Work Text:
He didn’t mind at first.
The crystal taking over his body was a fascinating side effect, a physical reflection of how deeply he has tied himself to the tower. He’d find himself thinking of nothing at all, idly tracing his still flesh fingers along the cool crystal. It never seemed to warm, the crystal too deep for a surface level touch to penetrate. It didn’t affect him much. What was this compared to centuries of time, to two worlds, to one singular point of hope?
It took getting used to. He would underestimate his reach, smack his hand into things and send an uncomfortable ring through it and then up his arm. He could feel it in his teeth , a most uncomfortable sensation. It’s lucky that such things never chipped or cracked the crystal. He’d check in very careful inspections - running his finger pads over each bit to make sure the surface was still smooth. The gold veins warm under such a touch, but only for a moment.
He is still whole - changed, greatly, but whole.
He’s used to the crystal and the title they’ve given him by the time a vein of clear blue has crept up onto his face. It makes him laugh tiredly some nights. “The Crystal Exarch indeed,” he mutters, tugging the tie from his hair. The red hangs loose around his face, a direct contrast to the blue. The color is leaching from the tips, a marker of age that feels less real than the crystal. It has been many years, but he still needs more time.
He touches crystal fingers to the crystal vein on his face and barely feels it either way.
A scholar named G’raha Tia locked himself away in the Crystal Tower to save his colleagues...his friends from the threats all around them. With every year that passes, the Crystal Exarch feels the bright blue shell grow thicker around his heart. The man that was is still locked away and the Exarch has plenty to fill his days.
The attacks are still too common.
No matter how high they build their walls, no matter how thick the wards and shields, there are always sin eaters slipping through the gaps. The Crystarium is strong - they won’t dare attack there - but there is more than the Crystarium in Norvrandt.
He refuses to leave people to suffer. Well, he would, but he is tied to the tower. The power he’s taken, bargained away his flesh for, is as heavy as a chain. He dares to go as far as the edges of Lakeland, checking in with the guard and the people who choose to continue living on the knife’s edge. (He cannot blame them for clinging so tightly to their homes. They have already lost so much. He will simply defend them as much as he can.)
By some small measure of luck, he’s in Fort Jobb when someone comes sprinting out from the Greatwood. She makes it through the gates, collapsing to her knees. She’s been clawed, her wounds touched with burning light aether that makes the others shrink back. The Exarch does not. He kneels in front of the elf, her breath still ragged. He heals her, watching the light aether drip down her arms before it can slip into her blood.
He touches her shoulder with a cool crystal hand and ignores the way she flinches when it catches the light from the sky. “What’s happened?”
She looks up and she tells him. Sin eaters attacked travelers on the road. When the Night’s Blessed came to help, more appeared from the trees in a bloody ambush. “Please,” she begs, voice raw, “please help us.”
The Exarch needs only look up. The captain is already ordering their troops together. They turn to look at him and nod. “Save as many as you can,” he says. His fingers tighten on his staff, his fingertips going white. Go and risk your lives while I do naught but sit and wait for the work to be done.
He’s so tired of waiting.
“Please,” the elf repeats. She grabs his wrist, and then his sleeve. “Please, help us.”
“They’re going,” he promises. “I must-.”
“Please,” she begs and pulls her other arm away from her chest. There is a sling there and a small body tucked safely away. “I think I shielded her, but Exarch, please .”
It’s always the worst with children. Carefully, he reaches into the sling and frees the child...the newborn. She is so very small, her eyes blinking at the sudden light but hardly able to focus. Her grey ears are still floppy, hanging back along with what little hair she has. He supports her head with his flesh and blood hand. The other is too clumsy to risk it.
She blinks as he brings her closer, the shadow of his hood shielding her face from the bright sky. He makes sure she’s secure in his arm as he lifts the other. “She’s not crying,” he murmurs. Her eyes move as his hand does, trying to watch it come closer to her. He brushes his fingers over her middle. She doesn’t cry out, but he lets a gentle cure spell fall over her.
The newborn Viis blinks at the light of the magic. She wiggles a little, a hand popping free from the blankets to fumble through the air. “Careful now,” he says, steadying her against his arm with his other hand. He lifts his head to look at the elf. “She seems unharmed. You protected her well.”
“Thank you, Exarch.” The woman smiles at him tiredly, but then her eyes drop and they widen. “Oh, she likes you!”
He has several doubts about that, chief among them that a being so small and new can like anything beyond food and warmth. But when he follows her gaze, he finds the small Viis has taken hold of his pinkie and is staring up at him in fascination.
He didn’t feel a thing. He watches her fingers curl tighter, all the strength a newborn has, and he doesn’t feel it at all. It cracks something in him and for the first time in decades he feels like weeping. How much more can I give up? He shoves the thought away. There is no time for that now.
The Exarch forces a smile onto his face and gently wiggles the finger in her grip. “I am a fascination if nothing else. Are you her guardian?”
She presses a hand to her face and there’s something in her voice that reminds him of himself as she says, “No. She was handed to me to run for safety as her mother turned back to help. I...don’t know what happened. I ran.”
“You did right.” He glances down at the tiny fingers wrapped around his and isn’t sure how to free himself. “Whatever has happened, you will all find refuge at the Crystarium.”
“Thank you, Exarch.” Her shoulders drop and she covers her eyes with her hand. He looks up and nods to the chirurgeon nearby. There’s always at least one stationed here in town with the guard and he moves forward to further tend to the runner.
Which leaves him with the newborn. He glances down at her again. She’s still holding tight to his finger and staring vaguely up at his face. Well, it’s not like she’ll remember terribly much being so young. Very carefully, he wiggles the finger in her grip. Her fingers tighten, then slip on the crystal facets. Her nose wrinkles and her fist waves through the air.
It only takes another breath for her to start crying. “Oh dear.” He remembers less than nothing about babies. “Shh, it will be alright little one.” He rocks her, careful to keep his grip. If he drops her, he might consider locking himself in the Tower until things are ready. Nobody need suffer his fumbling attempts at, at personhood when he hasn’t the time to remember it.
The Viis wails louder and he can’t help but look around in a panic. He swears that a few of the closest hide smiles , but they all have their hands full so he can hardly blame them. He keeps rocking her and trying those sweet calming phrases that are supposed to work. “It’ll be alright. I know this has been a lot, but it really will be alright.”
Her little fists beat the air and one smacks into his chest. He feels that well enough, a soft thump against his robes. “Oh, you want to fight me?” For some silly reason, it makes him smile. “I have a history of inspiring such reactions,” he whispers to her. “I think it might be a flaw in my personality.” She hits his crystal arm as he shifts it and it sends a little ring through it.
He pauses and then holds his hand flat where she can reach it. Her fist smacks it again, another little ping , but she stops wailing as her eyes catch the light bouncing off of it. One fist goes to her mouth but the other smacks against his hand again and again. He catches her fist as it comes down one more time. “Let’s not hurt ourselves.” This seems acceptable so long as she can still see the blue of his arm.
Crisis somewhat averted, the Exarch looks around again. There’s no sign of the guard sent to help the ambushed Blessed yet, but who knows what sort of mess they’ve encountered. He is to wait and see. He sighs and looks at the small child in his arms. “Let’s wait somewhere useful.” He cannot join the fight, not without due cause, so it’s best that he take himself to the infirmary where he can be of some use.
The little Viis continues to watch his crystal arm. The Exarch watches her as he moves toward the infirmary. Newborns...what does he remember about them? They like watching faces, some base understanding that they’re seeing a reflection of what they are, perhaps. Beyond that… “Well,” he says quietly to her, “I am quite shiny.”
But even with his hand wrapped gently around her’s, he can only feel the slight pressure of his own hand. No warmth or gentle touch of her small fingers makes itself known to him.
He never thought to miss it. But it doesn’t do to dwell on it either. He will see this one safely into someone’s care and then get back to work.
It’s late when he finds himself alone in the Crystal Tower. The walls still glimmer brightly, refracting the endless light from the skies outside through the myriad facets. It’s always glowing here, but perhaps that is simply its way. It had a glow on the horizon those nights he sat and stared at it and dreamed.
He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. The endless light makes time slippery, the hours always looking the same. But there is exhaustion in his bones, a tell of the long hours he’s spent awake. Aether may flow more freely through him thanks to the changes to his body, but a mortal mind still needs rest eventually.
But not yet. The Exarch shifts the papers in front of him, final reports from the guard who went to save the travelers passing through Raktika and who flushed out those sin eaters they could afterward. One report like so many others - they lost people, they saved some, and the fight continues ever on with no end in sight. But the people have not given up yet and neither will he. It won’t be much longer till everything is ready.
His mind drifts away from the report, from the numbers of guards and civilians and lost. His eyes drift as well, landing on the crystal of his arm. Here alone in the crystal tower, hood down, he can look down and see the warped reflection of his own face. He traces a hand over it, pressing harder on a vein of gold. He feels it, pressure against the crystal, but no warmth.
You knew that it would be a trade. You could never do this without the tower. He frowns and drops his arms back to the chair. He did know, he has known. Why is it bothering him now?
Her hand was so very small as it smacked against his arm and took hold of his finger. So small as to be barely there at all. But he knows what it should feel like. Warm, soft, a gentle but firm hold…he’s known similar touches, held kits and babies alike. He closes his eyes and remembers.
It matters not that he hasn’t had a touch like that in many long years. He has chosen his role as resolute figurehead, leading the people of Norvrandt to a brighter future and saving their entire world along the way. Of course such a being need not be mortal nor have mortal needs.
Gods, it has been so very long since he had anyone to lean on. He sighs. He knew what he was getting into. It’s all for the future, for the hope of a brighter tomorrow. His sacrifices now will help save two worlds. It will save them: the Warrior of Light.
He can feel it, the ghost of a hand clapping him on the shoulder. The box he put those memories away has cracked and he leans forward to drop his head into his still warm hand. What I wouldn’t give to stand beside you again, my friend. To see your smile once more. For all these long years, he still remembers. And a small part of him grieves for what could have been had he had the option to stay.
Enough of this. You cannot afford to falter now.
The Exarch takes a breath and then another. He exhales slowly and sits up straight. He takes the reports in his hands, shuffling them into a neater stack to set aside. One more is waiting for him and he picks it up with a frown. It’s a brief missive from Spagyrics, detailing the injuries treated and supplies used on the refugees brought in from the attack.
He scans it, not entirely sure what he’s looking for until he finds it. Newborn Viis child - uninjured. Mother was lost in the attack. Guardianship will be discussed first with survivors and placement made thereafter.
The little kit is not the only one who has been left alone. They have a system in place for the children and adults to help them find homes and guardians as needed. With a Viis outside of the Raktika tribe… There won’t be any sending her back to what relatives she may have under the boughs.
He lowers the paper after scanning the rest of the list. He sets it on his desk, twitching it into place so that it’s perfectly centered. We have all lost much. Every day, every hour there are new losses. What is this in the face of a family? In the face of a home? In the face of a world?
‘Just because someone else has it worse doesn’t make your pain less!’
That bit of memory slips free through the cracks and he leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. The whole world had been in ruins, but still…still it did not make the pain of small things less. They still had to be treated and looked after. ‘Or we’d all be nothing but hollow shells shuffling along. Take a break, G-.’
He swallows the sudden lump in his throat and finds he has to wipe at his eyes as well. “Ah,” he says, half a laugh. “I’m a fool.” He learned then that the best cure for the deep gulf of grief that stretches immeasurable is to seek out the good things no matter how small.
The day has barely begun when soft tapping announces the arrival of a guest to Spagyrics. The Exarch nods and smiles to the chirugeons and caretakers, but it’s clear he’s not there for them. Instead, he heads for a corner of the room where the children have tugged the cots together to make a little space for themselves.
The Exarch sets his staff aside and takes a seat on a chair. “Good morning,” he greets them all. “Welcome to the Crystarium. How are you doing?”
The children eye him cautiously and then one brave Ronso cub moves closer. She leans up, staring at his arm. “What happened to you?”
They’ve all heard stories, rumors, and made guesses. That might never know the truth, but they all listen closely just in case it falls from his lips this time. The Exarch’s smile widens. “Magic. Would you like to see it?” He offers out his crystal hand and she takes it.
Her claws tap against it and she tips his arm back and forth. She laughs. “It’s like a funny mirror!” That’s all it takes for the floodgates to open, the children all coming forward to investigate their Exarch and his crystal parts and his stories of heroes and magic.
He spends an hour with them, telling stories and listening to theirs. When many of them are called to eat, to take medicine, to speak to someone, the Exarch stands. He walks over to the smallest beds, and sets a crystal hand on the edge of one.
The little Viis inside blinks her eyes at the shine and then reaches for his fingers. “Good morning,” he says softly to her. Her tiny fingers take hold of his again. Still, he cannot feel it. But he can see it and he leans closer. Only she can see his bright red eyes as her’s lift. He smiles at her. “I hear your name is Lyna.”