Folks, I was actually disappointed that yesterday was a rest day and there would be no prompt! I've come to enjoy these writing challenges. So I asked the communal_creators discord to give me a prompt, and rhi did: "repair".

Ah, I could do something with this!

No spoilers in this one, so I won't cut it. When it takes place is not really said, but I imagine it's late ARR sometime. 564 words, written right before bed last night.

Crumbs

Adventuring puts strain - on your body, your mind, but mostly, on your gear.

After the 123rd visit to the mender - she’d kept count in her journal - she had a thought: what if I learned to repair my gear myself?

As an archer—and, later, a bard--she’d been attired in soft leathers and smooth cloth. So starting with either Leatherworker or Weaver sounded promising.

The Weaver’s Guild was in Ul’dah, which she had an affinity for. But Leatherworker was right in Gridania, not terribly far from the Archer’s Guild to which she still visited from time to time. Leatherworker it was, then.

She marched herself to the Leatherworker’s Guild and made her inquiries about joining. Randall, who staffed the guild’s front desk, told her to seek out the guildmaster, Geva, and ask for permission.

Right, I can do this. It wasn’t that different from any old quest, really—or was it? She’d never before initiated a quest herself, but rather had been asked by others to help with their woes. Would she find satisfaction in this, in doing something for herself?

Well, she had come this far now. Might as well see it through. Right?

There, that woman speaking authoritatively - that must be Geva. She plastered her face with her practiced, easygoing smile, walked up to Geva, and introduced herself.

Geva was not at all like one of her usual quest givers. Where the others had been grateful for her attention, Geva treated her with impatience and brusque words.

She was just beginning to think this was a mistake, when Geva went on to say: “Once you join, there is no turning back. If you dishonor us, I shall flay you myself and make a chocobo saddle from your hide.”

A familiar tendril of anticipation curled in her body. The words were threatening, yes, but also held promise—the promise of the praise she so fiercely sought. She found herself instantly wanting to please this woman. And so she said the vow, and joined the guild.

Her first task was to make animal leather. How hard could it be? She set herself to the task, studying the hide carefully before making the first cuts. After it was tanned and finished, she presented it to Geva, expecting to be praised for her efforts.

What she got, though, was a rollercoaster of emotions.

“Aye, this is indeed leather...”, Geva began, and the anticipation in her belly quickened. But then Geva went on to say: “…after a fashion. Your work is amateurish in the extreme. The leather is unevenly tanned and practically unusable.”

Her heart plummeted. This was a reaction she hadn’t expected at all—quest givers usually heaped her with praise and rewards. Her face began to burn, and she was about to turn on her heel and leave when Geva spoke again.

“But you show promise. Well, about as much promise as the leather you haphazardly crafted. Still, it is apparent that you paid due respect to the life from which it came.
Had you performed any worse, I'd have cast you out without a second thought. But you didn't, so I won't. Approach each task in earnest as you did today, and I'll continue to advise you.”

Well. Crumbs they were, but she would take the crumbs. And next time? Next time she’d get more than crumbs. She would prove herself worthy of praise.

No title for this one -- couldn't think of one. It's also after the 24-hour timer, but today was a catch-up day so hey, I guess that's still okay?

I started this around 10:30am, so a half hour before the timer ended. I just tweaked the last few paragraphs now.

TBH, I'm a little disappointed that today WAS a catch-up day. I've come to enjoy writing these! I had the plan for this one most of yesterday, but didn't have the time to work on it till today. Even though I did this one "late", I still missed having a new prompt to ponder and think about.

Anyway, here's Day 5: Preservation. Largely continuing the theme of these writings, but SPOILERS for the Dawntrail MSQ.

Untitled FFXIV fic based on the prompt "Preservation". SPOILERS for Dawntrail. 1089 words

No one knew that the Warrior of Light was a data junkie.

It started out of necessity, when she first began adventuring. Accepting and carrying out those first few quests had been simple. But as her reputation grew and the quests became more complicated, she needed notes - especially when investigating for one quest by talking to people would naturally lead to yet another person asking for help. There was no way she could keep it all straight in her brain, and so she began keeping a journal.

But for a long time, it was, simply, functional. A dry listing of where she’d been, who she had talked to, the results of those conversations, an itemization of the physical rewards received. She didn’t need more than that. Because the goal of the journal was not to preserve precious memories, but simply a means to an end.

Things changed when she was reborn.

She walked a different path now. In the past, all her questing had been done in desire for validation from others. Now, she was questing for herself. But what did that mean? What did that look like? How was she to feel and wonder when before she had been matter-of-fact, get-the-job-done?

She didn’t know. But maybe she could find out through her journal.

The first entry didn’t come easy. She sat there, her journal open before her, the blank page mocking her as she struggled to describe this latest turn of events. Slowly, she began to write, quantifying the experience:

Tataru has just dropped me off on my new private island. I’m sitting on the beach. I can smell the salt of the water and the warmth of the sand beneath me.

It was a start.

---

She stood at the ship’s prow, tapping a foot to the jaunty tune playing in her head, smiling as the seat salt sprayed at her face. That time on her island had been good to her. With no pressing demands from other people—she didn’t count the mamments—she had been allowed to do what SHE wanted, when she wanted. At first, it had been weird, living for herself, but with each passing day, she found that she arose more eager than the previous one.

Her journal began to be less perfunctory, too. As the waves crested around her, she began to compose the entry in her head:

We’re heading to Tural - a place I haven’t been before. I’m excited to see it! I wonder if it will be as lush as my island? Or even more? What kind of beasts live there, what kind of fauna? What tastes will I experience?

“Enjoying yourself, for a change?” Erenville asked, his own smile gentle.

She nodded. There were times when she’d feel a startle, a voice asking, what are you doing, following your own desires? But she’d learn to tamp that voice down, and it was becoming quieter as she experienced more, and relished more experiences.

---

Her journal had grown to several volumes now, carefully hidden. She hadn’t given any thought to sharing it, for fear of falling back into her former ways. But now here she was, in Alexandria, writing another entry:

“Preservation”, they call it. An organization with the goal of creating Endless—people who live on in stored memories after the body’s death. This feels WRONG, but I’m not sure I understand why yet. Is it so wrong to preserve memories? After all, isn’t that what I’m doing here, in this journal?

But it IS different, she thought, not writing this down. She sat with her pen paused, thinking it over.

She thought of those who she had walked with, who no longer could walk her path. Moenbryda, and Haurchefant, and Papalymo. Yes, she missed them dearly. It HURT that she couldn’t tell them about her rebirth, about this new path she was walking.

But hurting makes the memories sweeter. And death is a chance for growth. Who wouldn’t know that better than her, who had died and been reborn?

How could the Endless grow and change, if they never truly knew death?

THIS was what had sickened her, about Preservation. She, who had come to better contentment and joy after dying, who had grown, could not fathom wanting to remain stagnant.

She again considered the question of sharing her journal. Not now, while she still walked. But after, when she was no longer here. It’s like the Yok Huy’s monuments. My journal is my monument.

Yes, she would bequeath her journals to someone, so they would have her monument.

But who?

Y’shtola or Urianger? They would delight in the knowledge inside, studying it to learn more… They might be a good choice.

Thancred? No. As much as she adored Thancred, she didn’t think he’d take it nearly as seriously as she felt it should be.

G’raha? He’d certainly be thrilled to know more about her inner thoughts, being as close as they were.

Estinien? The dragoon had come a long way to understanding emotions. He might enjoy reading of her own journey into this fragile territory.

Tataru? No, she was too business-like. Maybe she’d like those early records from before, though?

The twins? She couldn’t bear the thought of bearing Alisaie more pain, and Alphinaud… well, he would find some way to use it politically, she reckoned. No.

Krile? Now there was a thought. Hadn’t Krile been through her own rebirth? She had transformed herself from a scholar into a fighter. She’d come to terms with the revelation of being not from the Source. No, it hadn’t been easy for Krile, but that was exactly why the Warrior felt she could trust her words to her. Krile would simply… understand. And isn’t that what she really wanted now, to be known and understood for the way she now walked her path?

True, Krile would likely treat her journal as a precious relic to be preserved. But because Krile would understand, the Warrior felt that to be preserved in such a way would not be all that bad.

Certainly, it’d be much better than becoming an Endless. She had no desire to live her life in stasis. Not after all she had been through.

She couldn’t even stomach the thought of being static in death. Monuments get weathered. Books reveal new insights each time the reader peruses them. What Preservation offered with the Endless was the routine. Unending, unchanging. There was no growth to be had there. Not hers, and not anybody else’s.

“Preservation”, they called it. What a farce.

I had to look up what “Echelon” meant. Once I knew the definition, the imagery came pretty quickly, but the actual writing took a while.

This technically takes place after the main Dawntrail MSQ, but has more spoilers for Endwalker. I’d advise against reading this one if you don’t know what happens in the last zone of that expansion.

”The Endless Battle”, 316 words

They appeared before her, arrayed in an echelon. One by one, they spoke.

“I died before your very eyes.” Moenbryda.

“I left all I held dearest so that you might prevail.” Minfilia.

“Come now. A smile better suits a hero.” Haurchefant.

“I did what must be done. Was I right?” Papalymo.

“You survived. As I had planned.” Thancred.

“You endured what I couldn’t.” Estinien.

“I gave my knowledge to you.” Y’shtola.

Bzzzzz.

“There is no subterfuge in mine actions.” Urianger.

Bzzzzz.

“We gave it our all.”Alisaie.

Bzzzz.

“And you did not stop us.” Alphinaud.

---

She awoke with a startle, chest heaving. As she steadied her breathing, the soft buzzing sound became incessant.

On her nightstand, her linkpearl was gently vibrating.

She picked it up and affixed it in her ear. A familiar voice said, “Hey, stranger!”

The Warrior sat up fully. “Lyse?”

“Sorry for calling so late, I couldn’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Not from anything pleasant.” And she relayed to Lyse the dream.

“Yeah,” Lyse said when she had finished. “I’ve dreamed of Papalymo a hundred times myself. Did we do what was right?”

“We’re still here.”

“So we are,” Lyse said softly. A pause, then: “You know, I don’t think I could have done it. If I had been on Ultima Thule… Not that I don’t believe in you, of course! Just… I’ve accomplished so much in Ala Mhigo. I couldn’t just give that up. Even if I knew I would return. You know?”

“I do,” she said. “And Lyse… that… makes me feel better. Oddly.”

Lyse laughed. “Well, I’m glad! I thought I might be more of a downer! Hey, if neither of us can sleep anyway, why don’t you come for a visit? I can tell you about the latest squabbles here, and you can tell me more about Tuliyollal and Alexandria.”

“…see you soon, then. And thanks.”

Afterword and End Notes

This COULD be read as an AU where the Scions didn’t return, but I didn’t mean it as such. Even though they did come back, I imagine the WoL has a lot of guilt about letting them sacrifice themselves in the first place.

I knew immediately that my “echelon” army would be those the WoL has lost, appearing in a dream. I wasn’t quite sure where the fic would though go until Lyse started hopping up and down and saying “ME! PICK ME!”

Why Lyse? Well, I’ve got my new card for ladiesbingo today, which made me think of LAST year’s card. And that made me think of the first prompt I had an idea for. That idea’s working title is “Girlchat amongst the Scions”, and I didn’t intend for Lyse to be in there at first but she started pouting and I was like “…. Could be fun to include her. After all, she will always be a Scion to me.”

I’m still in the process of writing that fic, but I gotta say that Lyse (especially when paired with Alisaie) steal the scenes. I found that not only did Lyse’s voice come naturally to me, but she was an utter delight to write. So yeah, she had to be in this fic, because I’ve really come to adore her. And I hope we see more of her soon.

Putting this one under a regular cut, not a Details cut, because it’s much less spoilery. It’s set in Patch 2.4, “Dreams of Ice”, of post-ARR. I hope you enjoy it!

( An Incessant Desire, 857 words )

( Afterword & Notes )

jasleh told me about FFXIV Write, a 30 day writing challenge happening every September. Now, I loves me some prompts (waves to FF Kiss Battle & ladiesbingo) so I figured I would at least check it out and maybe store prompts for later. See, I really didn't think I could write a fic IN A DAY, like the challenge asks you to. I'm still working on last year's Ladies Bingo fics, after all!

Hahahaha yeah, I was wrong.

SPOILERS for post-Dawntrail MSQ.

"The Weight of the Worlds", a WoL angst fic. YES NOT CRACK OR FLUFF. 666 words

The Weight of the Worlds

Sometimes, the Warrior of Light thought, I get tired of it all.

She felt a pang of guilt. There she was, lying on her back outside her bungalow on her private island—the one oh-so-generously given to her, and the one she had escaped to after her latest visit to the Thirteenth and the moon. She felt the cool earth beneath her back and gazed at the stars overhead. Yes, she had many blessings in her life, and she should be grateful for that.

But you also have many burdens, the small voice in her head said. She turned her head then to look at one of those burdens. Its glow pulsed gently as it hovered ilms above the grass. It was a tiny thing, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She turned on her side towards it, and, reaching out, closed her hand around it.

For such a tiny thing, it sure weighed a lot. Sometimes she questioned her reality regarding it. Perhaps the key didn’t actually weigh all that much—perhaps it was the weight of its burden in her mind that weighted so heavily.

She let go of it, and it resumed gently bobbing in the air in front of her.

She sat up then, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her crossed arms. Why did the key open for her? And why couldn’t Zero see the brightly illuminated path it had made? She waited a moment, expecting to hear one of the Scions—Y’shtola or G’raha, perhaps—explain it all, but then remembered where she was. Alone, on her private island, where there were no answers, just the soft clink of mammets working in the distance.

She flopped to her back again with a sigh, and studied the stars slowly spiraling overhead. Somewhere out there was the Fourth, to which she’d be going. Curiosity made her wonder what it was like; exhaustion dreaded finding out.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t come back.

She refused to feel a pang of guilt over THIS thought, as frequent as it had been since that day she had once more awoken back then on the Ragnarok. She hadn’t once told anyone about this feeling. How could she? They all relied on her too much. She got it—she was special! Hydaelyn’s chosen! It was her destiny, her duty to make this choice haunting her... but she often wished it on someone else.

She turned her head once more to look at the key. How could such a weighty thing float? But it did, still, pulsing with that yellow glow.

Her hands balled into fists. How dare the universe ask her to make such a choice? If she allowed the Winterers to usher in their rejoining, thousands would perish for the sake of a few. But if she did nothing, the Solstice would destroy all. She did not want to make this choice, could not make it—and yet, the key had chosen HER. As everything chose her.

It wasn’t fair.

The old story of a hero came to mind then. As a child, she had loved it, not knowing what her own path had in store for her....

The tactician said to the knight, “Faced with a choice between saving one life or a hundred lives... you must choose the hundred. That is the creed of the tactician.”

“That’s ridiculous!” The knight said in reply. “If the choice is to save one person or a hundred people... then save both! That is the creed of a Grandshelt knight!”

According to the stories, the knight had succeeded in saving both the one and the hundred. Could she do it? Forget making the terrible decision, and save everyone? Not only the Source, but all the reflections?

If only it were possible.

A tear slipped down her cheek then, and she sat there alone on her island, thinking thoughts she dare not share, and feeling emotions she could not show.

---

Notes: The "one life or a hundred?" story is a reference to Final Fantasy Brave Exvius, Season 1, Chapter III - The Olderion Federation. You can read the chapter here.