Work Text:
Cold, blistering winds howled, storming down mountainsides like soldiers. Ice cracked, snow crunched, white like shattered bone. Sunlight was too often unyielding, daggers in the eyes, the only reprieve found in gunmetal clouds that threatened more bitter cold.
Zenos cared for very little, but he loathed the cold. Hated he had to call such a wasteland home - the blues and blacks like liquid bruises bursting from what should have been soil. Winter held nothing but misery, gnashing its teeth at any who dared to oppose it. In that, and only that, did Zenos respect it; its cruelty, its bite, its force.
And yet, there she was.
Though similar, the freeze of the Coerthas Highlands was tame in comparison to Ilsabard. Dunes stretched on like a rabbit's pelt, soft and... fluffy—it reminded him of wisps of steam from an open mouth, chest heaving on dry air, melting crystals diamonds in her hair. His warrior made the cold look bearable. He supposed that it was only natural that she be stronger than him in this, too.
His eyes followed her graceful movements as she raced with soldiers more familiar with her deeds than her face, jumping high and soaring past all in a little game. Half furious, half curious, he stood back; her energy and time and power wasted on mongrels not even a hundredth of her strength yet, somehow, deserving of her attention nonetheless. Zenos had been spirited from death through the void a universe away and still (still!) she continued to confound him at every opportunity. It was a leash the slight Elezen manchild had molded for the leaders of the other nations, his interest. None could kill him, could touch him, other than their precious Warrior of Light, and here she was—laughing, playing, waving to him to join.
Ishgardian children and their parents skirted their eyes past his shadowed figure as he shifted forward just an ilm. The teetering pressure of his presence fought the security of their savior, leaving them unsure and skittering. Zenos itched to launch himself at her, see if she still had the speed to suffocate him under her yolk, but he was here to learn.
Raking his eyes down her sorrily overdressed figure, he leaned back against the bricks of the little encampment's wall. She was a fine teacher and he, always, an eager student.
"I'm afraid I'd be an unwelcome opponent, my friend." The word dripped from his mouth slick like oil. The rose of her cheeks deepened, blooming from her rushing blood. He licked his canines.
The Saintess of Hydaelyn, Warrior of Light, the leader and breaker of armies alike, beloved of man and woman and child—cut a blade so quick it blurred until all that was left was its handle in stone and a nick in his ear. She grinned and the men around her backed a step. "As always, my friend, the only opponent for you is me."
Zenos felt each breath in his lungs, the tingle that raced into his palms, the weight of his blade just waiting to be unsheathed, but he knew this game far better than the children's pretend hunt. He watched as she folded back into herself, the glint of a firestorm mere embers in her eyes, her smile gentled to something others would not cower from. She spoke lightly, murmuring to their audience, relaxing them thread by thread until they forgot about the lightning that sparkled under her skin.
He never forgot.
"I still do not understand why you declaw yourself. Surely it would be easier to simply make them do as you want." They had had this particular conversation many times, but it was, as always, a match between them where he fell just a hair short.
"I don't want to make them 'do as I want', you know that." She glanced at the smallest of the bunch, bundled so fiercely they were two eyes in a mound of felt and fur. Zenos watched her slow, small smile soften the entirety of her face. He couldn't look away. "I just want them happy, and they know how to do that better than I would."
The words slipped out faster than he could catch them. "And you, my friend? Are you happy?"
Wide eyes met his. Her lips parted as her smile slipped—but only for a moment. It grew, eager and bright, her eyes crinkling under its weight. "Yes. I am."
Sunlight was dimming when they finally left. Though much smaller than he, the blessed Warrior of Light threw a large shadow; everyone from the encampment and village beyond came out to bid her farewell with no hesitation at his presence. It was... strange to be so overlooked, though he was but fulms away.
A treat from the season, he supposed.
The walk back to Foundation was easy. No blizzard accosted them, though Zenos rather doubted they couldn't cut through the wind anyway, and the sun's watery light was pleasant on the eyes. Another thing he had not cared to think of before his return, now given weight and meaning. His eyes trailed to his humming companion, his one and only friend...
He wanted to touch her.
Zenos' arms trembled, urging him to reach out to - do something. Anything. It was a horribly familiar instinct that he had yet to master: he didn't want to unsheathe his blade or feel the way her flesh would give beneath his boot, but rather he just wanted to touch . To hold. To fold her into his rib cage and feel her dense, unyielding soul pressed so close they were one body. He had once been told the story of her trip to other worlds, splinters of one great soul spread thirteen times, and how she had met a version of herself. A warrior of great renown just like herself now kept safe in her own aether.
His hatred burned bright that day. It was not him splintered from her soul, but another man in a world and time who did not deserve the glory of her light and power.
Yet... there she was. So close he could feel her warmth, her breath, the way her voice vibrated in her chest as she greeted the guards. That bodyless man slumbered within her, true, but it was Zenos who stood by her side, who tasted her mettle again and again and again. Who knew intimately how to get her to bend, how to break that inoffensive mold she forged for the weak, how to get her to fight.
The restored stone of Ishgard came and went as they made their way to the Empyreum. Unlike lesser adventurers, the Warrior of Light had homes, private suites, or apartments everywhere she went. He had once been told of a great sanctuary gifted to her by the ruler of Limsa Lominsa, off in the waters of Vylbrand, as well, though he had yet to go.
As they walked across the threshold of her Ishgardian home, Zenos knew it would only be a matter of time before he was whisked away along her journey once more. Until then, he shrugged off his coat, hung his blade next to hers, and trekked into the living room.
Per custom, Zenos sat first and she laid across him, legs splayed over his lap. Her eyes grew distant in the way he recognized as her searching through the aether pocket she kept her most precious items in. He rested a hand on her ankle, rubbing his thumb over the delicate swell of bone, as he waited for her to speak.
She inhaled, eyes focusing back on him, and a shine of blue sparkled in her hands. A small box, no bigger than his palm, appeared wrapped in silver paper. Zenos eyed it, then her. She just smiled that same, little thing and held it out. When his fingers brushed hers, she said a quiet, "Happy Starlight, Zenos."
His hands did not shake. His breath did not waver. He was not overcome with some pithy emotion.
But he did rest his fingertips against hers. He waited longer than needed to take the gift. He opened it with care, with patience, with expectation.
It was so small.
Inside the box was a single earring, carved from pure gold. A blue gem twinkled at the top with a circle dangling just beneath it like an open eye. He breathed a little deeper and turned just in time for her to brush her hair back to reveal its twin.
"It's a linkpearl, too. There's only my line."
Zenos looked back at it. "This symbol..."
"It represents Azem."
"The woman you used to be."
She laughed. "The woman I still am, just... smaller. Shorter, definitely."
Zenos watched as she reached out a single finger to touch the eye. It glowed, a small bit of her aether twirling in the center. It felt as though she was resting in the palm of his hand.
"You'll always be able to find me like this. Definitely better than scaring poor Krile again, I'd say, hm?"
He knew she was slanting a playful look at him - he'd seen it all too often these days - but he couldn't turn his head. A piece of her. This was a piece of her, not taken by distasteful overwhelming force but... given, from her own hands, something that no one else had ever or would ever again receive. He had both her body and her soul.
'Happy Starlight', she had said. He knew she meant the Ishgardian winter holiday, nothing more, but... he remembered the edge of the universe. It had been nothing but stars, yet this was nothing like that. Not like that immovable sunset in the deepest pit of space. She was light against blackest, coldest night. She was warmth felt malms away.
She was starlight.