from his tunic and wiping his hands on his hip wrap.
“Shay,” he said brightly, stepping out into the main foyer, eyes alight. “Welcome back, my love—”
But she sidestepped him.
“I’ve already eaten,” she said quietly, gaze briefly meeting his before slipping away. “I think I'll take a shower first.”
His ears drooped slightly while he watched her turned and walked down the corridor without another word.
Perhaps she’s exhausted, he reasoned to himself.
Y’shtola’s bounty missions were often taxing. Yes. That was all. She needed rest.
Raha abandoned the sandwich, heading swiftly to gather small bottles of scented oils and restorative potions that Krile had gifted him—perfect for easing muscle soreness and stress. He hummed again, more quietly now, scooping the vials into a small cloth-lined basket. Hypshay would need them tonight, and he’d do everything he could to help her relax.
With all the gathered supplies, he returned to his room—their room now, despite Ojika's offering a separate room entirely hers, she’d spent most days in his old room anyways, much to his delight.
He turned the knob, already searching for her—and met an empty room.
Her usual spot on the bed was untouched. Even more unsettlingly, some of her belongings—the tunic she wore casually around the annex, the traveling satchel always hung on the wall—were gone.
Panic settled in immediately. He turned and discarded the small basket, then went down the hall and knocked quickly on the guest room door—the one he’d nearly forgotten even existed. The hallway felt colder, quieter than usual, every heartbeat echoing painfully in his ears as he waited.
Too long, too quiet.
Then finally, the door opened just enough for Hypshay to appear in the gap. Her cyan eyes flickered briefly up to his face but did not linger.
Something was off. He felt it immediately, a subtle distance in her expression, the guarded way she held herself.
“Shay…” he swallowed thickly, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Are…are you alright? What happened? Did something—?”
“I’m fine,” she said gently, cutting him off. But her eyes drifted past his shoulder, as if holding eye contact was suddenly too much effort. “I’m simply…tired. When I returned, Ojika reminded me again that this room was available, and I thought—well, I didn’t want his offer to go to waste.”
Raha stepped forward, cautiously, unsure if he was welcome and Hypshay instinctively stepped back.
That one ilm felt like a punch to the gut.
Still, he forced a small smile.
“If you’re sore from the hunt, I brought some oils…I could give you a massage, something to soothe—”
“That won’t be necessary,” she interrupted again and shifted her weight, half-hidden behind the door, clearly hesitant to allow him even a step further. “You’ve been rather…busy yourself lately. I imagine you’re just as tired.”
His heart began to beat a frantic rhythm, suddenly the air felt thinner as he took a desperate step forward.
“Hypshay, have I…is there something I’ve—”
“Raha,” she murmured softly, “thank you for coming by. I just—I need some rest.”
And before he could form another word, she offered him the faintest smile he’d ever seen—and then closed the door.
G’raha Tia’s not happy now.
Not by a long shot.
For a long moment, he stood staring at the closed door, the wood blank and unmoving. The corridor around him felt darker now, colder—like the light had been drained from the air. He hovered, hand half-lifted, tempted to knock again. But in the end, it fell uselessly to his side.
His mind scrambled for answers.
Had he said something? Done something? Missed something?
Had the bounty today gone worse than she let on?
Frustration and fear tangled together in his gut, gnawing at him as he finally turned away, walking numbly back toward the grand hall of the Students. He arrived just as Thancred and Y’shtola stepped in through the main doors, speaking quietly between themselves. Their conversation halted the moment they saw him.
“Did something happen today?” Raha asked without preamble, his voice raw with urgency. He approached at once, tail swishing in sharp, agitated movements behind him. “On the bounty—did anything unusual occur? Hypshay’s… she’s acting strange. Barely spoke to me. Was she injured?”
Thancred opened his mouth, ready to answer, but Y’shtola reached out swiftly, fingers curling around his arm like a leash.
“Nothing out of the ordinary occurred,” she said evenly. “I saw to it myself. There’s not a single scratch on her. If something troubles her, I suspect it lies elsewhere.”
“Nothing,” Thancred echoed, but there was something off in his tone—Raha caught the flicker of tension beneath the man’s usual ease, like he was trying to signal something between the lines. “Everything went exactly as planned.”
He stared at them both for a long moment, frustration building.
“You’re certain?” he pressed, ears flat against his skull.
“Absolutely,” Y’shtola said firmly. “Perhaps she just… needs space.”
That gave him pause.
They’d been nearly inseparable since his return from the First. And he—fool that he was—had believed she wanted that closeness as much as he did. He thought she’d relished every shared morning, every quiet evening, every stolen moment of stillness between their battles.
But what if she’d only been… enduring it?
“I see,” he murmured, voice hollow. “Thank you both.”
—---
Y’shtola watched him retreat, his figure slumping as he disappeared down the shadowed corridor, ears drooped in clear, wounded misery.
Only once he was gone did Thancred glance sidelong at her.
“You really weren’t going to tell him?” he asked in a low voice. “Poor fool looks ready to cry.”
Y’shtola sighed, her voice was both amused and mildly exasperated.
“‘Tis about time G’raha Tia experiences the other side of uncertainty.”
“Once again, you are a terrifying woman.”
“Thank you for your compliment,” Y’shtola grinned, “A few sleepless nights will do him good.”
—---
Eight long, sleepless nights passed for G’raha Tia.
Hypshay had spent the first five traveling alone, tying up loose ends in Rhalgr’s Reach—without so much as a linkpearl call, without even telling him why she’d gone in the first place.
And when she finally returned, she was... unreachable.
Every time Raha sought her out, determined to confront her, she vanished like smoke—slipping into side corridors just before he arrived, retreating from the training grounds the moment he set foot on them.
It felt like the early days all over again. She had always possessed a maddening gift: when she didn’t want to be found, not even the best scouts in the realm could track her.
As for her Name Day gift, that part was going surprisingly well. At first. He had kept his secrets well—until the Twins eventually dragged the truth out of Krile. Alisaie, ever unrelenting, declared it a contest the moment she learned the details. Since Raha had already chosen three people, she claimed the right to pick Alphinaud, Tataru, and Y’shtola for “Team Alisaie.” Her boldness should’ve made him laugh. In better times, it would have. But Raha could only summon a hollow smile in return.
By the eighth night of their silent estrangement, the crystal bow lay finished on his desk, radiant beneath the soft glow of a lantern. And yet, he felt nothing. No triumph. No warmth. No joy.
He had no idea what was going on inside her mind.
Every night, sleep evaded him until sheer exhaustion dragged him under—or worse, until the pale, indifferent light of morning crept across the floorboards.
And he wondered about the same thing.
Had she finally realized he wasn’t the man she wanted? That the mystery of the Exarch had been the true draw all along? Or had he suffocated her with his tiresome devotion—overwhelmed her, crowded her, given too much, too soon? Was moving in with her in Doma too presumptuous? Had she discovered the ring—commissioned in secret from Tataru, hidden carefully behind the bookshelves—and recoiled at the thought?
Or had her heart simply changed?
Not that he could bring himself to blame her in any way. Her happiness was his sole concern, but the avoidance had hurt him the deepest.
He wandered the halls of the Baldesion Annex like a half-ghost, so dazed and distracted that he quite literally ran face-first into Ojika, flattening them both to the floor. By the second time he mistook a notebook for an Archon’s Loaf—though, to be fair, their taste wasn’t all that different—he knew he needed closure.
If this was truly what she wanted…If all she could offer him now was friendship—or merely the courtesy of a colleague, or even the polite distance of an acquaintance—then he would take it. Gladly. As long as he knew she was alive, well, and at peace…that would be enough.
The time she had given him had already been more than he ever dreamed of—nearly a year, ever since that first kiss in the First. A year of stolen glances, shared silences, and joy so bright it had carved itself into his soul. That year alone would be enough to sustain him for a lifetime.
But what he couldn’t bear—what turned his stomach into knots and kept him awake night after night—was seeing her in pain. And lately, she was clearly distressed.
And if he was the reason for it… then the last thing he wanted was to stay and make it worse.
He only wanted her to be happy. Even if that meant she had to be happy without him.
So, by the end of a week’s suffering, he decided to wait outside her door—because eventually, she would have to pass through it. Whether leaving or returning, she would have no choice but to cross that threshold. So he sat, patiently, from noon until dusk. Ignoring the exasperated glares from Alisaie, and the strangely pained look Thancred wore each time he passed by.
And his patience, at last, was rewarded.
About a bell past midnight, his ears twitched at the soft tread of boots on stone. His nose caught the scent first—hers. Autumn lilies and rain. He inhaled deeply, greedily, his whole body going still as he lifted his gaze.
Hypshay stood two arms’ lengths away, arms crossed, regarding him with an unreadable expression.
“Shay—” he began, then quickly corrected himself, “Hypshay…”
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
His voice cracked, barely held together. Tears had already begun to well in his eyes, but he forced them back.
She stared at him for a long moment. When it became obvious she couldn’t enter her room without stepping over him—or causing a scene in the middle of the night—she finally sighed and motioned for him to move.
He scrambled to his feet at once and stepped aside. As soon as she opened the door, he darted in after her like a cat, slipping past her with a grace that startled even him. Once inside, he side-stepped again, instinctively putting space between them.
Hypshay gave him a look—something halfway between exasperation and disbelief. He swore he saw a ghost of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. But then—
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice brisk, guarded, as she leaned against the door.
Raha’s ears flattened so hard they practically disappeared into his hair, his breath hitching in shallow, panicked gasps. He tried—tried so hard—not to crumble right there. But his legs gave out before his resolve did, and he dropped to his knees with a graceless thud against the wooden floor.
He didn’t even know if he was allowed to sit on her bed. On her chair. In her space. So he didn’t.
And frankly she always did love him on his knees.
“Please—” he pleaded, “We need to talk, my star—”
“Don’t call me that.” she interrupted suddenly, her voice tight as she looked away.
A cold, burning wave swept through him from heart to gut—and then the tears came, sudden and unstoppable, hot and heavy against his cheeks.
“Why?” he choked, voice breaking apart on each syllable. “What did I do wrong? Please—please, please—”
The words fell from him in fragments, shattered by hiccups and sobs. He couldn’t even see her properly anymore—his vision blurred by tears spilling down his cheeks in pathetic rivers.
Still on his knees, he dragged himself forward until his head was pressed to her abdomen. He buried himself against her stomach, arms slipping around her waist, trembling as he clung to her—not caring if she shoved him away. If this was the last time he could hold her, he would take it. He would take anything.
“I can’t bear this,” he whispered into her cloth, tears soaking the fabric without shame. “If you don’t want me anymore, please…just tell me. I’ll understand, I swear I will. I’ll go. I’ll—”
He broke off, teeth catching his lower lip hard enough to sting. The taste of salt and iron lingered on his tongue.
“But don’t shut me out,” he begged. “Please don’t shut me out…”
The silence that followed was brutal. He could only hear his own breathing—erratic and wet—and feel the slight trembling in her abdomen beneath his forehead.
He waited for the rejection. For her to push him back. For the hard hand on his shoulder telling him to stop acting like a child with his old age.
Instead—
A sigh.
Then, slowly, her hands came to him.
He flinched at first, thinking she was about to lift him away—but her palms settled instead at the base of his ears, cradling his head with a kind of reluctant tenderness that left him more breathless than any blow.
“I was just…” she whispered, fingers curling gently into his hair. “Not entirely ready to share you yet. You’ve been so busy… And I thought, if I tried to get used to it now…it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
He stared up at her, dumbfounded.
“What—?”
“I know I acted rather petty,” she admitted. “I mean, us Doman, and especially us Au’Ra… we’re rather monogamous. That’s our tradition. And it took me several suns to understand that’s not the same for you.”
His brow creased. His mouth opened again—useless.
“What—?”
“I’m not saying I blame you,” she pressed on quickly, her cyan eyes welling slightly with unshed tears, voice faltering even as she tried to steady it. “You were the Exarch, practically a Nuhn. Naturally, you’d start seeking your own territory without the Crystarium. With your Allagan blood and with your Miqo’te nature, now that you’re home, it makes sense that you’d start thinking about building something more…permanent. A tribe of your own.”
G’raha Tia pulled back slowly and stared at her.
At the love of his life, his guiding star.
He blinked once, then again. Tears still clung to his lashes, drying unevenly on flushed cheeks. His fingers, still knotted into the fabric of her tunic, trembled—and for the first time, he wasn’t even sure if it was from sorrow or the sheer absurdity of what he’d just heard.
“You…you think I’m trying to start a tribe?”
“Well,” she huffed, “you’ve been sneaking around again. And I saw you with the same Hyur girl down at the docks—three times in one week, G’raha Tia. Giggling like a damned fool—”
“Oh, Twelve have mercy!” He slapped both hands over his face, letting out a strangled sob-laugh as his shoulders shook under the weight of too much relief and not nearly enough sanity. “I thought you were leaving me.”
“I almost! You were sneaking around! Again!”
“I was building you a bow!”
“What?”
He dropped his hands, looking up at her with a face torn between exhaustion and disbelief, tears still glimmering in the corners of his eyes. But he felt happier—happier than in an entire week.
“A bow,” he repeated hoarsely. “For your Name Day. I’ve been working on it for weeks. With Krile, Urianger, Thancred—and yes, that Hyur from the Studium. I didn’t want to tell you until it was perfect.”
She blinked.
“I had to sneak because I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said helplessly. “Not because I was forming a bloody harem.”