Traveler

Her breaths were unsteady, hitching at the scent of blood that hung in the air. She could see that this awful scene had just recently occurred—the timetable signs of how fresh the bodies were. Unsteadily, she slowly walked. Her eyes wide, not knowing where exactly to focus. It was overwhelming. 

Who did this? Why was this happening? 

She ran down the first hall where it split into a tee junction. More bodies littered the ground—as well as one Imperial soldier. A bullet wound had been found in the back of this individual. Her nostrils flared at the sight of the corpse. 

“An Imperial soldier...?”

She ran into the storage spaces—both in similar disarray and chaos. More bodies littered the areas—the blood made her incredibly nauseous. Taking a moment, she leaned against a bookshelf—most of the books had been tossed and thrown on the ground as if they didn’t matter. 

Azlyn had a difficult time processing all of this. “How did the Imperials know about the Waking Sands. How many are...” She trailed off, her voice caught in her throat as the feeling of bile started to rise. “Hmmmph!” The Au Ra held her hand up to her mouth, she wondered if she expected it to stop her upheaval. 

She took a moment to compose herself. The sight of everything brought a sense of emotions she hadn’t thought possible. Azlyn had seen death before—but—not of people she knew up close. Or in such a brutal fashion. 

The only solace she could note at this point were that the Scion’s bodies were among the dead. 

“Where are the rest of the Scions...?” It was a small hope—but she decided to cling to it.

The questions stirred a greater concern as she sprinted down the hall over to the Solar. Maybe Minfillia had locked herself in...maybe she and the rest of the Scions laid hidden as the Garleans attacked. She made it to the doors, pushing them open hard enough to have them slam against the walls. Inside the office had been darkened—the lights shot out similarly like the halls previous to this room. 

Her eyes peeled across the room, hoping not to see the corpses of her friends. How would she tell the Students of Baldesion? How would she face her friends to tell them the horrors that unfolded while they— 

Azlyn’s eyes darted on the carpet, seeing a heavily bruised sylph. Her body went into auto drive as she ran over to the sylph’s side. “No-Noraxia!” Her hands wanted to do something—start some type of first aid however she was unfamiliar with the autonomy of a sylph body.    “Please...wake up. Please.” She pleaded. 

Whether her pray had been heard or if her voice stirred the young sylph, Noraxia’s eyes fluttered when she heard her. “W-walking one...Azlyn... This one is glad...walking one is safe.” She lifted a leafy hand to her, and Azlyn reached out to lightly hold it. Just as her hand made contact with hers, the Au Ra’s senses had been overtaken as the world twisted and turned. 

She found herself drawn into a vision—one welcome to the Au Ra as she wanted to know what happened to the Scions and who was the responsible party. There she floated, in the same Solar where Minfillia and Noraxia were happily chatting. 

Azlyn caught the tail end of what the Antecedent spoke as she taped her link pearl. “You can look forward to us welcoming her with a hero’s welcome. Azlyn, we’ll be awaiting your return at the Waking Sands. There is much to discuss! Godsspeed.” 

This was just moments after they got off the linkpearl. 

Minfillia turned to Lousioix’s staff on the wall, as she hummed to herself. “Such a wonderful day to celebrate Starlight! Louisoix, do you see? Your light shines brightly in this one. And in time, it will illuminate the realm once more.” 

The sylph danced by her side. “This one cannot wait to try these cakes Walking Ones are making for everyone!” 

Minfillia chuckled. “Indeed! Let us prepare for her arriv—” The Antecedent’s words drowned away as the loud boom of numerous gunshots echoed just outside the door. Noraxia jumped with fright, flying over to a few pots shivering. 

The blonde turned her attention to the doors of the office, narrowing her eyes as a feminine voice called out from beyond. “We have come for the one who slayed Ifrit and Titan! Bring her forth! And you may yet know mercy!” There were several shots that fired immediately after that—but Minfillia couldn’t tell if the guards out front were the targets or not. 

She gritted her teeth, looking over to the sylph. “Confound it. Noraxia—stay out of sight. I would leave a message with you.” She spoke of the church on the skirts of Camp Drybone, where Azlyn would need to speak the Scion’s secret word to gain protection of sanctuary.

Azlyn shook her head in the vision. This wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t do anything to stop this? She wanted to squeeze her hands but she was unable to. All she could do was watch as the scene continued to unfold. 

The doors to the Solar were kicked in—as Imperials streamed inside. A white-armored Imperial officer stepped in as she lifted her arm up. It looked as if there had been a gun designed in the armor of the greaves. Azlyn couldn’t see a face of the aggressor, as they were wearing a helmet designed sticking to them. She was, however, taller than Minfillia. 

Minfillia slowly raised her hands up as she stood in front of her desk. “I surrender myself, on the condition you spare the innocents.” Her blue eyes flared. 

The woman waved her soldiers down, as they lowered their weapons upon her command. “Conditions? There speaks the supreme Scion. I’ll grant you have courage, but you would be better served by armor.” She kept her gun arm trained on her, only to fire a round. 

The bullet whizzed right by Minfillia’s cheek, and impacted the brick mortar behind her and the desk. 

Minfillia did not move an inch, staring straight to the Imperial. “Search all you will, the one you seek is not here.” 

The stare down between Minfillia and the white armored woman had been steady. When the smoke cleared from the armor sleeve did the woman finally bring her arm down as turn on her heel. “So it would seem.” The officer gestured for her men to step forward, a pair of handcuffs were produced as they approached both sides of the Scion. 

Minfillia allowed them to handcuff her, her gaze directed into the hall where she—and Azlyn now—could see Urianger, Papalymo, and Tataru being walked out from the side storage rooms. “And yet you knew to look here—but how?” The Scion asked at last, before she narrowed her eyes. It seemed a thought occurred to her that she dared not to breathe aloud. 

“Hold that thought.” The armored woman spoke coldly, raising her gun arm once more to point at her. Azlyn gritted her teeth—wondering if the woman would just shoot her outright instead of taking her. 

Noraxia emerged from her hiding spot in that moment, floating in front of Minfillia to protect her. The guards were taken aback by the sylph’s arrival, but the armored woman made no indication. She stepped forward, putting all of her wait upon her dominant leg, before swinging around in a backward kick, spiraling around to knock the sylph into the side wall. 

A growing bruise started at the chest of the sylph as she drooped to the floor. 

Minfillia screamed. “No!” 

The soldiers grabbed the Antecedent on both sides of her arms to escort her. “Conditions of surrender—denied.” 

The Imperial soldier turned away, walking to the open door. Her officers in the hall were repeatedly stabbing the wounded guardsmen of the Scions. Many of them were whimpering in pain as the officers continued to stab and stab and stab. 

“Have you not done enough!” Minfillia yelled to her, as she struggled with the two guards by her side. 

There was a moment of silence. “Perhaps.” She acquitted. She looked to all the men calling out the orders. “Enough! We must away. Though we have not found our quarry, the ‘High Priestess of the Scions’ should suffice for now.” The woman in armor looked over her shoulder to Minfillia, and spoke coldly once more. “They say she also possesses the Echo. I cannot wait to hear her scream.” She giggled. 

Minfillia growled. 

But their attention had been drawn back to the hall where an Imperial soldier had been skewering a person on the floor. 

“I said enough!” The white armored woman shouted, and fired a well aimed shot into the Imperial’s head. He dropped without further incident. “We leave! Bring the prisoners.” 

The vision ended then, showing Minfillia getting walked out immediately after the white armored woman. Azlyn blinked her eyes out from the sense, as Noraxia stirred in her grasp. 

“Walking—walking one Minfillia—asked this one to—” Noraxia winced in severe pain, as Azlyn’s eyes involuntarily watered. 

“Save” Azlyn choked out, “Save your breath. I’ll try something...” She was staring at the ever growing bruise, and the fading light of the gem in her chest. Her core—her heart had been fading. Even if she had all the healing power in the world—there was no way to save her. 

It caused the girl great distress as she wracked her brain for anything. Anything that could work...only nothing came to mind.

Noraxia smiled up to her, as her leafy hand wrapped around one of her fingers. “In case walking one r-returned—this one was to say—there is church in eastern Thanalan—walking one must claim sanctuary.” 

The Au Ra felt her lip quiver as tears escaped her her bottom lashes. They dropped onto Noraxia who looked up to her. 

“This one tried to protect walking one Minfillia...F-from imperial ones...” 

Azlyn nodded as more tears flooded her vision. “Yeah—you did a wonderful—wonderful job Noraxia. I’m so—I’m very proud of you.” 

Noraxia could feel some of her tears upon her face. “Forgive—this one—” She stuttered with more pain. “Save—” Noraxia went to lift her other arm, her hand that reached out to try and touch her face. Only for the limb to fall limp at her side. 

Azlyn noted the gem in her chest go out, and Noraxia’s head drooped to the side. “N-no...please.” She hiccuped. “No...not you too...I’m...I’m...” She shook holding onto the Noraxia’s hand still within hers. 

She shook in place for a moment, looking away from the dead sylph she held onto. After several hitched breaths and the silent tears rolling down her cheeks, she gritted her teeth. She gently placed down Noraxia’s hand to her bodies side, closing her eyes to offer a long prayer for not only her, but for all the dead. 

Her body wasn’t working as fast as her mind—as she activated a teleport to Camp Drybone.  The last thing on her mind had been the Starlight Celebration as some of the town had been decorated in reds, whites, and golds. She numbly walked the path upward out of the community within the canyon and up the hill to the cemetery known as the Church of Saint Adama Landama. 

She wouldn’t ignore the last wishes of Minfillia—who’s word had been the last uttered from the lips of the sylph who had been helping the Scions. 

Azlyn crossed the rows and rows of tombstones—the memory scent of blood crossed the threshold of her mind. She pushed past the memory, getting closer and closer to the tall spires of the church in the deep corner of eastern Thanalan. 

“—lyn? Azlyn?” 

A priest whom she had been acquainted with noticed her unsteadily walking. He approached her, as his eyes widened under the hood. “You’re crying. What happened my child?” 

Azlyn gave him a momentary glance, before she hiccuped. The priest reached out to her arm to help her to the church. “Come inside! Head Priest Illiud is inside, he should be able to help!” 

She hadn’t expected such attention, but as she was whisked away several other brothers and sisters of Nald’Thal noticed her troubles, and stepped up. Sister Ourcen went off to grab a blanket, while one of the children went to summon the Head Father. 

Marques stayed in the corner, but he stared intently to her unsure of how to help. 

Azlyn felt herself get wrapped in a blanket by the sister, while the priest who found her in the lichyard had placed in her hand a mug of water. 

“You’re so pale!” Sister Ourcen gasped, reaching out to rub her wet cheeks. Azlyn’s hands drooped holding the cup as she stared ahead of the pews and at the altar. Another entered her vision, an older man with graying white hair. He knelt in front of her with a look of concern. “Father Illiud, you remember Azlyn who helped us prior.” 

The older man nodded, giving the Au Ra one look over. “Is something troubling you, my child? You have the look of one who has endured great suffering—on a day like this even. If there is anything I can do to help—anything at all—you need only ask.” 

The girl’s eyes shook, as she recalled what she saw. She also remembered Noraxia’s last words through Minfillia’s wish. She tightly gripped the mug in her hands. Azlyn lowered her gaze to the ground, as she shakily spoke aloud a truth she wished wasn’t true. 

“The wild roses are dead,” Her words brought forth her grief, as hot tears streamed down her face. “and I don’t know what to do.” 

His eyes hardened at her terminology. Sister Ourcen tensed beside her, rubbing her arms to warm her. 

The Father nodded. “The wild roses... I see. You may speak freely here. We are all friends of the Scions.” He turned to Sister Ourcen. “Could you prepare a room for our guest?” 

The sister gave a curt bob of her head. “I will do so.” Several of the priests and sisters jumped into action, already moving as if Azlyn had set into motion a string of actions. 

Azlyn began at the beginning of what she knew. The vision she saw right after Minfillia had gotten off the linkpearl with her. “I was on my way to the Waking Sands. When I arrived there were...there were so many dead.” She stared at the liquid in the cup. It shook in her hands. “I searched the storage rooms—and the Solar to see if the others were alright—only to find out they were taken in form of a vision. The imperials took few prisoners. Minfillia, Urianger, Tataru, and Papalymo were the only ones I could clearly see. Minfillia left her words on the last breath of Noraxia... who died. And I—I just ran here...I couldn’t do anything!” 

The father watched as Azlyn’s tears steadily grew. 

“The Imperials were there because they were looking for me. What if they come here...?” Her eyes snapped up, worried at the thought. “I shouldn’t have come. I should—”

The Father reached out to firmly grasp her forearms. “You are safe here. I promise you. The Imperials will not come.” 

She widened her eyes, and then slumped back into the pew. She lowered her gaze. “I don’t want anymore people to die because of me.” She spoke very softly, her fears seemed to be have become a reality. 

How had her week been upturned in just a singular moment? There were plenty of celebratory moments and happy occasions. She could see the smiling faces of her friends back home preparing for the Starlight Celebrations, she could remember the kids back on the Isle of Val. She could remember the previous nights where she spent talking for hours about the things she missed with G’raha Tia. 

“My child—this is not your fault. Take a drink now.” He gestured to her cup. She did as he said, barely registering the liquid as it soothed her clenching throat. 

“How could this have happened...?” Illiud looked to Azlyn waiting for her to calm down. When it looked like she had gained a semblance of composure, he posed his question without probing her too much in detail. “You are certain Minfillia was among those taken by the Garleans?” 

She nodded her head once. 

He closed his eyes, bringing his hands over hers holding the cup. “Let us pray no further harm comes to them.” 

She closed her eyes, praying fiercely in her head to the Dawn Father to keep an eye on the Scions who were taken. Several moments went by, before he smiled sadly to her. “You may stay here as long as you wish. It is the least I can do for a friend of Minfillia.” 

There was a flash of memory that Azlyn witnessed—a younger Minfillia smiling up to a younger Illiud. The vision ended as abruptly as it came, making Azlyn shake her head of the sight. “You’ve known her since she was young...?” She slowly asked, hoping the conversation would keep her steady. 

Illiud nodded. “I recall the day of our first meeting. I swore then to do everything in my power to support her, and I will gladly offer the selfsame service to her brother and sister Scions.” He gave pause, as Sister Ourcen arrived back into the church. “So please, no matter what you require, you need not hesitate to ask.” 

“Father Illiud, the room is prepared. However I am required for the afternoon ceremonies in the Golden Bazaar.” She gave a look of regret, only for the head priest to look to the corner of the hall. 

“Marques, would you come here for a moment?” Seeing him called Marques over, Sister Ourcen went to leave the church. The front doors of the church closed as they waited for the man who had been watching from the corner stepped forth when called. 

“Yes Father?” 

Father Illiud brought Azlyn’s attention to Marques’ person. “If you require assistance, pray speak with Marques. He is a trifle shy, but I assure you he means well.” 

Azlyn stared up from the pew, as Marques gazed down to her. 

The priest spoke assuredly. “I should explain—Marques is a survivor of the Battle of Carteneau. Alas, his experiences took a terrible toll upon his mind—Had we not taken him into our care, he would surely have perished in the desert.” He then spoke calmly over to Marques. “Marques, I want you to look after Azlyn. Do you understand?”

“Yes father.” Marques nodded once, and then went to sit beside Azlyn. He didn’t say anything to her, giving her time to process and to grieve. The father left them, as did the others in the church. Together they sat in the quiet halls of Nald’Thal. Azlyn played through everything that happened in the last hour—what should have been a happy day...

She shook her head. There wasn’t anything she could do to change the past. She would have to lay low while she figured out her next step. Azlyn reached up to her linkpearl—removing it from her horn to stow away. She knew the dangers of using the frequencies of Linkpearls—they were easy to access given the right technology. If the Imperials were hellbent to get her, they were going to need to work for it. She wasn’t going to make it any easier for them. 

However it would mean not being in touch with any of her friends. It may cause some heavy concern—especially since eyes followed her wherever she went. She’d have to do something about the rumors spreading on where she might be. 

“Marques?” Her voice cracked. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you get me robes with a big hood—like yours?” 

He left her side, walking into the back room and out of sight. 

Azlyn remained where she was, looking up to the large statue of Nald’Thal over the altar. She let a long shaky breath as she resigned herself to a long day of remorse and insomnia.