Night pressed softly against the treetops, though the sun had only just begun to sink behind the distant peaks. The forest canopy filtered the fading orange light, casting the snow in muted shades of lavender and blue. Frost clung to every branch, every stone, every breath drawn by the four riders who moved slowly through the woods. Their chocobos walked in a subdued line, claws biting lightly into the hard earth and frozen underbrush. The sound was steady but hollow. A rhythm without heart.
Rynne rode near the center of the formation, shoulders tight and gaze fixed on the path ahead, though she saw none of it. Her fingers curled into the feathers at her chocobo's neck, not guiding, simply holding on. At intervals she blinked hard, as though fighting back tears she refused to let fall again. Lyra rode beside her, back straight, jaw set, her eyes flicking periodically toward Rynne as if checking whether she was moments away from collapsing again.
Serra rode near the front, posture controlled but tense, analyzing the faint residual aether currents that lingered in the woods. It was habit more than need, a coping mechanism she leaned on when her emotions threatened to surface. Her calm expression was a thin shell.
Dole led, reins loose in one hand and a burning glare in the other. The torches that the miqote escort carried cast stark shadows across his face, highlighting the simmering frustration and anger he had barely contained since the moment Moss fell.
Behind them, and surrounding them on both flanks, the miqote clan walked with perfect coordination, each armed with spears tipped in carved ice that glowed faint blue. Their steps were silent even on the brittle winter ground. Watchful, unwavering, uninviting. This was not an escort but a controlled withdrawal.
Moss was not among them.
He had remained behind, wounded and unconscious but alive, under the watch of Shiva. The miqote had made sure the party understood there had been no choice in the matter.
The silence stretched on until Dole finally snapped.
"I swear," he muttered, voice low but audible to all three of his companions, "if she hurts him again, I will make her regret it." His hand clenched, and a brief flicker of red glowed between his knuckles. The light faded quickly, as if swallowed by the surrounding cold. "That goddess complex, acting like she decides who gets to live or die. It is a miracle Moss survived that long in the first place."
Lyra lifted her head slightly, looking toward him with narrowed eyes. "Dole. Now is not the time."
"I do not care if it is the time." His voice rose, heated in a way that made even the nearest miqote shift their grip on their spears. "You saw her. She did not hold back. She did not even give him room to breathe. Moss had barely scratched the surface of Titan's power and she still cut him down like he was nothing. And what then? She tells us to leave him? Just like that?"
Rynne flinched, and Lyra shot Dole a sharp glare.
"Dole," Serra said from the front, attempting a calm tone, "your anger is understandable, but you should lower your voice. We are not exactly among friends."
"They can hear me regardless," Dole snapped. "And I am tired of pretending they are doing us a favor. They dragged us out. They kept us back. And now they escort us like we are criminals."
He paused long enough for his breath to fog heavily in front of him, then continued with a quieter, darker tone.
"Moss is in there with her. Alone. After everything she did."
Rynne pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Her voice, when it finally surfaced, was soft and cracked at the edges.
"She said she would not hurt him anymore," she murmured. "She said she would keep him safe."
Dole scoffed. "Safe. Right. That is what she calls it."
Rynne's throat tightened, but Serra answered for her.
"Shiva does not lie," Serra said. "At least, not in the time we have observed her. If she said Moss will live, then I believe he will. She is not reckless. She had a reason for everything she did."
Dole growled under his breath. "Reason or not, it was too much."
A nearby miqote turned sharply at that, his ears flattening. He stepped toward Dole with slow, deliberate steps, spear angled across his chest.
"Watch your tongue, fire bearer," the miqote said. His voice was calm but stern, with an undercurrent of warning. "You speak too freely of our lord's actions. The Lady Shiva is sacred. Her judgment is older than any of your short-lived kind. To speak ill of her is a stain on your own spirit."
Dole's eyes widened slightly at the title, fire bearer, but the flicker passed. His expression twisted, but before he could speak, Lyra spoke for him.
"He is upset," she said quickly. "Do not take his anger as lack of respect. We are grateful Moss lives."
The miqote studied her quietly. Then his gaze slid back to Dole, evaluating him with something like disdain.
"See that you remember her mercy," the miqote said. "For even now, she watches. And she spares more than you know."
He stepped back into formation without another word.
Dole's jaw pulsed, his teeth grinding. A faint crimson shimmer ran along the veins in the side of his neck, unnoticed by the others but seen by him when he glanced away. The lines pulsed once, fading beneath the collar of his coat.
He swallowed and kept riding.
The path wound deeper through the forest, the light growing dim and the shadows lengthening. The miqote presence remained constant, their pace guiding the group without being spoken. They would escort them until the forest's edge and no further.
Rynne wiped her eyes again, this time unable to keep the tears away. They slipped silently down her cheeks. Lyra leaned toward her slightly, voice gentle.
"Rynne. We will see him again. Shiva has no reason to break her word."
"I know," Rynne whispered, though her voice trembled. "I just… he looked so cold. And the spears… I thought… I thought he…"
She choked on the words. Lyra's hand touched her arm briefly, a grounding point. Serra glanced back, concern flickering in her eyes, though she did not speak. She knew some wounds would not close tonight.
They continued like this for some time. Step after step. Breath after breath. The rhythmic crunch of chocobo claws on frost was the closest thing to comfort they had.
Finally, after nearly two hours of silent travel, the trees thinned. A distant glow flickered through the gaps between trunks, like lanterns in the far distance. The forest mouth appeared ahead, opening toward the path that led toward Narshe.
The miqote escort slowed to a halt.
Their leader, a tall woman with braided silver hair and bright blue eyes, stepped forward. Serra straightened in her saddle as the woman approached.
"Your path ends here," the miqote leader said. "Lord Shiva has spoken. The vessel remains under her care. None of you may return until she calls for you."
"We understand," Serra replied, though her voice was tired. "Thank you for… keeping us safe on this return."
The miqote woman inclined her head. "We do as commanded."
Her gaze passed over each of them, assessing, measuring, then lingered on Dole. Her expression cooled further.
"And you. Fire bearer. Be wary of the flames you try to kindle. They may one day burn you from within."
Dole stiffened. The red flicker at his throat pulsed once more. The miqote leader's eyes narrowed slightly, as though she sensed it.
She said nothing more. With a sharp gesture, the miqote turned as one and vanished into the forest, their footsteps quiet as falling snow.
The four were alone again.
Rynne exhaled shakily and nudged her chocobo forward. Lyra remained close. Serra guided them back onto the main path. Dole lingered for a moment, staring back into the dark woods before whispering under his breath.
"I am not afraid of fire."
He turned his chocobo and followed the others.
The trail wound downward and grew familiar. Lanterns appeared along the roadside. The air grew warmer with each passing minute. And finally, as the first true stars appeared in the sky, the lights of Narshe shimmered before them.
By the time they passed through the southern gate, night had settled fully. Their chocobos' claws clicked across the stone, echoing through the quiet streets. The cold was still biting, but livable. Buildings glowed from within, warm golden light spilling from windows.
Yet to Rynne, to Lyra, to Serra, and to Dole, Narshe felt painfully empty.
As they dismounted near Cid's workshop, the older man stepped outside, wiping grease from his hands onto a cloth. His expression brightened slightly at first.
"Ah, you are back earlier than..."
He froze.
One look at their faces was enough.
"Where is Moss?" Cid asked quietly. His eyes swept over them again. "What happened?"
Rynne's mouth opened but no words came out. Serra stepped forward, shoulders heavy.
"He is alive," she said. "But he is not with us."
Cid's brow furrowed deeply. "Explain."
Lyra took a steadying breath. "Shiva has taken him. She says he must stay to be trained. We were not allowed to remain."
Cid looked between them. All four looked drained, hollow, exhausted. Rynne especially seemed moments from collapsing again.
His voice softened. "Come inside. You can tell me the rest later. For now, you should rest. All of you."
That finally broke the last of Rynne's composure. A small sob escaped her and she bowed her head. Lyra placed a hand on her back, Serra touched her arm, and Dole looked away sharply, jaw trembling with anger he refused to show.
Cid ushered them into the warmth of the workshop.
Behind them, the night grew cold and still. The doors closed. And the last remaining echo of the forest and its frozen lake faded into the quiet of Narshe's streets.
Moss was alive.
But none of them would sleep peacefully tonight.