for those we can yet save (maybe)

[pokerap]

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Character(s): Zoraal Ja, Vrys Ahli (Warrior of Light), others mentioned
Pairing(s): Zoraal Ja/Vrys... kinda
Word Count: 9,875
Summary: Maybe this time the Warrior of Light can save someone going down a dark path, if he just reaches out a hand.
Notes: MASSIVE DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS. This is technically unfinished, as I planned to go through all of Dawntrail, but I haven't touched it in months so I'm just going to post it as it is now and maybe revisit it later with a part two! Some of this is very much an AU. This is my attempt to figure out Zoraal Ja's voice and internal narration for the inevitable time when I pick him up and play him. Whoops? This is probably the single most self-indulgent thing I have ever posted here but w/e, here we are anyway!!


I will undertake the rite on my own, Zoraal Ja had said when faced with the terms of this competition to become Dawnservant. What need would he have for outsiders? His own strength had carried him this far, and he saw no need to change it. The Second and Third Promises took the offer - a fact Zoraal Ja cannot help but look down on them for; why would they need outsiders to fight their battles for them, when they should have the strength and knowledge to handle themselves? - and the two-headed Bakool Ja Ja chose to rely on his underlings from Mamook.

If things had gone according to his initial plans, Zoraal Ja would have walked his path alone. But Sareel Ja was adamant about providing assistance. The man has more or less positioned himself as Zoraal Ja’s advisor from the day he was born; he’d known the man most of his life, and had his feelings for said man deteriorate after days and days of being “advised” (in other words, “told what to do”) by Sareel Ja.

But there was no denying that the man could prove useful, particularly when it came to fending off admirers, onlookers, and those begging for his help alike. Zoraal Ja had much bigger things to worry about than those asking for favors.

After all, losing to one of the other Promises would be downright embarrassing. He is the Resilient Son, the trueborn heir, and the strongest of the four of them by a long shot. There simply isn’t any competition.

Or at least there wasn’t... until he set eyes on that Shetona accompanying Wuk Lamat.

Though tall for his kind, the Shetona didn’t particularly stand out in appearance otherwise. He carried a rapier at his hip and had the sleek build of a mage; coupled with the way Sareel Ja’s gaze lingered on him, it was obvious the man was quite talented. It was his power that caught Zoraal Ja’s eyes, however; it isn’t often one finds another who simply exudes power - like his father. Like himself.

“Who is that man?” He asked Sareel Ja, watching as the rabbit-eared man followed after Wuk Lamat with his odd companions. Most of them look like children, but that one stands out. That one could prove to be a problem.

Sareel Ja’s eyes follow the Shetona’s movements as well. “From what I have heard, these companions come from across the salt. They are remnants of a band who saved the world - or so they claim. This one is called ‘Vrys’.”

“Hm,” is the only response Zoraal Ja gives, tearing his eyes away from the man and moving toward the first rite. Someone to look out for. Someone to get rid of, should he pose a threat to Zoraal Ja’s ambition.

Vrys, was it? Quite the odd name.

The first time Vrys meets Zoraal Ja in person is during the second rite, while Wuk Lamat is off obtaining her keystone. Though the others insisted on waiting for her to return from taming an alpaca, the Warrior of Light hardly has enough free time for that. Those quests won’t complete themselves, and he needs to unlock all the aether currents in this area.

He’s only just left the local town and is heading back in the direction of Tuliyollal when he’s stopped by Zoraal Ja. His advisor, Sareel Ja, is nowhere to be seen. Given Krile’s worries about the First Promise, Vrys briefly wonders if he should draw his weapon and prepare for a fight - but the First Promise doesn’t have his own swords drawn.

“Vrys,” The First Promise says, name sounding odd and foreign on his tongue, “that is your name, isn’t it?”

“So it is.” Vrys says easily, raising a dark eyebrow as he absently pushes his pink-tipped bangs back away from one silver eye. “I thought you would have moved on already?”

Zoraal Ja doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks Vrys from toes to ears; his gaze is heavy, scrutinizing, but Vrys doesn’t flinch. He’s seen this exact look from Emet-Selch before, and that one was accompanied with a gaze so full of disdain it was nearly impossible to act unaffected. This is nothing in comparison.

“You are far stronger than the others.” Zoraal Ja finally continues, ignoring Vrys’s question entirely. “Why do you waste your time with them?”

“They’re my friends.” Vrys responds easily, though a frown does tug at his mouth. “Why does it matter?”

“I would make your strength mine.” Zoraal Ja says, so plainly that Vrys blinks in surprise. “You must understand that Wuk Lamat is not prepared for the throne.”

Vrys blinks again. He wouldn’t put it quite so bluntly, but it isn’t as though Zoraal Ja is wrong. Wuk Lamat has a long way to go before she’s proper leadership material. “That’s what this rite is for, isn’t it? To shape one of you into the leader Tural needs.”

The Mamool Ja’s eyes narrow, but his expression remains unchanged from its usual stoic look. “I will ask you this only once: join me.”

That wasn’t exactly a question, Vrys thinks to himself, but he decides against saying it. After all, Zoraal Ja hardly seems like the sort of person who would appreciate having his time wasted, even if it is on perfectly valuable feedback. “I must decline.” Vrys says, shaking his head. “I don’t know enough about you or your goals for Tural. I only know what I’ve seen of you, and while your talent at alpaca-taming is unmatched, I don’t think that alone is enough to prove your character to me.”

He can practically see the gears turning in Zoraal Ja’s head at that and he can hear the question But Wuk Lamat has proved herself to you? that should follow. Though to Vrys’s surprise, Zoraal Ja doesn’t ask it. Instead, he accepts the answer with a simple nod before turning away. That’s simply that as far as he’s concerned, huh?

“Wait,” Vrys calls out, despite himself. He really should just let this go and finish up his quests. Wuk Lamat could return at any time now, and he’d like to be there when she’s finished, if only to cheer her on. But instead here he is, calling out to one of her rivals, when Zoraal Ja has no reason to listen to him - and Vrys isn’t even sure what he wants to say in the first place.

Yet Zoraal Ja does pause, turning to look at Vrys. His expression is unreadable.

“I would like to get to know you better, even if we are working toward different goals.”

Though he wasn’t sure what he’d actually say if Zoraal Ja acknowledged him, this is true. He is, after all, Wuk Lamat’s brother. Though he’s distant and someone to be wary of - according to Krile - that doesn’t mean that Vrys can’t try to reach out a hand. How many times has he regretted it before, when he didn’t try to get to know people only to feel a crushing sense of loss with their passing?

(Yotsuyu immediately comes to mind. Maybe, if he hadn’t been so damn stubborn, he could have gotten to know Tsuyu, at least. Maybe he could have helped. Maybe he could have prevented her death.)

Things are different here, and he doubts the stakes are high enough to end in any of the Claimants dying. Still, it lingers in the back of his mind, that for all he wants to help, he’s so terrible about actually reaching out to people without them holding a hand out to him first.

Zoraal Ja stares at him like he’s grown another two heads. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“I can see why you have sided with Wuk Lamat.” He says after a very lengthy pause. This time when Zoraal Ja turns to leave, Vrys doesn’t try to stop him.

After all, he is right. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why Vrys was so quick to back Wuk Lamat’s claim to the throne.

It wasn’t Zoraal Ja’s intention to run into Vrys again. After their last conversation, he had every intention of ignoring the Shetona and only keeping an eye on him from a distance to ensure he wouldn’t push the odds in Wuk Lamat’s favor. But after hearing about the third rite and being encouraged to stay in Earthenshire by the Moblins (something that Zoraal Ja would not have taken them up on had he been on his own, but Sareel Ja insisted on it) Zoraal Ja decided to hunt. Food is necessary and hunting has always been one of the tasks he prefers while traveling. After all, there are always new and unique beasts to fight along the way.

It was one of these beasts that managed to get the jump on him, and though the beast lies dead, his arm is sporting a new set of scratches. Hardly anything worth worrying about, but he has no doubts that Sareel Ja will scold him for letting his guard down. Perhaps he should just leave the man here and continue on without him.

He doesn’t get the chance to consider that possibility further, for he suddenly finds a familiar Shetona approaching him. Vrys’s silver eyes are wide, like he wasn’t expecting to see Zoraal Ja out here.

“First Promise,” The man greets with a nod of his head, “I didn’t think you were going to take the Moblins up on their offer.”

Zoraal Ja says nothing and instead turns to leave. Unfortunately for him, Vrys calls out to him yet again.

“Wait, your arm...”

Though he trails off, the familiar feeling of healing magic follows shortly. It isn’t nearly as strong as a dedicated healer’s spell would be - and it feels different from the healing magic he’s familiar with, somehow. This feels akin to sealing a wound, while other healing magic would completely restore the skin entirely.

“That’s the best I can do. At least now you won’t have to worry about infection!”

Zoraal Ja does turn back to Vrys this time, studying the man carefully. Vrys is smiling, though it starts looking a little awkward during Zoraal Ja’s examination. His posture is loose and comfortable, as if he doesn’t think Zoraal Ja would harm him. He’s already sheathed his rapier, but he’s holding an odd crystal, which he tucks back in his pocket. Perhaps that’s how he channels his magic? Curious.

The pause lasts for entirely too long before Vrys breaks it again. “I meant what I said last time. I would like to get to know you better.”

“A fool’s errand.” Zoraal Ja replies. “There is little point in getting to know your Promise’s competitor.”

“There’s plenty of reasons to get to know you.” Vrys steps forward, that awkward smile falling from his face and being replaced by a determined half-smile, like he’s privately amused by this. “I want to know what future you envision for Tural. But I also want to know you, Zoraal Ja. Not the First Promise. Not the Resilient Son. You are more than just the titles you wear, and I’d like to know who’s behind them.”

Such words are nearly blasphemy - who’s behind those titles? There is no one behind the titles, because the titles make the man. Such stupid, pointless words make him want to crush something - kill something. For a moment he considers attacking Vrys. He’d have the jump on him. Surely he could kill even a powerful mage before he could get a spell off.

But the urge fades, leaving Zoraal Ja angry and– upset, of all things. As though Vrys’s bizarre words could possibly have such an effect on him.

Whatever his face is doing must be somewhat alarming, because Vrys takes a step back. Those silver eyes are wide again, bewitching in their eerie stare.

“You won’t get anything useful from me. Try your wiles on the other Claimant.” Sending this strange man after Koana is something he can’t quite bring himself to do. Koana does not deserve this amount of confusion and frustration. Better to point this bafflingly earnest man at Bakool Ja Ja and watch the fireworks. Perhaps one of them will kill the other.

(Maybe that will get rid of this... this feeling, whatever it is.)

Zoraal Ja fetches his hunt and leaves. He doesn’t turn back even when Vrys calls his name.

Valigarmanda is loose, thanks to Bakool Ja Ja’s meddling. It would seem the man didn’t even bother to complete the first of these trials before releasing the bird and running off, leaving the others to clean up his mess. It would work better if he actually had the keystones, but perhaps he means to steal them from Koana or Wuk Lamat.

(And privately, Zoraal Ja finds that unacceptable. Though he may not express it often, they are his siblings. If they are not strong enough to hold onto their keystones, then perhaps they deserve to lose them, although he would have thought Bakool Ja Ja would have learned his lesson about theft after Zoraal Ja so easily bested him before. Sareel Ja certainly made a poor call in sparing their lives.)

Sareel Ja clearly means to make use of this time to move on ahead, but Zoraal Ja does not want to be told what to do. There are two reasons to stay behind (neither of which he articulates, of course): for one, the people of Tural will be in danger if this beast is left to run rampant.

But mostly he’s doing it because Father sealed this beast. Father could not defeat it. If Zoraal Ja can defeat it now, then that will prove his strength over Father’s. As Father once fought with companions, Zoraal Ja agrees to work alongside the First and Second Promise and their outsiders.

Vrys gives him a look that he can’t quite decipher - a smile tinged with a gentleness he hasn’t seen since he was a child. Just what does that mean? It isn’t important, he decides, as they come face to face with Valigarmanda itself.

The fight shows off the strengths of the outsiders. They are skilled healers and combatants both, fighting to keep everyone safe and otherwise attempting to learn the bird’s attack patterns to better keep themselves alive. They are strong - but nothing compared to Vrys.

Wielding rapier and crystal focus in hand, the Shetona darts in and out of range of the bird with ease, joining Zoraal Ja to strike the bird with his single sword, before backflipping away to dodge a particularly dangerous blast of fire. His fighting style is almost more flash than substance, but there’s no denying those attacks hit Valigarmanda quite hard.

If Zoraal Ja is being perfectly honest with himself, his own attacks might be a bit lacking as he’s distracted by the Shetona’s showmanship - but thankfully, he is not being perfectly honest with himself.

The injuries he sustains are rather minor, though their dedicated healers work to soothe the larger wounds of the others. Vrys seems to be unscathed (though Zoraal Ja definitely saw him land in a fireblast at least once) and it’s not really a surprise when the mage catches up to him after the battle.

“Let me heal your wounds as thanks.” He doesn’t even have the decency to wait for Zoraal Ja’s approval, because he’s already reaching out a hand to do just that. The focus floats beside him, glowing brightly as he channels his strange, foreign magic through it.

“Stop it,” Zoraal Ja reaches out and grabs the Shetona’s wrist. Both of them blink in surprise.

Vrys should have stopped him. There’s no reason for him to play nice now that they’re on opposite sides of this fight. The Third Promise and Second Promise have been willing to work together, but Zoraal Ja has not agreed to work with anyone outside of this one instance.

(And this one instance wasn’t even satisfying. Father managed only to seal Valigarmanda; it was so strong that it could not be defeated. And yet here they are, a group unaccustomed to working together, able to slay the bird so quickly. Its imprisonment weakened it. And so it fell, only to fail to prove Zoraal Ja’s worth.)

He could snap the man’s wrist so easily. He considers it. The delicate bones beneath his tight grip seem so fragile. He’s seen what Vrys is capable of, and he knows that even a broken wrist would do little to stop the man’s might, but suddenly being this close, having the Shetona’s wrist in his hand is... overwhelming. He’s not sure what it is he wants to do to Vrys, but it’s something and the thought makes him feel angry and... maybe even flustered. As though the Resilient Son would feel such a stupid emotion about... whatever this is.

Vrys remains silent as well, his eyes on Zoraal Ja the entire time. He looks confused; not worried nor defensive, and he hasn’t even tried to get Zoraal Ja to let go. Like he trusts Zoraal Ja - a completely stupid and pointless endeavor given their circumstances. If Vrys has just said yes when he’d asked the Shetona to join him, then maybe–

No. This isn’t worth thinking about. Zoraal Ja pulls back like Vrys is on fire and yet again does not turn even as the mage calls out for him. There is nothing more to say or do - they’re done here.

(And yet Vrys’s voice lingers in his mind even after he retrieves Sareel Ja and continues to their next destination.)

You need to focus. Sareel Ja had said. You’re slipping, First Promise. If you keep up like this, you may be in danger of losing what lead you have to someone else.

Zoraal Ja had simply walked out on the conversation, as he so often does when he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. But unfortunately, Sareel Ja is right. He is slipping. His focus is so often on a certain strong, yet gentle Shetona, one whose voice rings in his head as he tries to sleep.

But I also want to know you, Zoraal Ja. Not the First Promise. Not the Resilient Son. You are more than just the titles you wear, and I’d like to know who’s behind them. Vrys had said. With each passing day, Zoraal Ja wonders if this conversation awakened some beast deep within him, because he finds himself pondering such pointless things over and over again.

Who is he beyond his titles? Who is he beyond Father’s trueborn son? The future he envisions for Tural, is it truly worth pursuing - and will he even be able to pursue it, when Koana and Wuk Lamat have made such great strides? He can’t pretend to be blind to their progress and just how much they’ve learned on this journey.

He should be proud of his siblings, and yet he’s bitter. Angry. Frustrated.

That feeling doesn’t abate any with the next rite. Cooking the Xbr’aal’s preferred dish serves to prove nothing about the Claimants. These rites were supposed to prove his strength and serve to usher him in as the next Dawnservant, and yet he keeps finding himself at a loss as to what these trials are to teach him. Wuk Lamat in particular seems to have learned something from them, but he can’t quite put a claw on what exactly it is that’s changed her so much in so short a time.

Much to Zoraal Ja’s displeasure, the rite will be held tomorrow, with the Claimants forced to wait to receive their pair and get started on their dish. It’s a pointless waste of time, in Zoraal Ja’s opinion. They could easily accomplish it in under an hour, were they to simply get started. But no, yet again he’s forced to sit around and do nothing but think.

Thinking, as it turns out, is quite dangerous. So Zoraal Ja does what he always does whenever his mind is entirely too active for his liking, he goes out to hunt. To kill, to fight beasts that will test his strength and ultimately fall. None of them would have been a match for Father, and so they won’t be a match for him. Anything less would be unacceptable.

He’s been out here for the better part of an hour, slaying beasts and game he comes across, when he’s interrupted by a familiar voice.

(One that it seems he cannot escape, no matter how far he runs.)

“I thought I’d find you if I followed the trail of carnage.” Vrys’s voice sounds amused, and yet Zoraal Ja refuses to turn to him. “I trust you’re uninjured?”

Of course he is. Vrys shouldn’t underestimate him. The mage comes to a stop behind him, and he can hear the way the underbrush shifts as Vrys settles his weight on one foot. Is his hand at his rapier, prepared for a fight? No, that seems unlikely, given how many times Vrys has simply let Zoraal Ja do what he wants while seemingly completely at ease. Though perhaps it’s him who is underestimating Vrys - maybe the man is more prepared than Zoraal Ja gives him credit for.

“Can’t sleep?” The Shetona continues, even after the lengthy pause. His voice still sounds relaxed, at ease, despite the fact that Zoraal Ja still refuses to face him. “I find it difficult to get a good night’s sleep when I’m so excited about exploring new areas. So I’m out here to take a look around; would you like to come with me?”

Such a request is so baffling that Zoraal Ja can’t help but turn to look at the smaller man. Even with his large bunny ears, Vrys is easily around a fulm shorter. He looks up at Zoraal Ja with a smile, as though he expects the First Promise to agree to such an utterly stupid idea.

“Have you forgotten that we are enemies?” He asks, bafflement creeping into his voice despite trying to control it.

Vrys hums, bringing a hand to his chin as his silver eyes drift to look at a tree nearby. “Enemies? I don’t think that’s the right way of looking at this. The Claimants are all vying for the throne, but isn’t it more of a friendly competition?”

A friendly competition. How can one man be so wrong? Has he completely forgotten about all of the nonsense Bakool Ja Ja has pulled? Zoraal Ja doesn’t reply, instead staring blankly at Vrys until he amends his question.

“Well, I’ll admit things have gotten quite a bit heated, but between the three of you, at least... it’s not like you’re going to hurt your siblings.”

That gets Zoraal Ja to snap, and he’s on Vrys in an instant, pulling the Shetona’s dark coat close and lifting the man up to snarl at him, “Do not presume to know what I would or would not do for the throne.”

Vrys simply lets him, and remains on his tip-toes in Zoraal Ja’s grip without trying to escape. One hand rests against Zoraal Ja’s wrist, like maybe he will attempt to get him to let go if this keeps going, but for now he’s remarkably calm. “Is that a warning?”

Is that a warning? He shouldn’t have to warn anyone of that. They should know better. They should understand how much this means to him - how much surpassing Father weighs on him, and how desperate he is to be stronger. To be better.

“It is a fact.” He says instead, claws risking ripping the front of the man’s foreign robes. Doing so would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention to him and Sareel Ja will undoubtedly have words for him in doing so, but right now, all Zoraal Ja can think about is hurting Vrys.

He wants to make sure those silver eyes will never stare at him so calmly, so warmly again. Fear me, is what he wants to say. You should regret trusting me so easily.

“Even so,” Vrys says, stroking a gloved hand over Zoraal Ja’s wrist and up his arm in a way that’s partially curious, partially... well, he’s not really sure what that expression on Vrys’s face is supposed to mean. His eyes are hooded, his smile gentle, and he looks for all the world like he’s pleased with being held and threatened like this. “I’m going to keep reaching out to you. I want to know more about you, Zoraal Ja.”

It’s so simply worded, and yet it infuriates him more than anything else. Zoraal Ja tosses Vrys to the ground and he hopes the mage breaks at least a few bones in the process.

“Stop trying.” He growls, the sound low in his throat. Vrys is only up on one elbow before the First Promise pins him back down, claws at his throat.

Yet again, Vrys does not struggle. “Are you going to kill me?” He asks it so easily, so calmly, that Zoraal Ja considers doing just that.

But for as irritating and distracting as Vrys is, he has not once gotten in the way of the rites. He has accompanied and cheered Wuk Lamat on, but never has he carried her to victory. Regardless, Zoraal Ja’s grip tightens on the Shetona’s neck. “I should. Perhaps then I will no longer be haunted by your pointless optimism.”

His grip isn’t tight enough to restrict Vrys’s breathing. He should do something about that, to make sure the stupid man won’t get another word in edgewise, but even as he thinks it, Vrys speaks.

“I’m afraid you won’t get rid of me or my optimism that easily.” And with a sudden flash of light, Zoraal Ja is blinded and reflexively reaches for his swords. He’s fast, but Vrys is faster - used to his blinding explosions, apparently. His gloved fingers find Zoraal Ja’s cheek, brushing over his scales with a touch so agonizingly gentle despite their circumstances that Zoraal Ja wants to...

At this point, he’s not sure what he wants to do. He doesn’t get the opportunity to do it either, because by the time the light is gone from his eyes, Vrys has vanished. For once, he’s the one being left behind, and to be perfectly honest, it stings of defeat. He sets his blades back in place and looks back toward the camp.

Sleep isn’t going to happen tonight, Zoraal Ja already knows that.

Perhaps fate truly does have it out for Zoraal Ja. After all, this rite requires working as a two person team, and who would happen to end up on his team but Wuk Lamat and her bright-eyed, grinning companion. He tries not to sigh when they’re turned free to set about gathering information and cooking for this rite, but he barely has time to consider his dreadful luck before Sareel Ja is at his side.

“Perhaps it would be best to leave them to it,” He suggests in a tone that makes it very clear it is not really a suggestion at all. It’s how he phrases everything to Zoraal Ja, and he finds it has become even more grating than it was at the start of all of this. And he was still considering leaving Sareel Ja behind in the jungle at the start of all of this.

“I will not waste time idling.” He says instead. Sure, questioning the residents of the town about their favorite dish is pointless, but at least it’s better than allowing Wuk Lamat to do all the work. He has no doubts she would - and she’d likely enjoy every minute of getting to learn more about these people and their culture - but the First Promise does not allow others to do his work for him.

So off he goes, Sareel Ja tagging along with a dour expression at being ignored yet again.

It turns out that his usual stoic, cold demeanor is not exactly effective at getting the residents to part with any information. He asks curt questions and receives equally short answers, all of which make it very clear that no one here is going to actually give him much to go on. He’s managed to figure out the ingredients, at least, and he’s gathered all but one while Wuk Lamat is off... somewhere.

She slipped out of sight awhile back, and she still hasn’t returned to the village, so Zoraal Ja can only imagine what the Third Promise has gotten herself into. Maybe she’s bickering with Bakool Ja Ja again. Perhaps she ran afoul of a monster. Or maybe she just got distracted carrying out tasks for the townsfolk. Regardless of the reason, she isn’t here, and Zoraal Ja simply starts cooking without her.

(“Zora, will you teach me to cook? Papa said I’m too young! But I wanna learn! I wanna make all the sweets and give them to papa! His birthday’s coming up, so I gotta give him the bestest present ever! You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Father’s right, you shouldn’t be getting near the fire. You’ll singe your fur.”

“Will not!”

“Did Koana already tell you he wouldn’t help?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll let you watch. You’ll learn a lot from watching, won’t you, Lamaty’i.”

How strange, to think back to something so pointless here and now. Has she grown any better at cooking, he wonders. How is it that he doesn’t actually know?)

Zoraal Ja must be obviously lost in his thoughts, because Sareel Ja speaks up, as if to remind him of where he is and what he’s doing, “I imagine this will taste the same even without the final ingredient. There’s no need to wait for the Third Promise.”

Without thinking, his gaze drifts over to the outskirts of the village, as if waiting for Wuk Lamat to return. “There’s no sense in rushing.” After all, they do have another day, and perhaps the Third Promise will surprise him yet again. She’s been doing a lot of that lately.

As if that very thought summoned her, the woman in question and her entourage walk back into view, Wuk Lamat chattering eagerly about something with Vrys. The warrior looks on with a fond smile, nodding before his gaze drifts - and he catches Zoraal Ja’s eyes. The smile and little wave he gives is enough to earn a huff of annoyance from the First Promise.

They join him shortly and Wuk Lamat explains that she did manage to find the missing ingredient - and she thanks Zoraal Ja for handling the others. “All that’s left is to cook it! Should be simple, even for me!”

Zoraal Ja gives her a look. “Do you want me to handle it.” It isn’t even a proper question. He’d prefer not to fail the rite because Wuk Lamat managed to burn their dish or something equally ridiculous.

She looks at him with a sheepish grin that quickly turns into that same pleading look she always used to use when she wanted something. “You’ll do a great job, I’m sure of it!”

Perhaps he’s feeling nostalgic, because he sighs and simply gets started on the cooking instructions one of her friends received. It’s a straightforward dish - one that would be difficult to mess up, in all honesty - but Zoraal Ja takes it just as seriously as he takes everything else.

Wuk Lamat remains with him even as her friends wander off to take care of their own things. Minus one pesky Shetona, of course. Even Sareel Ja departs to do gods-know-what, leaving the three of them alone. Wuk Lamat chats to fill the silence, and she occasionally gets a stiff nod from Zoraal Ja.

“I’ve missed this,” She says, leaning her chin against her hand at the table as she watches Zoraal Ja work. “Just spending time with you. I know you’re busy, brother, but it feels like we never have time to speak anymore.”

We’ve been busy preparing for this ‘contest’, he thinks, but doesn’t remind her. He watches her wrinkle her nose from the corner of his eye.

“I guess there’s been a lot going on. But still! You’re so... distant now.”

Given the way she’s staring at him, it seems like she isn’t expecting a response. She likely wanted to say it anyway, just in case he did deign her with one. He knows Wuk Lamat well enough to assume such things - just as she knows him well enough to assume he won’t respond. Part of him wants to respond just to throw her for a loop, but ultimately, Zoraal Ja says nothing.

It doesn’t matter that he’s distant with her. That’s just the way things are.

The silence spans far too long before Wuk Lamat sighs and stands, stretching. “Guess I should be heading off to bed. Don’t stay up too late, Vrys!” She lightly punches the mage in the arm as she takes her leave. Vrys laughs and waves her off before settling back at the table.

...He really is just going to sit here until Zoraal Ja’s done, isn’t he. Damn him.

Even worse is that for once, Vrys doesn’t break the silence. It spans for minutes - long enough for Zoraal Ja to finish and step back, turning to face Vrys. The Shetona has his elbow on the table and his chin resting against his hand, merely watching Zoraal Ja. He still doesn’t speak.

“What is it you want from me?” Zoraal Ja breaks the silence with a blunt question, the sort that shouldn’t need to be asked. He knows where he stands with most people. He knows how they would use him and for what purpose. But Vrys... Vrys is an unknown. An enigma. And he’s smiling with a look that’s far too amused for the question.

“I already told you, didn’t I?” Vrys asks, leaving it hanging for a long moment before he continues. “I want to learn more about you, Zoraal Ja. You’re an interesting person.”

“I threatened to kill you last night.”

Vrys waves a hand as if dismissing the (very true and very alarming) statement. “If you were actually going to kill me, you wouldn’t have bothered pinning me down, now would you?”

An unfamiliar heat floods through him before it settles low in his gut; this feels dangerously close to a realization of some kind. A realization that he certainly won’t like and one he is not going to entertain tonight. Or ever, if Zoraal Ja has his way. So he simply scoffs and once again turns to leave.

Vrys lets him, but he can feel the Shetona’s gaze on his back all the way to his temporary lodgings.

It’s something of a mercy that he doesn’t run into Vrys again right away. Though he and the Third Promise were successful in their dish and obtained their keystones, there was hardly any time for pointless chatter when Zoraal Ja set off immediately. The less time spent with Wuk Lamat and her bizarre friend, the better, in his esteemed opinion.

But it only led to a rite Zoraal Ja had no hope of defeating, and in his fury and desperation, he attacked the keystone holder and found himself disqualified from the Rite of Succession. Even worse, the Second and Third Promise happened to stumble in just shy of his embarrassing performance.

(Was it a mercy that they didn’t see him lose to Father’s shade? The complete and utter hopelessness of trying to match a strength so far beyond him was bad enough, but to be so sorely wounded that he can barely limp away to lick his wounds... Well, there isn’t any mercy here in this damn jungle tonight, it would seem.)

Sareel Ja is wise enough to make himself scarce immediately. Zoraal Ja doesn’t need to hear his cutting remarks and were he strong enough to wield his sword right now, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the snake’s head off his shoulders. For now, the most he can do is attempt to shuffle away from the others and find a quiet place where he can be alone.

(To think? No. He can’t afford to think. If he does, then he’ll be unable to stop thinking; about what this means, about how he was set up to fail, about how he should have seen it coming and how he should have prevented it - or at least killed the damn bastard for the insult. But he accomplished none of that, and truthfully, the sting of defeat hurts worse than the disqualification.

He was a fool to think he could ever compare to Father.)

Zoraal Ja makes it as far as the outskirts of Mamook before his legs simply give out on him. He crashes to the underbrush with a furious grunt, catching himself on one knee and digging his claws into the earth as his traitorous mind threatens to get lost in that swirling abyss of thought. He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to continue on to...

To what? His strength has failed him. His resolve has failed him. He can’t let anyone - anyone - see him like this, and yet he has only made it this far before tiring out? Pathetic. Weak. He’s better than this.

He forces himself back up, though it requires a sword in the ground to do so. His arms shake as he frees the sword from the ground and continues forward. There’s no going back now, after all, so he’ll keep moving for as long as his body will let him. He can’t suffer the stares of the Second and Third Promise if they find him here now. He just needs to get as far from Mamook as possible.

A small trickle of magical energy flickers over his wounds tentatively, knitting the minor cuts together before laying salve over the hurts of the larger ones. Zoraal Ja doesn’t want to turn his head, because he already knows who he’ll find, but he finds himself doing it anyway.

Vrys stands there, a hand extended, the light glow of magic emanating from it. His expression is different - it isn’t the usual smile, or worse, a look of pity - but something Zoraal Ja cannot place. Worried, perhaps? Sorrowful may be more accurate, but attributing such an emotion to the Shetona warrior seems presumptuous. Whatever it is he’s feeling, it hardly matters to Zoraal Ja.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” He snarls, voice gravelly with some sort of emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface, that threatens to break his sturdy, steady facade.

“You’ll get killed by a beast if you go out there like this.” Vrys says, taking a tentative step closer as he redoubles his healing efforts. The wounds knit, the magic lingers, and it has the audacity to feel warm and gentle. “At least let me do this much.”

Not that he has much of a choice, given his current state. Gaping injuries are likely to bleed out or get infected, so the healing magic - weak though it is - is something he shouldn’t turn down. He wants to anyway. His pride has already suffered quite the beating and to be taken care of like a child agitates him. Were he well enough for it, maybe he’d consider taking Vrys’s head off too.

The warrior only stops once he’s physically close enough to lay his hands on Zoraal Ja’s arm. It’s only then that Zoraal Ja notices that the man is trembling. His expression remains focused, his magic steady, but his hands...

This is the first time he’s ever seen the warrior so shaken. By anything. He faced Valigarmanda head-on with a wide smile and a look that bordered on hunger and yet here and now, he trembles? What’s causing it, Zoraal Ja wonders. Why would Vrys be afraid now, when he knows his own strength and surely knows that combining it with Wuk Lamat’s would be enough to get them through any situation? Together, Tural could easily be theirs.

It feels akin to a hot knife twisting through his stomach, but there’s no denying the truth in that thought. The Third Promise has come far. Her strength alone will not win her the day - but she hardly needs to rely on that when she has this powerful champion at her beck and call. If anyone could pose a threat to Father in his younger years as this shade represents, it would be Vrys. His victory is all the more assured should the Third Promise join him to fight - as she undoubtedly will.

Zoraal Ja should be proud. He should be happy for her. All he can feel is a horrid sense of dread and terror and loss at what could have been - what should have been.

Vrys’s hands move up his arm to a particularly nasty mark on his shoulder and then down to his chest. Zoraal Ja doesn’t stop him, despite the Shetona’s hands pressed flush against him - but he doesn’t react to the touch or magic either. How could he, when he’s finally stopped for long enough for the thoughts to catch him unawares, sinking further into this horrid trap he’s set for himself?

“I’m sorry,” Vrys is saying, but the words sound as though they’re coming from malms away. “Things shouldn’t end like this, I should...” But he trails off, just as unable to come up with an answer as Zoraal Ja himself is.

He should correct Vrys. After all, he has always been fighting for the Third Promise. It doesn’t matter that her greatest competition has been disqualified. This should be a good thing for her. Vrys should be delighted by this turn of events. Who does she have to compete with now? Her loving brother, the one who will undoubtedly want to help her rather than compete with her? The two-headed dolt who has already proven himself incapable of keeping up with them, let alone surpassing them? No. The throne will be Wuk Lamat’s.

(As it should be, an insidious part of his mind pipes up, for she has grown far stronger than you ever could.)

The healing is done. Or rather, it should be done. Zoraal Ja is fine enough to travel and wield his blades. That’s all he needs. And yet Vrys remains, hands shaking as he focuses intently on Zoraal Ja’s chest, as if searching for another reason to keep his hands on the First Promise– no. Such a title isn’t fitting anymore, is it?

“Enough.” He says, taking Vrys’s hands in one of his own. The Shetona blinks as if coming out of a trance. He understands the sentiment. “Ensure the Third Promise doesn’t fail.”

He doesn’t need the command, of course, but Zoraal Ja gives it anyway. “You want her to succeed?” The Shetona asks.

“No,” Zoraal Ja corrects and then, with his grip tightening on the warrior’s wrists, he continues evenly, “I want her to pose a challenge when next we meet.”

Given the confused look, it seems that Vrys was expecting another reaction entirely. Zoraal Ja pulls him closer, so there’s no room left between the two of them, claws leaving bloody marks behind on Vrys’s wrists. “This isn’t the end.”

It’s a wild statement to throw out there when he truly has no means to back it up, but Zoraal Ja means every word. He isn’t going to let this break him. He simply can’t. So if he cannot break and he cannot return under these circumstances, then what’s left but to take Tural by force? It will prove that he is stronger than the one that succeeded the Rite. It will prove he is stronger than Father. It will prove that the people of Tural are weak, as accustomed to peace as they are. It will spur them to action, and teach them the futility of a conflict they are so eager to profit off of. It is everything he could ask for - all he needs is the power to back it up.

The City of Gold is his answer. He knows it is, he merely needs to find a way to reach it. Given that it is also the goal of his ever-loyal, ever a pain-in-the-neck follower, there are no doubts that Sareel Ja will want to see this through too. The man will have answers for him. Of this, Zoraal Ja has no doubts.

“Do not disappoint me, Vrys.” He says as he releases the warrior’s wrists and leaves Mamook behind him.

(And all of Tural.)

With everything that happened in the aftermath of Zoraal Ja’s disqualification from the Rite of Succession, there simply isn’t any time to worry about him. Lamaty’i has her hands full keeping up with everything else and even Vrys is being tugged in too many directions at once. The City of Gold is something he longs to explore further - with the fascinating technology that isn’t Allagan and so many unseen things to see and beasts to fight - but there isn’t time for it right now.

The immediate problem was with Bakool Ja Ja and his family - and so Lamaty’i asked Vrys to stay behind and keep an eye on things. The former claimant hadn’t exactly been happy about Vrys’s presence (it wasn’t like he’d slowly learned to deal with Vrys pestering him over time, after all) but he’d allowed it because Wuk Lamat asked for it. I just want to make sure you guys will be okay, and Vrys will keep the peace. She’d said with a sheepish smile. Bakool Ja Ja’s twin heads had nodded in unison.

To say the meeting with the Blessed Siblings’ father had gone poorly was understating it, but at least there were no truly horrific insults or punches thrown. Shocking, considering Bakool Ja Ja would have no problems shutting his father up if he set his mind to it, but apparently the thought never crossed either of his minds to begin with. Devoted to family to the last, that one. It’s sort of sweet, and fills Vrys with a longing he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

They’ve finally arrived in Tulliyolal and once he’s sure the family won’t cause a scene or any problems, Vrys is off to catch up with Lamaty’i and Koana.

They’re eager to fill him in on what he’s missed, after all. There’s a disquieting lack of information about their brother, but there really isn’t any time to worry about Zoraal Ja right now. Still, Vrys wonders if he should try to warn them. Surely Zoraal Ja can’t actually do anything to harm any of them, but what exactly did his final words to Vrys mean?

It’s unsettling, and he finds his thoughts straying to the eldest of Gulool Ja Ja’s children more often than usual. He really had hoped to help, but...

There isn’t any helping anyone who won’t accept your hand when you offer it. Vrys knows this. And yet he can’t seem to stop himself from reaching out a hand, waiting for the inevitable day when he’s liable to lose it.

Refusing to offer it at all would be worse, he thinks.

Sareel Ja played his part well. He opened the path to the City of Gold, and died as he should to avoid interfering with Zoraal Ja’s plans. The voice that spoke to him - asked for help, of all things, as though he could offer that - agreed to meet with him and give him the power he desired, in return for his strength.

Truthfully, it was a bit more complicated than that, as he learned quickly upon meeting Alexandria’s Queen. The woman was so desperate to protect her people that she would destroy everything and everyone else to keep them safe and alive.

...Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say “alive”, as he has learned over the years.

The Queen’s desperation is only a boon to him, and yet Zoraal Ja finds her nearly incomprehensible. The personality of a woman long since gone, put into this foreign technology to attempt to preserve a way of life that is completely futile, as it cannot possibly be maintained forever. Yet she remains unyielding in her dedication, resolved to the very last to do everything she can for her people.

So he promised not to hurt them, and in exchange he would control her armies, her technology, and he would wage her war to see Tural hers. All of the people would die for hers, and then he would take his conquest across the salt.

It was easy to trick himself into believing it was what he wanted, at first. After all, he would have the power to surpass not just the Promises, but also Father and all those who would support them. Sacrificing their lives for his own vanity was objectively horrid, but he had always harbored this darkness within him, why not embrace it? If it meant becoming stronger, he’d be a fool to deny it.

...And yet.

It has taken far longer than either of them thought to prepare for this invasion. His Queen has had her people working hard, but there is only so much progress they can make in so short a time, which means Zoraal Ja has had no other option than to be patient. Being patient means standing still. And standing still means he has time to think. And as previously established, having time to think is a truly dreadful outcome for the Resilient Son.

He only managed to stave off the questions for the first few years through sheer willpower and determination, and a healthy amount of new technology to distract himself with learning and mastering. As long as he can take care of the parts that have become one with him, that’s all he needs to know - and now, it’s as though he was never without them.

But that only lasted for so long, and then the questions started. Was this the best path forward, when he couldn’t care less what happened to his Queen and her people? Was this enough to prove his strength - to everyone? to himself? - and would it leave the impact he wanted, so he would not be remembered as the First Promise, the Resilient Son? Or would all of this come crashing down around him, leaving him even worse off than he was before?

Did he even truly want this?

His answers became more and more uncertain as time passed. He could not voice them to anyone - even had there been a single person willing to listen, Zoraal Ja would never have been able to open up and speak of these deep, dark fears and frustrations. He hadn’t been able to voice them to his family, and these thoughts and fears have only grown more desperate and deranged.

Zoraal Ja spends his time preparing the army. He does not mingle with the Queen’s people. He does not speak with her any more than he has to. He insisted on becoming her King and gave her a new title, but that does not mean they are anything more than two people working toward the same goal. And even that is a stretch, as that would imply Sphene is a person.

He stops counting after the first decade. He doesn’t want to imagine how long he’ll be here.

It’s barely been a week since Lamaty’i’s coronation and the ascension of her brother to rule Tural with her. It wasn’t even enough time for Vrys to properly go exploring with Erenville, as he’d been so eager to do. There had simply been too much left undone to leave Tuliyollal, so he had stayed.

(But if he was perfectly honest with himself, maybe he was stalling. Just a bit. Just waiting for the chance to see a certain someone again, in the hopes that maybe his time away from his family had been good for him. That maybe that strange threat of his wasn’t anything more than empty bluster.)

And yet here and now, everything has gone to hell. Those strange ships appeared in the sky approaching Tuliyollal, and the Vows are busy attempting to make sure their people are safe from the invaders - invaders made of a material even Vrys can’t place, that don’t react to pain or words in any sort of human way.

They’ve retreated to the palace, to come up with a plan that will likely involve throwing Vrys at them (not that he minds that, really; it would be an excellent fight) and getting Lamaty’i and the others to back him up. They barely have time to address the situation before the doors of the throne room open.

There stands Zoraal Ja - or at least, what Vrys can assume is Zoraal Ja. Blue scales and white eyes, with an unfamiliar set of armor that radiates lightning elemental energy.

“Zoraal Ja?” Lamaty’i is the first to break the silence, her expression flickering between relieved and confused. “Don’t tell me you’re the one leading those ships?”

She put two and two together faster than Vrys did, because all he can do is stare at Zoraal Ja in shock. Something about him is different, and it isn’t just the strange armor. He seems... tired, somehow. Even as he draws his swords, that’s all Vrys can think. He’s exhausted.

Gulool Ja Ja steps forward, holding out a hand to keep the others back. Considering that most of them have already drawn their weapons, it seems to be a good call. “Are you responsible for this, Zoraal Ja?”

The question cuts through the silence, lingering heavy as they all breathlessly await the intruder’s response. Vrys wants to believe that he has nothing to do with them, that this is a strange coincidence, that maybe he’s just here to help, but...

There’s no denying that the armor he wears is of the same strange, foreign material, with the same lightning-aspected aether flowing through it.

“Aye,” Zoraal Ja speaks, dropping into a fighting stance. “They are my army, and should you refuse to surrender to us, we will destroy you.”

Gulool Ja Ja draws his blades. There’s a hard look in his eyes that sends a shiver up Vrys’s spine. “Then it falls to me to put a stop to you.” Like a father disciplining a rather rambunctious child, though this won’t end in time-out.

There’s no more hesitation on either side. They launch into battle and Lamaty’i steps forward, biting her lip and looking somewhere between furious and frustrated; it must be difficult, knowing that her papa doesn’t want her to interfere, when she’d love to take Zoraal Ja down for all the suffering this invasion has caused.

Just as quickly as it began, it ends. The Dawnservant strikes a decisive blow and Zoraal Ja falls to the ground. He doesn’t get back up.

It’s only due to his enhanced hearing that Vrys manages to hear the Head of Resolve’s final words to his son: I’m sorry it came to this.

Before anyone in the room has time to process what just happened, Zoraal Ja’s suddenly back on his feet. The strange device he wears at his temple is glowing red, as are his eyes - and then he’s launching at Gulool Ja Ja’s turned back with a speed and force not previously seen. Lamaty’i yells out wordlessly as she unsheathes her axe, but she remains in her place, watching the battle like a helpless kitten.

It doesn’t take long for Zoraal Ja’s blade to find Gulool Ja Ja’s chest as his father turns, and then it’s the former Dawnservant on the floor with a gaping wound that looks really, really bad. Vrys’s ears catch Zoraal Ja’s muttered words even as he rushes to Gulool Ja Ja’s side: I expected better.

Alphinaud and Alisaie are already pouring healing magic into the wound and though it’s clearly a deep one, the magic is serving to try to knit the wound closed. Koana sits stunned in silence, his ears back and his tail puffed up, revealing his terror more than his expression or demeanor. And Lamaty’i...

“Papa...?”

Her voice is broken; it’s that of a young kit seeing her father injured for the first time, knowing that the infallible man she’s idolized for all these years has finally taken an injury he may not recover from.

Vrys turns to face Zoraal Ja. He hasn’t turned to leave - perhaps waiting to see that he accomplished what he set out to do. Killing his father, of all damn things...! Vrys knew he was shaken badly by being disqualified from the rite - he’d seen it firsthand. He knew something was going to happen, that Zoraal Ja wasn’t going to simply return peacefully, and yet he hadn’t warned them. He hadn’t prepared. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think otherwise, as blinded by his desire to see the good in Zoraal Ja as he had been.

And now his ambitions are laid bare. Vrys should have listened to Krile.

You can’t save everyone, his mind supplies, not-so-helpfully.

No, he supposes you can’t.

He’s not entirely sure when he decided to spring into action, but suddenly he’s moving and summoning his magic to his blade, aiming to put an end to this once and for all. If the leader of the army is dead, then perhaps that will save the people of Tuliyollal. Perhaps it will be enough.

Blinded by rage and despair as he is, it’s almost pathetically easy for Zoraal Ja to overpower him, and when those large claws find his neck and a blade comes up afterwards, Vrys realizes how completely and utterly screwed he is.

“I’ll take this one with me,” Zoraal Ja growls. “I expect to see you soon, Dawnservant.”

He practically spits the name out, eyes fixated on Wuk Lamat. And then quietly, to Vrys: “Drop your weapons.”

With little choice but to play along, Vrys releases his grip on his sword and focus, both clattering to the floor. His face burns with fury, frustration, and shame, but he doesn’t look away from Zoraal Ja. I wanted to trust you, he hopes his expression says. I never should have tried.

Without further fanfare, Zoraal Ja drags him outside the palace and then further out where they are suddenly teleported onboard one of the ships. And thus Vrys was imprisoned, left all alone without a single person to hear his frustrated cries.