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The Future Doesn't Scare Me at All

Summary:

Alternate title: "Scenes from the End"

A collection of short chapters, each an altered or missing scene from the 6.0 MSQ featuring my Warrior of Light, a Seeker of the Sun named Esselte Lhian.

Chapter 1: Returning Home - Lv. 84

Notes:

Esselte/Y'shtola

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

She stands at the window, looking up at the moon. At times like these, Esselte finds herself missing Ardbert. She's still around, obviously, but it's not the same; she misses being able to talk to her directly. She still catches signs of her occasionally – in the form of emotions that don't feel quite her own, usually – but it's grown rarer and rarer in the moons since they'd faced Hades together, and the last time she'd heard her actual voice was… hm, must have been when they were saying goodbye to Seto. It's strange; they're closer now than ever, but on a night like this the room they'd given her at the Annex feels altogether too quiet, too empty. She-

There's a knock at the door. Who…?

"It's me," calls Y'shtola. "Are you still awake?"

Esselte sighs, feeling some of the tension run out of her. She checks that she's decent (good enough, she decides. She'd shed her shoes and her protective robe for the night already, but she's still in her shift and shorts, and… well, it's only Y'shtola. For a long time she'd felt it necessary to look her best for everyone all the time; a holdover from when her reputation outstripped her confidence. She's more relaxed about that kind of thing these days, although she still enjoys dressing up when she has the opportunity. On consideration, though… She undoes her top button and tugs her neckline down a little. We live and hope, after all), and pads across the room to open the door.

"Ah, good," sighs Y'shtola as soon as the door swings open. "I'd hoped to catch you before you went to bed. Stand still a moment, if you please."

She stands up straight, as much good as it does her; Y'shtola has a couple of ilms on her even at her best, and she's barefoot while Y'shtola's still wearing her heels. She feels a little shiver as she looks up at Y'shtola, the combination of her height and her peremptory attitude setting her stomach aflutter.

She's never been quite sure of Y'shtola's intentions towards her. On the one hand, the other miqo'te has never once made any direct overtures; if one were to consider only the surface of their interactions, Y'shtola would appear no different from any other colleague and friend. Esselte herself had made a couple of passes at her, early on, but when Y'shtola had seemed uninterested she'd moved on. When Ysayle died, the shoulder she cried on was Y'shtola's. That was the turning point, the moment something shifted between them and Y'shtola became inscrutable.

But on the other hand… As Y'shtola looks her up and down, her gaze briefly lingers at her hips, at her chest. It's subtle, a bare fraction of a second, and who knows what she's actually seeing with her aethersight, but still…

"Hmm," muses Y'shtola. "Nothing appears out of the ordinary…"

Esselte tilts her head, curious. "You had reason to think otherwise?"

"Merely a precautionary measure," explains Y'shtola. "You will recall how poorly things nearly turned out for you on the First, of course. Given that you were almost certainly exposed to similar, if not far greater forces during your recent battle, I thought to check how you fared." She smiles faintly. "Fortunately, from what I can see, you and your aether are looking as good as always."

Y'shtola continues rambling about aetherology, but Esselte knows a compliment when she hears one. Normally this kind of discussion with Y'shtola would hold her full attention, but in the moment she's distracted by considering Y'shtola's appearance, and so she loses track of the conversation. She's wearing the same black battle-dress she wore on the First – well, Tataru's recreation of it – and at first glance nothing seems out of the ordinary. She catches the difference in the details after some scrutiny: her neckline, too, is pulled slightly lower. She's wearing a touch of lip gloss, and- were her nails always trimmed that short?

Y'shtola's tone turns angry, and Esselte's focus is snapped back to her words. "As if Zenos gallivanting about in your body was not misfortune enough. The sheer nerve of that man! Your soul is not some toy for him to carelessly fling about!"

One of Esselte's ears flicks. She's not sure what expression she's wearing, but whatever Y'shtola reads in it causes her to turn suddenly apologetic. "Forgive me, that was in poor taste. I recall vividly how battered and broken your soul was in the depths of Amaurot, and I- I don't wish to see that happen to you again."

Y'shtola hugs her arms against herself, looking uncharacteristically fragile. "You were so close to coming apart completely. If you could have seen yourself- ah, but the greater part of me is glad you could not. It was… a horror beyond description."

Esselte takes a step forward, despite herself. In lieu of words she holds her hands out, and Y'shtola takes them in hers, squeezing them tight.

"Promise me," demands Y'shtola. "Promise me you will be careful. That you will seek me out if you feel at all unwell."

"Of course," says Esselte, nodding. "You've looked out for me ever since we first met, that night on the ship into Limsa. You saved me yet again when we reunited at Summerford, though you didn't even remember me at the time." She glances down at their conjoined hands, and takes a risk. "I shall ever be in your capable hands. At least, that is my hope."

Y'shtola stiffens, and for a moment Esselte is afraid she's stepped too far. But then Y'shtola smiles at her, a calculating look in her eyes. "That puts my heart at ease, if only a touch. Might I come in? These rooms are chilly at the best of times, and I suspect it will grow colder as the night wears on. I should like to ensure yours stays warm, if nothing else."

"Please," manages Esselte. She's familiar enough with this dance, but it's disorienting to be following it with Y'shtola, after all this time. Her grip is tight on the door as she opens it wide, letting Y'shtola enter. "I look forward to your expert guidance."

She swings the door shut, locking it behind her to keep the rest of the star out. Whatever else it wants of her, it can wait until the morrow.

Notes:

Ardbert trans