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Dion was no stranger to bedrest. He was no stranger to the work of physickers and those Bearers who wielded their healing magicks. He was no stranger to bloodshed and injury and pain, and yet, the weeks which followed his delivery to Yuna’s clinic were more agonizing than any other he had experienced in his life.

He had much to ponder within the confines of his sick room. Yuna and her staff had worked miracles upon his body, and yet, every part of him ached as the lingering effects of their magic and their potions worked to strengthen the bones he had broken. They checked in regularly in their kindness, but for the most part, he was left largely alone to his thoughts.

In his childhood, he had been attended at all times by the palace staff when he had fallen ill, interspersed with irregular visits from Father when he had the time between his meetings. When recovering from injury on the warfront, Terence had hovered ever by his side, only taking his reluctant leave when his service as a dragoon demanded it. He’d known better than to leave Dion to his thoughts. Now, his thoughts ran rampant.

How was this possible?

At first, he had thought that perhaps Greagor had spared him for his sacrifice, whisking him away to safety across the bounds of worlds rather than let him face inevitable death. This theory was easily dismissed, however. Here, in this strange place, a foreign land of which he knew nothing, he could not fulfill his role as a champion of Her will. He had also considered that it might be a ploy by Ultima, but this theory was likewise absurd. Ultima’s power had sent him falling to his death. That false god had wished to cleanse all of humanity. It would not spare him.

What, then, was the meaning of this? And what was Dion’s driving purpose now?

The question lingered every morning and every night, as he lay in bed with his back propped against a mountain of pillows so that he would not strain his injuries further. Even as he was given leave to walk on his own but not to wander far, the question was ever on his mind. He had taken to exploring the clinic in search of books to occupy his time after carefully dressing himself for the morning, leaving his heavy chain linked armor behind. He would often sit beside the lobby window, examining some medical text or another until his mind began to wander and he would watch the streets of this foreign city, its people passing by in their strange clothes with their strange accents and their strange ideas.

How was this possible?

And what was he to do now, alone, once his wounds had fully healed?

His questions were partially answered one bright summer morning as the bell at the door clanged to announce a visitor, and said visitor’s voice announced herself. He ignored her at first as he stood leaning against a wall, catching his breath as his fatigue overcame him on a short walk from his usual place by the window towards Yuna’s collection of medical texts. Yuna had employed a woman to work the front desk and handle calls such as this, it wasn’t until the visitor’s call turned to address him directly that he remembered that the woman at the front desk (Kaito, he believed to be her name) had taken leave that day which left him in a rather awkward position.

He started to turn, words ready at his lips that while he was not employed at the clinic, he would be happy to take a letter on Yuna’s behalf, but the girl was faster, peering around him as he turned until their eyes met.

His widened. ”You?” he asked, more an exclamation than a question as the young Telamon girl gasped in her surprise and shouted his name.

He’d hardly had a moment to process this new development before she’d thrown herself at him, arms wrapped tightly around his chest, and he gasped again, wincing as the ache of his still-healing ribs turned to sharp pain. He tried to take a reflexive step back, but her grip held him in place until, at long last, she released him. Dion tried for a weak smile back at her, still uncertain what to make of it all, an endeavor unhelped by the protests of his injuries.

Captain Mid? Daughter of the former Lord Commander Telamon? To say that he had not expected his particular reunion would have been an understatement.

Nor would he have ever expected her reaction.

She looked up at him, half-beaming through the haze of her barely contained tears. Her concern startled him. Had she truly worried so for his life? The denizens of Ifrit’s Hideaway had treated him with polite courtesy, but he could never have imagined that any would mourn his passing once he had left to face Ultima. Yet here was indisputable proof from a girl he had interacted with only in passing and on the deck of her miraculous ship, The Enterprise.

It left him truly touched.

His smile turned more genuine, softer, as he beheld her. ”There was no need to worry on my behalf,” he assured her before adding, ”Though perhaps you should refrain from showing your concern in an embrace. Healer Yuna is skilled in her work, but my injuries are far from recovery.”

There was a hint of humor to his voice, one he rarely used. He could not help a certain fondness for the girl, no matter that she was hardly more than a stranger.

Captain Mid was a prodigy in engineering. She was full of life and passion for her work, made all the more evident by the ship of her own design which, somehow, had no need for the wind. He could not help but respect that level of talent, and in one so young…

It did not surprise him that she had theories that she could hardly keep to herself. Even if he frowned at her prospects of raising the dead, he knew she would not take his concerns over the morality of such a thing into account.

He did not understand her meaning, but he was happy to tell his story should it be asked of him.

”I can’t rightfully say,” he said with a short shake of his head. ”I successfully channeled Bahamut’s power and carried the Rosfields towards Origin. The place was sealed like a fortress with Ultima’s thralls guarding the skies, but I was able to break through its walls, and we found Ultima waiting inside.”

Waiting. Anticipating. The memory did not sit well with him, and yet it would not do to keep silent of it.

”The brothers primed, and we fought as one, but our attacks were nothing in the face of a god. Though we battled valiantly, Ultima shattered Ifrit’s Eikon, and then threatened death upon us all. I urged the Phoenix to tend to his brother as I alone held back Ultima’s attack. Bahamut’s power was able to deflect it from the Rosfields, but my Eikon was destroyed in the process, and my wounds were many. The last I remember, I was falling from an infinitesimal height, and then my consciousness left me.”

His eyebrows furrowed at the memory. So certain he had been that there was nothing left for him but death. He had considered his debts paid, and he had left the fate of Valisthea in the hands of the Rosfield brothers, as it had ever belonged. He had paid for his bloodshed in sacrifice, and finally, he could rest.

But that was not the end of his story.

”I was found by a traveling band of merchants, my body broken but still alive. They brought me here, to Healer Yuna’s clinic, and her magic spared my life.” He closed his eyes, recounting the details of those first few, terrible days. ”She said that my injuries were consistent with a fall from a great height. It nearly broke every bone in my body.”

He looked back at Captain Mid. ”That, unfortunately, is all that I know,” he said. His brow furrowed. ”But tell me. What became of Valisthea? Of Ultima? Were they able to end his scheming?”

Or had his sacrifice been in vain? His stomach turned at the thought. ”I must know.”

[attr=class,ooc-notes]This is pretty cute, actually

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Dion couldn’t help a short and slightly uncomfortable laugh at Mid’s comment about her father’s pride. It was clear from her tone that she was joking with him, but there could be no doubt to its truth. He had no doubts that Lord Cidolfus Telamon would be quite proud indeed that his daughter had managed a blow against Prince Dion Lesage of the Holy Empire of Sanbreque, Warden of Light. He and Ramuh had come to blows before, after all, and it had not ended well for the Waloedean rebel.

Though as to the matter of his injuries…

”Priming takes a great deal of aether,” he answered. ”It’s true that an Eikon’s power can restore the body including the regrowth of limbs, but more often the opposite is true. Every Prime floods a Dominant with more aether than any human was meant to wield. It greatly hastens the spread of the Curse.”

Subconsciously, Dion touched his right arm. That touch, light as it was, caused a tinge of pain and irritation across the limestone patch of skin hidden beneath shirt sleeves and gloves and bandages. It was the only wound that Yuna’s magic had been unable to mend. He had instructed her on its proper care. Anesthetic salves for the pain. Hydrating salves for the irritation of the surrounding skin. Tight bandaging to keep the medication in place. His condition was not one which could ever be cured.

Something of Dion’s story seemed to set Mid’s thoughts in motion. Dion listened patiently as she spoke, not wanting to interrupt even as question after question built on top of each other and his confusion mounted. Still, he could not help a sincere look of regret as she slapped his arm and playfully scolded him for not providing her with more answers.

”My apologies,” he responded. He wished there was more that he could offer, perhaps a detail he had missed in the midst of it all, but there was nothing. He had fallen to Ultima too quickly for that. What came next, he couldn’t guess.

Except…

”Ifrit? He still lives?” For the first time since his awakening, hope fluttered in his chest. ”And Ultima has been defeated? You are certain?” His heart pounded with the news. Fear and relief mixed uncomfortably within him, bringing forth the sensation of light which had, since his birth, made a home for itself in his body. Dion quickly dampened his emotions before they could grow beyond his control.

Her theories had prompted many questions which Dion would have time to ponder when he was once again alone. For now, this was all that mattered. Ifrit had survived. He had struck down Ultima and banished Origin once more. Valisthea was…

His eyes darkened. As she spoke of this new world, unafflicted by Blight or war where some, but not all, may have found their way, Dion could think only of Valisthea. Even if she spoke truth, Ultima had been only the greatest threat of many. The Blight, aetherfloods, Akhashic, chaos. He did not want to consider the state of the realm they had left behind. He did not want to, but he knew that he must. As a prince of Sanbreque, as the Warden of Light, as commander of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon, he had a responsibility for the safety of Valisthea and its people. He could not share in Mid’s joy that the two of them, at least, had been spared.

”I must speak with Ifrit,” he said, his own conviction apparent. ”He is the only witness to the final events at Origin. Though I doubt he will grant me as warm a welcome as you claim.”

If anyone would understand Dion’s sense of urgency, it would be Lord Clive Rosfield. He may have abdicated his station in Rosaria, but he had taken on just as great a responsibility in service of his own cause. Dion could not imagine the rebel leader who had taken Cidolfus’ name and legacy as content to leave Valisthea to its fate.

”I have healed enough for travel so long as we do not go by foot. I must hear these events from his mouth. Perhaps, if we all gather our knowledge as one, we will begin to make sense of this.”

[attr=class,ooc-notes]My boy is straight to the point