Chapter Text
It happens in Gridania, on a carriage bound to the city. There wasn't any flash of magic. One moment, it was like trying to remember a dream. Something ever so slightly out of reach. And then they remembered.
The unsteady road. The deep earthen smell. The sound of a pom out of sight-a moogle. Ash'en remembers this. Ash'en remembers this. They close their eyes, and blissfully, their mind is blank. The sound of wheels moving over stone. The scent of the chocobos heading the carriage. Moogles. Moogles. Moogles.
Great googley moogley, Ash thinks, not in humor, but so there's something to think about other than these thoughts. Have they just time traveled?
...
No. In these memories, coming to them easily, an alternate version of the Garland Ironworks invented time travel. And the method's completely different, and he would remember if he'd used it. So, easy, easy, easy-these memories, they, clearly weren't real. Because time travel wasn't real. And even if it was, it wasn't the crystal tower's method so. It didn't line up. So it wasn't real, clearly.
Deep Breaths. In. Out. The. Sound of wheels over stone moogle chocobo kewh-ing it's your first time in Eorzea but you know the stained glass window in the adventurer's guild and the water under the aetherite plaza, the archer's guild puts targets in the woods do they remember where they are are they on the path could he see them could he see them to know if this is real he knows the trees he knows there's a mansion above a long root you need to climb to get to the cliff they could never remember which shroud was which but they knew where they were there's photocells in Gridania's crypts an ascian summoned a golem in a cave there's three padjal one will show you the way to the white mages' old city Ampador the way to Ishgard is past the palace of the dead there.
Ash's heart. Is going to burst. His chest hurts, and not from lack of breathing. He is full. Too full. Breathing does nothing to steady the pain.
But so long as he knows it's not real, it's okay. Ash just finally must have broken, all of a sudden, in a moment of quiet. But. He'll get to this place, Gridania, soon enough, and then know these visions to be a fantasy. Because they cannot be real. They can't. Ash can't go through what he sees in these Spector visions of a possible future. No, no no no no.
Breathing deeply he
is fine.
It doesn't hurt.
- - -
Gridania is what he expected. When they go to the room they were given, they recount the steps they've taken countless times before up the wooden stairs. And before opening its door, they know the bed is in the back right corner. There's an elegant window in the center of the wall with a small garden, an armoire to his left. He knows this before opening the door, he opens it and. It's.
Gridania is exactly what Ash expected. He sits by the small pond where the postmoogle takes up station. He's never seen a moogle, before today, but he knows most people can't see them. As always, they wonder what part of themself is considered pure of heart enough for the creatures to show themselves. They if nothing else give him a conniption, and frequently they fill him with the desire to beat them over the head with a ten tonne hammer. They don't even have to feel guilty, since the things are seemingly even more invulnerable than the ascians. And these thoughts-what an ascian is-
Gridania itself is familiar.
But from their memories, Ash isn't what he expects of himself, because his first thought, the very immediate thing he feels, is how much and how desperately he wants to give up. Because Ash is a little Keeper runt from nowhere and guns, swords and gods are all very scary things he wants zero part of. The world is going to end, if this isn't some bizarre delusion, over and over again. Forever. And they can't do this. They can't. What a very un-them thing to do. Were they always so scared? Maybe. If they were, it must have been something the them of the future tried desperately to push to the side. Maybe constant agony and suffering had reforged this weakling into a bastion of hope and strength or whatever, but this much earlier iteration of that hero has already made a decision; call refused. Effective immediately. They're not becoming an adrenaline junkie, this time around. Seeing the inner thoughts of that future mindset with a brain that hasn't yet been remapped by future them's awful coping mechanisms is utterly terrifying. Ash came to Eorzea to try to survive, not to suicidally leap to their death because their first brush with genuine praise in their life led to killing gods for a living. Mayhaps he can live out his life for a bit then hitchhike on the forum's little ship once it's time to go. That'd work, that'd be a plan.
...But what to do in the meantime...
- - -
As an organization, the rogue archons and their slowly growing collection of collaborators didn't have open meetings. Sometimes Minfillia called upon members to speak in her office, or else they mingled, and in whispers and secondhand discussions news trickled through those as-yet nameless folk that met beneath Horizon. The closed door to her office, as opposed to the open floor of the Waking Sands, was both intentional and not. While there wasn't any reason in particular to believe they would be spied on...not all the world was as safe as Sharlayan. That was why they were here, and the archons don't forget it.
Urianger and Minfilia keep track of the city states' lost crystals. Thancred gives them ins where they would have otherwise hit dead ends. Y'shtola wanders and watches and learns. Their increasing number of helping hands do what they can't.
Their numbers grow, their temper-immune companions growing better equipped, more experienced. It won't be long before their first *real* attempt to kill a primal.
- - -
These acorn rodents really didn't deserve the wild uncontrolled destruction magic received upon them. Ash was weak, and lacking muscle memory, but. A greater part of magic is knowledge. And their tests so far have killed everything they've pointed their aether at pretty much instantly.
Predictably, Ash'en enjoys the rush. Almost to the point of mania. It's not the same as the well-ingrained habits of their other self's life, but. The power feels nice. Really, really nice. They bury that feeling with a mental shovel and pat the dirt. This is...just in case. The future holds danger, and they need to reclaim something from these memories.
...Their memories have revealed a few other things they would like to collect as well. In another life they were theirs anywho, and they feel antsy without them. Just in case, just in case...
- - -
Y'shtola searches for adventurers that have garnered some amount of fame. She does not find Ash'en.
- - -
The scions' adventurers that have the mothercrystal's gift do well, at first. The plan was set-pretend to be ambushed, be brought before Ifrit. They wait. They wait. They know. The silence in their wake is louder than news of their death would have been. The archons are in agreement; this isn't going to work. They need to try something else. They must stop primals from being summoned at all if their organization wishes to have any effect.
- - -
Slightly more desperate for hands, Yda and Papalymo visit Gridania. When poking around for those with a reputation for being reliable, there's nobody that directs them Ash's way. They speak with a group of two, and Ash is careful not to take peeks at the familiar strangers a couple of tables away. This isn't a terrible surprise; Ash hasn't been interested in taking commissions. Not like they had the first time. Nobody knew anything about the dark Miqo'te that had shown up weeks prior.
Tensions in Eorzea are high. Now more than usual, people are wary of people they don't know. This casual suspicion prevalent in Gridania shows no signs of settling-the Padjal in specific are noticeably on-edge, and it's made people jumpy. The hearers don't know why. Guild leaders don't know why. This trickles down, and although they don't know why, everyone's more on-edge than they were the first time Ash'en was here. But the peoples' of the twelvesewood are watchful, and they take note. It makes its way in rumor back to the adventurers. Unrelated, an anonymous request to the Adventurer's guild has been issued to locate a stolen item of no small value. No details are known about the thief, but the request, as Ash'en eyes it, is for a pearly, egg-shaped stone with a rune inscribed upon it. They run their fingers over the stone in their pocket. Truthfully, they'd had no interest in this kind of magic the first time around, but they knew who had it, where it was kept. One of many secrets revealed to them over the years. They didn't need it, necessarily, but...just in case.
As the group of Y'da and Papalymo plus two leaves, Ash does not feel a pang of envy. They're fine with this.
- - -
It takes a few weeks for an adventurer journeying between the city states to draw a connection. Within weeks, several requests across Eorzea spring up for missing crystals with runes, some anonymous, some...from very public figures. By the time enough realize the common thread, it's already too late.
- - -
It's not unusual for Y'shtola to get writings from her sister. As she reads, however, it becomes obvious that not all is well, and she curses her silly younger sibling for her ambition. A memory crystal containing her stored knowledge for a new type of magic craft was stolen. Being a new, budding crystal, this wouldn't be a bad thing. What could one do with barely-tested aetheric binding rituals? Unfortunately, with further context, its contents may prove apocalyptic.
The crystal contained the knowledge for an entirely new, if theoretical type of summoning. An experimental means by which a singular person might chain a primal to their will without becoming tempered.
She strides across Horizon with single-minded focus. The summoning requires a ritual that would permanently bind a primal to its summoner. The chances of the thief being able to pawn the stone to someone that knew what it was were slim. Summoning was presently considered an insane practice, and insanely illegal as well. None within Eorzea's cities that weren't already tempered still wanted to practice summoning, nevermind know more of the subject. Not after the Calamity. If they were lucky, the thief was desperate and stupid, with no knowledge of what was being stolen, and would toss it in the deepest darkest hole they could find as soon as they read the memories inscribed within.
But if not...then they needed to be intercepted. According to Y'mhitra's missive, there was only one place she knew of that could be used for the one and only speculated ritual that had been within the crystal. One for Ifrit, as it so happens. Which means the location is near. They could stakeout the place, else find their thief in the act. There was still time.
"Oh, Y'shtola! You're back...early...Oh, bye," The receptionist greets as her colleague storms past her.
She pushes past the doors of Minfilia's office without knocking. Thancred and Urianger turn to her with startled expressions. Thancred begins to speak, but she doesn't give him the chance to start. "Scions. We have an emergency. A stone containing a method for a new kind of summoning has been stolen, and there's a chance it may be used immediately."
Everyone's burgeoning statements quiet, as they process this. They don't need long. The rogue, first, pushes off of his sister's desk. "...I'll see to tracking down our swords."
"Please do. They need not have the echo-our goal is to stop the summoning ere it starts." Thancred hums acknowledgement, leaving in a hurry.
"Knowest thou whom the perpetrators might be?"
"None, but I have a reasonable idea as to where. Nearby, south and east of Ul'dah. This ritual must be done at a specific place thank the twelve, and although it hasn't been performed prior, it in theory takes considerable time. We yet have a chance."
Minfilia speaks, head resting on balled hands, "The best way to interrupt the summoning if it's already begun when you arrive?"
"While we're not sure, we can *guess* that stealing or destroying the catalyst-a blue, geometric stone, reminiscent of a memory crystal-would render the ritual for naught. There's nothing to say what would come of the half-formed primal after this, but it would be better than it to become fully realized."
"...There are no unaccounted for crystals at present," Urianger says, contemplatively. "No sign a summoning t'would occur so soon. By what means could they manage..."
"This new method wouldn't require crystals, im afraid, should it work in practice as it does in theory."
Urianger's face is hidden, but his silence speaks for him.
"Well that's awful," Thancred says, him and three of their conspirators poking their heads into the office. "How much time do we have?"
"None," Y'shtola replies. "They could be there, else we should rush to be there first regardless, to set an ambush. We must Aetherite to Drybone and make the rest of the way on foot. I'll tell you what I know of the new method as we go, but if we get there after its' completion we'll be too late to do anything."
They depart-Thancred, Y'shtola, Yda, and three others that had been on-hand. Morale is low. But even after loss and loss and loss, the scions are tenacious, and not so much fools as to rely on the employ of cowards. The six of them are nervous and on-guard, but they keep upon their path.
- - -
When their body was weak the first time, as it's weak now, they suffered again and again and again. They can't. They can't. They refuse to follow that path rote, by a script. First objective: survive. To do that, they need to reclaim the effortless magic they'd engraved upon their aether a lifetime ago, and to that end stand ready in the sand to bind their Egi; or, so that's how it went the first time. The Egi they'd summoned first was pretty pathetic compared to the incarnations of Ifrit they'd summoned later. Ah, but their unpracticed low low aether reserves...
Well. Knowing what they know now, enough dynamis would be enough to summon the full primal in lieu of aether, wouldn't it?