Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
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I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
“Are you sure you won’t stay another day? I assure you, it is not a problem. You certainly don’t need to leave in the dead of night.” “I’ll be on my way. I’ve stayed long enough.” “I understand. The lands beyond this area are quite unkind. Please, do be careful.” “ … Thank you. For your hospitality. Give Abraham my regards.”
—
Auron departed the Fractured City under the cover of night. The temple had been kind enough to lend him a chocobo, a map, and supplies for survival out in the unknown. Though they had come around to his existence, the fact of the matter was – he did not belong there. He did not belong anywhere. He was a warrior with no battle to fight, a guardian with no one to protect. However, with the confirmation that others from Spira could potentially be just as lost in this world as he himself was, Auron felt compelled to take to the road to find them.
It gave him something to focus on, at least. A purpose, a drive. Suddenly being alive again certainly hadn’t been a part of his plan, and having completed his former goal left him feeling … empty. Confused. His mind clearer than it had been in a decade, but lost. If he could find someone he knew, perhaps a new goal would make itself clear. Auron, meanwhile, refused to let himself feel optimistic.
Which wasn’t too difficult. He spent over ten years drowning in his own pessimism. It was easy enough to step back into that pool of low expectation and sorrow, and let the buds of hope and optimism drown in the murky depths.
He couldn’t let himself have that hope. That if he had come back to life, maybe his friends had as well.
Fortunately or not, the adventure had been quite the distraction. The world was vastly different from Spira, of that there was no doubt. As Auron rode through the Fractured Plains, its lands now quiet after the recent ceremony, he saw all manner of fiends among the glowing fissures and wildflowers. What was truly odd, at least for him, was that the monsters of this world did not turn to pyreflies when they were killed. Their corpses littered the ground, rotting like a felled tree – forgotten.
The flat plains slowly transitioned into a more lush landscape with long grasses and tall trees. Auron stopped once, making camp before he got into the thick of the forest, recalling the warning he was given by Father Lior before departing the city. No matter which path he were to take, whether it was the marshlands or the woods, a harsh trial awaited him. Both trails were known to be quite deadly and dangerous, though of differing natures. He thought back to the memorials he had passed by earlier, having given them a solemn nod on his way through. This world was as cruel as any other, and survival was not guaranteed, no matter one’s experiences.
His venture continued on into the woods. The weather was tolerable, at the very least, and the activity of fiends seemed much less. Auron didn’t recognize the calls, squeaks and squawks coming through the trees, and as he turned to find the sources, his eye typically found nothing but empty branches. Opting to move quickly through the area rather than take in the sights, he nudged his rented chocobo onward with a light tap of his boot. There was something unnerving about the air around him, where everything seemed too still and yet brimming with activity.
So many strange sounds, but nothing to see other than trees and grass and flowers.
The road ahead darkened significantly as regular tall trees suddenly gave way to towering mushroom-like trees. The sun could no longer peek through, completely blotted out by the wide caps. The mushroom trees glowed, giving off an ethereal light, pulsing with just enough activity and light to let one still read a map. Auron nudged his sunglasses down on his nose, holding the map further from his face to try and get an idea of where exactly on the path he had strayed to –
– before a horrific screeching noise startled both him and the chocobo he was on. The bird squawked and reeled back in a panic, throwing Auron from its back as it ran, skittish and terrified. Auron hit the ground ungracefully hard, managing to twist himself and land on his side, rather than on his back, the wind knocked out of him. By the time he scrambled back to his feet the bird was too far, barely visible in the dim glow of the mushrooms. He attempted to call it back, taking a shaky breath to whistle, but the bird was too spooked and not loyal enough. “... Dammit,” Auron grumbled through grit teeth, glancing around him. Luckily, his effects had been thrown off the bird as well, so he wasn’t stranded with nothing. The warrior collected his bag from the ground, releasing a pained sigh through his nose as his left arm protested the movement. He’d have to live with the ache in his arm and ribs for now – at least it wasn’t his sword arm.
Travel time would be significantly longer without the bird, but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to traveling the world on foot anyway. His bag and sword secured, Auron set back off on the path on foot, ignoring the dull and persistent pain in his left side. The sooner he was out of the strange and mysterious forest, the better.
It felt like, with every step, more and more eyes were upon his back – though there were none to see.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
From towering peaks to stagnant swamps, the warrior of light seemed to be so cruelly tested by the powers that be. Although gaining moments of reprieve, they were that and nothing more— mere moments. But a soldier embraces these transitory windows and spare gratefulness aplenty. It could be their last. Now, Setro wasn’t the sort to dwell on doubts, nor the kind to let malaise settle in so comfortably. No, he perseveres, for his friends and the crystal and yet it’s the latter that haunts his mind as of late. Ever since his arrival to the realm of Isoria, the crystal has fallen silent.[break][break]
He has theorised a myriad possibilities, ranging from dimensional interference to a lack of an over looming threat that requires the likes of him. Whatever the case may be, without the crystal’s guidance, for the first time in a long time, Setro was alone. Without direction. Without comradery. Spirited away to a world with nary a reassurance that his comrades survived… Yet he soldiers on nonetheless.[break][break]
Travelling south from the marshlands, Setro was aided by both traveller and patrons alike, having been given a boon of resources to make it through the woods and to the intended destination; Provo. Of all the cities, Provo is where Outlanders frequent the most. With some hope, his luck will pay off once he gets there.[break][break]
Fate, however, had other plans for the warrior, as his arrival to these woods instilled a palpable sensation that he was being watched.[break][break]
The density of these woods only grew the further he traversed, yet anyone dwelling within would be assailed by the ever changing warmth and cold emanating throughout the forest. Thankfully, Setro kept his wits about him— his comrade who excelled in white magic once noted that fluctuations like such can cause dizziness, amongst other lesser things. So, from that recollection, the warrior surmised this erratic change could’ve very well been purposeful. Worse yet, the promise of debilitation could make one an easy prey for whatever threats lurk within.[break][break]
Though his sword hand remained to his side, Setro kept his shield close by. He figured that perhaps waltzing through the woods armed with his blade might incite provocation, a decision that until now seemed of sound mind to make. A good decision, as a piercing screech cut a swath through the forest, prompting the warrior to raise his shield out of reflex. But when pools of cerulean gaze into the thicket, there was naught to be gleaned. The end of these noises seemed to have yet reached its crescendo, for a loud and frightful squawk caused Setro to swiftly turn around. Was he to be beset by confusion with these noises? That answer was soon answered.[break][break]
From the dense silhouette beyond him came the hurried sounds of a frightened Chocobo, rushing past the warrior and careening yonder into the deep woods that lay just beyond him. Then came another moment, short in duration but a much needed one to gather his thoughts. ‘It is as if this forest is possessed.’ His breathing steadied as Setro pondered what could portend from that train of thought. But in that silence, a chuckle left his lips. Quick, quiet, savoured only by himself as he muttered, “It would seem adversity favours me a little too much as of late.”[break][break]
That interim left no sooner than it came once the sound of footsteps could be registered. Looking to the source of the sound, Setro kept his shield up, hiding the hand that began to coil around the grip of his sword as another silhouette began pushing through from the thicket of trees. What he saw was a man weathered by the same tribulations he so recently endured, yet seeming to favour one side over the other. Perhaps…[break][break]
“Excuse me,” said Setro, “— I don’t suppose the Chocobo that sped into the woods was yours?”[break][break]
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
With each step, it became apparent to Auron that the damage sustained from his fall was going to linger for quite some time. He thought briefly of the few curatives in his bag, but pushed the fleeting desire from his mind. A man became spoiled when traveling with those who specialized in white magic, soothing the aches and pains of their Guardians. His ribs were likely bruised, but it would heal naturally within a few days. Or, so he thought, but really his timing was nothing but guesstimates. A dead man’s body behaved differently from that of the living, and that came with advantages and disadvantages aplenty.
Searching in the dim light, Auron spotted what appeared to be the main path (or, at least, the most well traversed one) and pushed through the thicket of undergrowth to restart his venture through the strange, glowing mushroom-like trees. What he wasn’t expecting to see what another person, let alone one in such strange armor. The warrior’s right hand moved quickly to the handle of his blade, carefully observing the man with a narrowed eye for a moment to determine if he were friendly or fiendish.
“Excuse me — I don’t suppose the Chocobo that sped into the woods was yours?”
He seemed simply kind enough, but Auron kept his distance for the moment, experienced enough with highwaymen who played the friendly stranger bit to stay wary. His hand did inch away from the handle of his sword, however, as he glanced in the direction his chocobo had surely scurried off in. An annoying ache in his side throbbed, and Auron found the frustration leaking into his voice before he could stop his biting reply. “Couldn’t have bothered trying to stop it?”
He felt foolish nearly immediately for taking out his frustrations on this stranger. One glance at the man was all it would take to realize he was just as ill equipped to chase after a Chocobo as Auron himself was. His armor was not that of leather, but real metals, and likely quite heavy. Even seeing the gear on the bird that suggested it belonged to someone, he likely couldn’t have grabbed it unless it sped directly into him.
“I apologize,” Auron muttered quickly, giving a quick and respectful nod to the stranger, “That was rude. It was mine, though it was lent and loyal to another. I doubt it’ll return to me.”
Auron had yet to meet someone in this world that appeared normal by his eye, and this man was no exception. It was rare to see a full set of metal armor in Spira. Maybe, a thousand years ago, in the time of major machina production it may have been more common to see. However, in his time, most metalworks were reserved for structures and weapons, and the majority of armors were leather with only metal accents. He had no frame of reference for what the man could be, other than a warrior of some sort.
But, the man was apparently traveling alone, just as he himself was. Likely on a similar venture to leave this strange place as quickly as one could, considering the twisting paths and eerie nature of the trees and shadows surrounding them. Perhaps he would take pity on the stranger before him with the near obvious limp and now lack of chocobo, and offer up a suggestion on which way to go to find the closest city and leave this godforsaken forest.
Another strange, high pitched squeal echoed through the trees around them – the kind to stand a man’s hairs on end. The kind that sounded too similar to the cry of a woman or child, but just distorted enough to distinguish as something else entirely.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
Words born from anguish were followed swiftly by those seeking forgiveness. Admittedly, if this injury coincided with the Chocobo’s abrupt departure, the warrior wouldn’t fault the man. He couldn’t — more than just his body suffered a glancing blow, but perhaps his pride too. Setro knew better than to throw salt on the wound, much less rub it in. So rather than dwelling on it, the warrior turned the proverbial page with a simple yet unfazed reply of “Think nothing of it.” As he said this, he quietly eased his sword back into its sheath before lowering the hand altogether. Try as they might to impose caution, as it stands, they were both stranded in these woods with nary a visible way out.[break][break]
As they made their exchange, Setro sized the man up and down, noting the ludicrously large sword he seemed to carry with ease. This man saw conflict, of that there is no doubt, yet his attire and overall atmosphere were not of this realm, or so he’d healthily assume. Rather than tarry with his thoughts, the armour clad warrior would make an attempt to bridge what he suspected. To that end, he turned to properly face the other before stating, “It would seem we suffer the same predicament, though.”[break][break]
“I am Setro,” he said, surveying their surroundings whilst adding, “— I trekked through these woods to reach the nearby city, but this forest portends possible deceptions, the foremost being…” The warrior’s voice was drowned out by a shriek not unlike the last, yet pools of cerulean sharpen as he turns towards the perceived origin of such a ghastly howl and boldly stating, “That.”[break][break]
That wailing screech left an indelible atmosphere in its wake, the kind that would’ve left any lesser man racked with fear. Yet here he stood against it, an unwavering pillar with naught a hint of fear. Setro would not suffer this, and something told him the other warrior undoubtedly felt the same.[break][break]
“We are beset by this foul mimicry. Retreating would be the wisest choice.” No sooner than when the warrior voiced this, his head tipped forward, ever so slightly as he looked down to the floral menagerie laid out before them. His next comment, albeit a mite quieter, was a ponder more than anything else. “Yet we would expose others by doing nothing.”[break][break]
The moment Setro said that, his decision was set in stone.
[break][break]
Raising his head, the warrior turned back to his kin in the crimson garb, his face unblemished by doubt or fear and emboldened by selfless righteousness. “I will travel deeper into these woods. If you are of the same mind, I would welcome both company and steel. But if your concerns lie elsewhere, then I wish you well on your travels.” Setro was a straightforward soul whose words were never minced nor left up to interpretation. Truly, he wouldn’t judge the man should he value self-preservation… but the life of a warrior is seldom that.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The armored man, thankfully, took no offense to Auron’s initial snappy comment. He appeared quite impassive, not unlike Auron himself – the type not to take much to heart. The former Guardian did, however, catch the movement of the warrior lowering his hand away from the hilt of his weapon. He either quickly realized that Auron held no ill intent toward him, or he was rather confident despite the size and appearance of the large sword on the Guardian’s back.
The stranger gave a name, Setro, before explaining that he, too, was traveling through the forest in hopes of finding nearby civilization. The warrior had picked up on the forest’s deceptions as well, notably the horrific screeching that would send any normal person running for the hills. Auron sneered at the noise as it echoed off the trees once more, a grotesque, shrill sound pretending to be human.
The air seemed so much colder after the wailing stopped. Any lesser man would have his hairs standing on end, his pulse quickening, every instinct screaming to run. Though Auron was unaffected, even he couldn’t deny the most basic animal instinct in his gut that told him to run from a noise like that rather than toward it. A means of survival.
Auron took a breath, brow twitching as the ache in his rib turned sharp, and released it slowly. The sooner he left this horrid place, the better.
However, before he could suggest such a thing to Setro, the man spoke, mentioning also that retreating would be the better course of action. Auron quirked an eyebrow; silently agreeing that, indeed, it would be the wisest choice. Yet, Setro’s gaze turned toward the direction of the noise, and Auron’s dark eye followed it.
It would be the wise choice, the Guardian thought to himself, watching the gears turn in his fellow warrior’s mind, But you don’t seem the type to save your own skin. You wouldn’t be playing the role you’re dressed for if you were.
Sure as the sun rose with each day, Setro turned to look at him and announced his intentions to go forth, deeper into the woods, no doubt with every intention to find the creature making such a terrifying cry. Auron rolled his eye, turning and moving onward down the path that led further into the dark and disquiet. Setro’s words were much more … flowery than he was used to hearing, but they evoked a memory all the same.
Jecht, waving his arms around, shouting to attract the dangerous beast. Many years later, Tidus mimicking his father nearly to a T.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Auron echoed their words, though labored with exhaustion and humor as he gave the barest of smirks, “... That’s all you need to say.”
There was no shortage of strange noises on the path before them. In the darkness of the underbrush were surely eyes on the pair, though they couldn’t be seen. There was an endless rustling in the patches of tall grass, the wind sounding more like a quiet whisper. Auron’s heavy footfall hardly seemed to make a sound amongst all the other buzzing – many noises with nothing in sight.
Assuming the warrior to be close behind, Auron spoke over the muted, but incessant noise around them, “Call me Auron.”
The wailing returned, just as loud and terrible as before, but it had switched tonality. It now sounded like the deep torment of a man – the kind you expected to hear when he lost a wife or child. Yet again there was an edge to it, a haunting, spectral vibration that warned you that such screeching did not belong to that of a human being.
Auron turned his head slightly, listening as the screaming died down, his hand already itching for the handle of his sword. Though he was not fooled by the creature’s noise, it still ground on his nerves. “... It’s changing tune,” he commented in a mutter, “Trying to find what bothers us more.”
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
It’s the right thing to do — the remark had Setro crack a smile, small though it may be, because the man was indeed true to the mark. There wasn’t a need to do any sort of grand standing or something akin to it, either. They were warriors. Regardless of what guided their fates, it would stain their honour to elect inaction over doing what was right. This Auron was a man of honour and integrity, virtues that have already gained the warrior of light’s respect.[break][break]
“Well met, Auron.” The armoured knight offered a bow of his head in courtesy of the crimson garbed warrior. No sooner than when he tipped his crown, however, did the wailing resume its exasperating regiment, forcing Setro to look back and ponder. Why was its tone ever changing? Was it out of desperation to see if something stuck? Or was bravado their game and the echoed screams are the last vestiges of its prey? Most wouldn’t spare a second thought and trailblaze their way in to slay the creature, yet the warrior stayed that vengeful path. He would not blithely cut down a monster if it had sentience, worse yet, if it was merely looking after its kin.[break][break]
“Yet nothing is fleeing from the sound— our wayward Chocobo ran towards it, in fact.” Taken by the statement, the warrior gave pause before inevitably stating, “Grasping at straws will not avail us. We must steel ourselves and press onward.”[break][break]
Setro was resolute in his conviction. Whatever may come, be it beast or otherwise, he will cut it down in the name of the light. But he must remind himself that as stalwart as he is, Auron may not share that zealous outlook. No judgement, of course. The warrior just felt that a quiver of fear or hesitation will invite a crack in their armour, and the man in red has already suffered a glancing blow— wait.[break][break]
Just like that, the warrior’s body straightened up as if just remembering something. His gait was then altered into a slow pace towards Auron, whereupon he rummaged through the small satchel on his person and offered the man a potion. “Here,” Setro said, holding it betwixt the two before adding, “— it should help alleviate the pain. 𝙄 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩.” The latter part of his comment was accompanied by what looked like a smirk. For warriors such as them, that smirk was one of acknowledgement. Auron and Setro are men of honour and humility, oft times to a fault, even. To put it bluntly — Setro was politely denying Auron a chance to refuse this boon.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The iron-clad warrior did raise an interesting point. Nothing around them was fleeing from the terrifying call of whatever beast lay hidden in the grasses and branches of the intimidating, dark forest. Instead, all other manner of creature seemed perfectly content to continue on with its activities, scurrying underfoot or leering between leafage. Auron glanced along the dark path in thought, more keenly aware of the other sounds and movement around them than he already had been. Though the chocobo had been spooked, it too ran toward the screeching rather than away from it.
Perhaps it was a bewitching type of creature? Or something that the other animals and fiends of this area were simply used to. What sounded horrific to a human’s ears could always sound like a melody to the ears of others, after all.
Lost in thoughtful concentration, Auron nearly missed Setro’s approach. He glanced over his collar as the armored man searched through his satchel, procuring something foreign-yet-familiar in hand. Auron’s pace slowed to match Setro’s as he eyed the potion in the other’s hand, trying to navigate this verbal challenge to deny the gift. However, the armored man’s inflection on his insistence made it clear he would not give Auron the chance to refuse the offered gift. “... I’ll remember that,” the Guardian muttered instead, his own smirk hidden, graciously accepting his defeat in this contest of wills as he took the potion from Setro’s hand, “Thank you.”
Though the world was different, its healing items were similar enough. Potions left a strange medicinal taste on the tongue whether they were consumed by mouth or not, and a warmth that spread all the way through the fingertips. Upon his next breath, Auron no longer had the dull, annoying ache in his ribcage. He stashed away what was left of the container in his own travel bag, thankful to be free of the nagging pain that would have stayed with him for days to be relieved sooner rather than later.
The next call of the beast came, but the way the sound bounced around them was different than it had been before. Auron stopped abruptly, listening as the shrill screeching hung around them, louder than it was mere moments ago. When they began walking, the location of the fiend was clear based on the sound, but now it was less so. Where it sounded louder in one direction, a second later, it seemed louder in another.
“It’s on the move,” Auron weighed the options, his dark gaze turning to Setro, “Or it’s intending to throw us off its scent.”
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
“Then I shall draw its ire. Be ready.” In the same breath, cold steel scrapes against leather as Setro unsheathes his sword, with fingers coiling its handle in a tight and readied grip. With the twilight of his statement came a nod of assurance before the warrior turned and quickly paced himself a few steps ahead, well beyond Auron’s reach. If this creature were indeed a predator now turned prey, retreat would oft be aligned with self-preservation and often the alternative taken. But in some rare cases, the change of power or challenge of it might make whatever creature eluding them reveal itself, akin to a gorilla banging its chest in dominance. Which begs the question — how will Setro draw them out?[break][break]
To and fro do eyes sharpened with acuity and steeled by bravery dance, trying to find the pattern amidst the disarray of screeches. Auron was right, it was on the move, but its desperation left a trail, a pattern that Setro began to catch up on. With every piercing howl, the warrior projected a map in his mind; each bellow was close but not brazenly so. He’d estimate perhaps… the 3rd or 4th row of trees surrounding them was where it frequented.[break][break]
Could it be that the screeching doubled as a means to mask its movement amongst the trees? If that was the case, then it just meant Setro had to outpace it and anticipate where it may land next. Thankfully for patterns, once you memorise them, they’re shockingly easy to expose.[break][break]
Setro’s eyes shot to the left of them, his body stiffened and the grip of his shield tightened as he exclaimed, “There!” It was then that his plan went into motion. Reeling the hand that favoured his shield across his form, the warrior loosened it from his person and launched it to one of the trees at a devastating speed. What came next was a sound of both shock and impact as the creature in question broke from the silhouette of deception; a chameleon-like creature with Setro’s shield cratering into its neck — and all this transpired in the span of about three seconds.[break][break]
This should be the end of their distressing encounter… yet the coming moments only portend what’s to come. All their hypotheses fell flat within the seconds following the warrior of light’s gallant attempt to subdue their foe.[break][break]
No sooner than when the hit landed did the shield seem to whizz straight through their supposed adversary. Gritting his teeth, Setro’s shield spun back around and returned to his possession before he verbalised their ongoing malaise. “An illusion. Does it think us simple?” Reversing his gait, the blue garbed warrior backed up into Auron’s vicinity and quickly relayed their safest formation. “I fear the worst has yet befallen us, Auron. We must guard each other's backs.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Setro was ever the ready and prepared warrior, it seemed. He boldly stated that he would draw the enemy out, and Auron simply accepted the man’s nod as he moved forward with every intention of attracting their enemy. The Guardian allowed him to do so, keeping his own pace slow as he observed everything before them carefully. As he moved forward, keeping his steps far behind the knight’s, he shrugged the haori from his left shoulder and drew the large blade easily from his back with his right hand. For the time being, he kept it perched on his shoulder – ready to strike at a moment’s notice, but balanced so he could move quickly if necessary.
Before them, the forest was ever awash with life. Branches were jostled by wind and creature alike. The sounds of other tree dwellers mixed in with the false screeching of their hidden opponent. Setro was studying the land carefully for an answer, while Auron focused more on what directly surrounded them. Though they outnumbered, and possibly outclassed, their mystery creature, there was no guarantee that an attack wouldn’t come from another fiend or from some trickery involving the monster itself.
The knight located the source of the screams, and Auron observed as Setro flung his shield into the branches with devastating speed and accuracy. While the Guardian couldn’t see what became of the strike, he could clearly make out the sound of metal scraping against wood, and the frustration that crossed his companion’s face. An illusion, Setro proclaimed as he backtracked toward Auron. Auron stayed in place, but moved his body just enough that the knight would meet with his back as intended.
A creature that created illusions … While no such fiend existed on Spira – at least that he’d ever run into – Auron was familiar enough with seeing true illusions, as it were. Pyreflies often took on the form of strong memories, replaying scenes of others before the very eyes of the living. While the people the pyreflies took the forms of weren’t real, what they depicted was. Those ghosts were nothing but illusions, unable to physically harm, but certainly capable of mental and emotional harm, however unintentional it was.
“It’s capable of nothing but tricks,” Auron reasoned, his dark eye tracing each nearby shadow of the trees for movement, “Anything we’re to see is likely an illusionary fake. Only the real fiend should be capable of causing us harm.”
A coward’s tactic, something only a weak creature would conjure up. But to what end? Monsters were hardly mindless, despite what most would consider. What purpose would screeching like a maniac in an already near deserted forest accomplish? Before he could finish processing the thought, however, there was a sound of shuffling from nearby. Auron tightened the grip on his blade, looking over his left shoulder toward the source of the noise. It was coming from the brush just to Setro’s right. Auron opened his mouth to reissue his gruff reminder, but found himself stalling as an unfamiliar voice suddenly broke the still atmosphere.
“Setro…?”
A woman’s voice, quiet and shaky, but identifying the warrior by name. Auron turned just enough to set his gaze on the sight, an eyebrow furrowed in concentrated confusion. A young woman stumbled out of the brush, her red eyes wide, gaze locked in on the warrior. She was clad in a blue and white robe, though it had been torn, parts of it saturated in red. Her white gloves were stained with blood as well, one pressed against her side as she swayed on the spot, obviously weak and terribly injured. “You’re … finally here,” the girl spoke again, voice burdened with exhaustion, “Took you long enough…”.
With that, she began to fall.
And in the very same moment, Auron realized that the screaming had completely stopped.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
The screaming had stopped.[break] She’s fatally wounded.[break][break]
‘Aria…?’ Disbelief rattled his core, his eyes widened with shock and his mouth hung ajar from the inability to formulate anything cohesive. The white and blue of her liturgical raiment, profaned and smeared with her own blood. Auron’s words fell not on deaf ears, but this was different. Setro knew this woman. There’s no possible way the djinn could hold sway over his mind so intimately to portray this sordid tableau, yet every fibre of his being shouts at him— that is what fell on deaf ears. His heart sank into an unfathomable depth unbeknownst even to him as he witnessed someone dear to him debased to such butchery. Worse yet, he wasn’t there as her shield to stave off the unknown threats of Zephon. [break][break]
The screaming had stopped.[break] Where were you?
[break]
A struggle between his instinct and the sight he was forced to endure left his shield-hand lift albeit with a slight stammer of hesitation. “Aria… I…” The worry smeared across the usually cool countenance like wildfire. For a moment, the upheaval of what might’ve come to pass drowned him. Cerulean hues flutter him back to the now and one thought urged itself through the cesspool of doubt and remorse— save her. “Just hold on, I’ll…” in the span of his words, Setro gripped his sword as a warm glow emanated from the blade. As a paladin, he was awarded with a myriad of basic white magic spells, namely cura. Armed with this, he would hope to discard the looming threat that hung over Aria.[break][break]
But then, she began to fall.[break][break]
“Aria!” Lightning possessed the soles of his feet and pushed him forward in hopes he would prevent the fall from worsening her injuries. Setro’s heart roared with trepidation and thumped firmly against his chest-plate. Alas, he wasn’t quick enough to stave off the fall. Luckily the white mage fell to her hands and knees, but her breathing grew erratic, laboured, even. Since the days of their youth, she was always a fighter, ever defiant against the powers that be. It was this quality that managed to sustain her thus far. The dread in the warrior’s eyes in knowing that it can only sustain her for so long. None of this would’ve happened if he was there. None of this would’ve happened if he got here sooner.[break][break]
The screaming had stopped.[break] You didn’t protect her.
[break]
Heavy was the knee that sunk into the earth beneath them as Setro knelt beside Aria. The hum and glow of his sword were still vibrant, yet he was beset by his own failings. “Forgive me, Aria. I should have been here.” Somehow, the mage managed a small chuckle, as if to jest at his expense— a common exchange the two would have on their adventures. But in this moment, this slither of time between one moment and the next, it seemed as if the whole world drowned out into nothingness. It was just them two. Nothing mattered right now, save for her wellbeing. Auron, however, might have gleaned more than the paladin could, or rather, the wizened swordsman may have noticed something about Setro’s body he wasn’t aware of.[break][break]
Not once did Setro touch Aria. Even now, his body was vehemently struggling to stop him.[break][break]
Unaware of his surroundings, a miasmic vapour of magic hobbled behind Aria. It was the djinn. It thought itself nimble enough to harm the paladin and flee so that this game could meander on. From this portal, an arm ruptured forth, almost dwarfing Setro in size. Fattened digits curl and clench with a mighty fist as it ripped forward and attempted to strike at the warrior from the right. Though stout of body and formidable, an attack like this wouldn’t be so easily walked away from.[break][break]
But the djinn’s arrogance entranced him from the fact that the warrior of light wasn’t alone.
