You are not the first to who has failed to wake the dreamer’s dream.
The shorewalker’s grief cannot be broken. Seven disasters have done their worst, yet the cycle persists.
It hit Ryanti hard as he thought about this. The culmination of memories from the past flooded his mind when he took those steps back away from the Sahagin Clutchfather. Mere moments before, his legs have struggled and his skull felt like it was going to implode due to the force that the Clutchfather had placed on the sides of his head, lifting him up like he was nothing, capturing him within his grasp like a helpless lamb and delivered him a lecture that ultimately proved him the ignorant one.
Ever since Ryanti was a child, he had borne witness to the suffering of others. In his youth days, he would watch outside of his window, lucky to be spared of any real hardship. Yet it was all he was ever able to witness within the city it seemed. It were those memories of witnessing refugees coughing up blood from some terminal disease they didn’t even know they had, or a grieving young lady burying an infant within the desert sun. Those memories were the hardest to forget. Ryanti was touched by these moments in life, and had grown up with a fire in his heart to try to fix this world. As naïve and ignorant as that seemed.
But he didn’t know there were seven. Seven. He didn’t know that the people he had painted within his mind to be nearly omnipotent in knowledge and wisdom, the once great people of the mighty Allagan Empire, had never realized their dream as a whole. As a people. That even they could not do what Ryanti had strived out to do. That even they fell victim to this seemingly inevitable cycle of chaos and destruction that mankind were just seemingly so inclined to do to themselves.
His heavy eyes glanced over at the Allagan key, still alive in a sense. Still operational and still coated with the presence of that residual aether that had clung to the device for countless millennia. He had wanted to tell their story to P’welro, because he felt like he owed not just her an explanation, but the entire crew. Yet… yet P’welro didn’t want to know, and despite Ryanti’s wishes, what she said was true. The world was not ready to know and accept that part of history, a forever that happened forever ago. They were not ready to, as the Clutchfather said, do good with it.
And it killed Ryanti on the inside. It killed him that he couldn’t tell her. It killed him that he could not explain to the rest of the crew just why they were doing what they were doing. Why it mattered so much. Why it could change the course of history for not just the nation of Eorzea, but the entire planet. He wanted to tell them why he had passion, and why they should have passion for it too. He wanted to be understood, and he wanted everyone to just understand. Just understand…
Ryanti placed the palm of his hand over his mouth, his eyes lowering to a half lidded position of grief, pain, and self-doubt. What the Clutchfather had said to him was a powerful message that would haunt him for a time coming. When P’welro had addressed him about the things the Captain would say, his mind briefly returned to Leura, and the idea of witnessing her corpse on a deathbed horrified him further. He took a little sniff through his nose as he tried to keep his composure. “Yeah… she would, wouldn’t she? I guess she would find my sight right now rather pathetic. Maybe she was right.â€
It was meant as a joke, but maybe it wasn’t conveyed like that. But Ryanti didn’t want that to keep him from supporting P’welro’s current state of mind. So despite his emotions, he placed a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, rubbed it back and forth a little, and held her briefly in a half embrace, speaking quietly to her. “I’m sorry, Welro. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you, can’t tell everyone, when I want to –so badly-.†He let go of her, taking a heavy breath and turning his attention to the key. “Clean yourself up. I want you to look lovely again.â€
With that, he slowly made his way over to the key, picking it up with the palm of his hand. It was still warm to the touch, and facing that feeling caused the train of thought in his head combined with his physical mood to go over the edge. P’welro could faintly hear Ryanti’s pained exhales. The young Hyqo’te clutched the key to his chest, shaking his head once or twice in a violent manner, feeling his soul was being ripped to shreds due to the realization the Clutchfather had given. “I don’t understand…†He murmured with a tearful, painful voice. “If the men of all eras… if even the mighty Allagans... could not even do it... w-what can I do? .., What can I ever do…â€
He had leaned himself against the guardrail of the Ganesha, clenching his teeth and losing his composure, hiccupping and closing his eyes in tears, the sunlight from the day not being able to reach him in his heart now as the young Veanysus gave into despair, clutching onto what had become the physical embodiment of his dreams for all people…
Now the burden of thousands was all on him, and he couldn’t even confide in others about it.
---
What quality of life is there for a young girl…
The Lalafell in question frowned a little bit. He had bared witness to her makeshift surgery. Vivid memories of his experiences as a battlefield were coming back to him. Despite having regained his healthy glow with his body and despite him being full of energy, the middle-aged man’s face was so contorted with a frown that one could easily spot every single wrinkle on his face, and his eyes looked as they were to break. The blood was still on his spectacles, along with the salt of the seawater stanching his complexion. He could hear the sounds of Jada vomiting bile, and blood was… everywhere.
This was one of the many reasons why he had taken up blood magic. He was tired, exhausted of seeing what would happen to the quality of young people’s lives after the trials and tribulations of war. He was sick and tired of witnessing men and women of all ages scream out at him in the middle of his work, screaming out that they had wanted to live, which ended up becoming their last dying breath, their last dying wish. He was sick and tired of witnessing mothers and husbands become widows, or to outlive their children. He had come to hate his own life. To hate the fact that he was chosen to stay behind the front lines and be spared from the carnage and these people weren’t. He had wanted to make more of a difference than any natural man could.
So in secret, he practiced blood magic. In secret, he numbed his brain from draining the life out of his enemies in horrific ways to empower his ability to save the men on his own side. All while sacrificing years of his life due to the toll it took on his body: his soul. He would certainly not live as long now if he hadn’t practiced it. Of course, one could not forget either that it killed his dreams to become a Doctor. A graduate of Sharlayan’s elite schools.
It was ironic then, that the last remaining thing he could do to keep Leura alive with a chance to recover, did not involve blood magic. “My staff.†He replied to Cwaenlona’s message about using aether to join the vessels together. “My staff. I need my staff. Anyone in here that can get me my staff – please do so. It is at the corner of the door.â€
The Lalafell looked on as several figured raced for the door. Leura looked deathly. Her breaths were weak, and her body was already preparing the final stages of death. She was ready to drown in that water she was tossed into.
“After I do this, this will make me practically useless.†Forty-three mentioned. “As I have to use the source of the power I have utilized as a Magi in order to save her. Please leave the incision open.â€
Upon taking the staff, the Lalafell marveled at its construction very briefly, a look of sadness and despondency upon his staff. “Oh, my dear friend. However many years have we traveled together and shared experiences with one another? Alas, we are both old, and unfortunately your life expectancy is shorter than mine. Alas, with you dies one of my only companions that could bare witness to telling my life’s tale, but perhaps that is for the best, as the things I have seen I do not wish on my worst enemy. So please, your life for hers. Give one that hasn’t a chance to truly live yet an opportunity to do so.â€
With that, he plucked the aetheric crystal out of the staff. Within moments, the staff began to dematerialize. From the bottom up little white lights emerged from the cane, as if a thousand phaeries were beginning their exodus towards the heavens, rendering the staff nonexistent as the tool faded away, leaving only the shining crystal of aether, imbued with the life force of making miracles, the kind that one would whisper to be the deeds of the great white healers of the long-passed Fifth Astral Era. “I need total silence please.†The lalafell requested.
He closed his eyes, and managed the palms of his small hands around the crystal. He began to rub his hands back and forth, as it figuratively crushing the pieces of crystal in his hands. A great light shone within, and the crystal began to simmer and boil down into bits of diamond dust that glowed with a powerful blue hue. The failed Doctor then sprinkled the powder of life into the wound of Leura’s.
The area itself began to glow a bright blue hue, illuminating the faces that were looking down upon it, including Forty-three’s own. His twitching hand removed his spectacles softly, lowering them to his side before dropping them onto the floor, preferring to glance at this work with his own eyes. The dust had sprinkled over her wound and melted inside of the very fabric of it, joining the end tips of the two veins and securing a bridge. Afterwords, Forty-three disengaged the clamps, and witnessed the blood from her head flow down that piece of vein and downward towards the rest of her body. Following on that, he also pulled Sounsyy’s donation tube out of her system as well. He held Leura’s cheeks with both hands softly. She was unmoving, but still breathing.
“Stitch her up. That is all we can do for now… if she survives the first hour it’ll… look better for her. Let’s… move her over to a better place. And I do –not- mean the lifestream. I just mean one of those cots.â€
---
When the Captain’s curtain was pulled, Jonathan and Forty-three were together in a corner of the room. Jonathan’s legs was all bandaged up, and two pieces of plank wood were tied to each side of his leg. His leg was broken, so it was apparent that he would be crippled for at least a few months. But to a man like Jonathan, his wounds were considered minor in his eye. He was already standing up, albeit with a crutch huddled underneath his armpit. He was engaging in a rapid conversation with Forty-three, and the Lalafell had a punch of papers on him, fiddling through them with expertise and writing things down rapidly as Jonathan was speaking.
The Captain could pick out a few bits of conversation. “He is going to have to go through with this alone, so it is important that we make sure that h-“ Jonathan was mumbling to Forty-threes yes’s and yes sir’s. It was apparent that they were talking about Seventy-seven: Ryanti. Forty-three’s power had left him with his staff, and he was only useful now as a helpful aide to Cwaenlona. Jonathan had been shot in the leg, and could barely walk without a crutch. Eighty-five was…
---
He too, was floating. But he was in no ocean. He could see the brilliant ceiling, and the familiar deep blue diamond-shaped lights that decorated it, along with the majestic and divine paintings of the sky itself littered with all of the glowing stars that were sometimes difficult to see at night… especially in the enormous towering cities...
He could see the water droplets sparkle in the light as he turned around. The perspective around him was unintelligible to him besides the ceiling. The rest of it was… blurry, and the doorway leading out of the room he was in shined with a blinding white light. A white light so blinding that is silhouetted the figure standing near the pool he was in, a figure that was sitting on the edge of the pool with feet in the water but nothing else. “I can’t…†He heard the figure say. It was a woman’s voice. A thought ran past his head, a thought that Ryanti believed wasn’t his, couldn’t be his. Could it?
It felt so wonderful here. So soothing. He raised up a hand to the dark figure… a beckoning, inviting hand that was palm up. Droplets of water slowly fell from his arm. He extended his fingers towards the dark figure. The voice that came out of his mouth were a combination of his voice and… someone else’s. “Come in. The water is fine… and if you were to fall underneath the water… I will pull you right back up. I promise.â€
I promise.
The aquamarine eyes of Ryanti Veanysus slowly but surely opened. His vision was a blur at first, and he didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. He was seated on a small stool, having rested his upper body upon an infirmary cot. His hair was sprawled about his scalp in a fluffy, clean sheen, having taken a bath as soon as he was allowed do during the process of sterilizing the deck.
He was wearing nothing now but a pair of tan trousers that were tied to his waist by a leather strand and ran down to his knees. He had his Sharlayan undershirt on him as well. The sleeves stopped at his shoulders and covered the center of his chest in a thin see-through fabric. Papers of scribbled down information were cluttered all around the bedside that he fell asleep on, and the pen he was using had escaped his hand in his slumber. He had been trying to be by Leura’s side as much as he could, all the while juggling all of the information the other two were feeding him and trying to comprehend everything. It all just shut down on him. His body shut down.
He still felt very tired as he eyed the two individuals that had walked into the room. His eyes focused on Sounsyy shortly afterwords, realizing that the arm that he had extended in the dream was extended upon the bed, lightly gripping the sheets. For a moment, he believed that Sounsyy was also part of the dream. With the manner of her dress and...
“Captain!†He quietly exclaimed, sitting himself up. His locks, which had been greased down before, were once again their pearly white selves. “Oh… “ He murmured to himself, a little taken aback by being caught in the middle of a paper clutter and… everything else. He turned his face away from her and stroked a bit of his locks back, feeling his cheeks were a bit hot.
Eighty-five was laying down back first in the infirmary cot. The side of her neck that contained the injury was heavily bandaged, and the disinfectant was liberally applied underneath her bandage, where her wound had been stitched up. She still looked very pale, and there were bags under her eyes of a slight crimson. A wet rag was resting upon her forehead. She looked very still, and for a moment it could have been believed that what Sounsyy was looking at was a corpse.
Until it took a breath. One very rough, tad unstable breath that had a bit of a wheezing sound to it. Her diaphragm slowly settled down, and forced itself to breathe once more. “She’s… she’s alive. Messed up and hasn’t woken up yet but … she’s alive.†Ryanti said with happiness and relief, turning to look at the Captain again. Ryanti himself had reddened cheeks, and it was impossible to tell if it was a blush from earlier, a result of his crying, or both as the afternoon wore on and forced him to shut down and sleep some.
He quietly stood himself up, noticeably allowing the papers around him to scatter, completely and utterly losing the willpower to keep track of them. He started to walk out of the room, but stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with the Captain. “Hey... umm... when you’re done, I’ll be out on the deck.†He murmured, eyeing the bandage on the Miqo’te elbow as he glanced downward at her. A gentle warm feeling passed through his stomach. She had donated blood.
“Please see me when you can.†And with that, the Sharlayan agent passed through the curtain.
---
The deck outside was tainted with the orange sky of dusk. The Roehmerl had pulled away from the Ganesha and the wreckage of the two Easterner ships, enough to give themselves a fair distance to be safe from the impending blast. They were to destroy whatever remained to make sure that the Garleans would never find out what became of the little scouting vessel they had sent to investigate the unknown. Ryanti had his back against the Mast that was still standing. He witnessed the gunshot fired at the cereleaum tanks that had been lined up on the deck of the ship. With an explosion of its own resources, the ship bent in half in a brilliant, fiery light to the cheers and claps of an exhausted crew. It was the glosest they got to a happy victory – seeing the enemy go up in smoke. But still, they were but one small ship far in the midst of the ocean blue, and the cleaning… the cleaning was to never end it seemed. Everyone was contributing to the cleaning. To try to break through the smell of war.
There was much repairing for the Roehmerl to be done. Everyone was so tired though. It was difficult. They may have to push the dive back even further. No one expected a fight of this caliber out here, and it was just hard. But at least they were not fighting anymore. At least they were not killing anymore. Leura had managed to live. Everyone moving around had managed to live. Ryanti had lived, but his thoughts were claimed by the inevitable encounter he was to have underneath the deep blue sea.
He heard the steps of the Captain approach him after long enough. Now she was in a bit more clothing, as if she was… ready to step outside. Ready to hear whatever Ryanti had to say. He was silent for a moment as the ambient noises of some of the crew around him allowed him a temporary peace of mind. For the thousandth time, he had wished that he was sailing with her for other reasons than business. Other reasons than war.
“I like the dust out at sea. It’s without the glare of the sun, and you still have enough light to see the horizon. The sky is also so beautiful, so orange.†He murmured to her, smiling a little bit through his soft expression as he allowed a salty breeze to wisp his locks around as they danced to it. He glanced to the side of him, taking a deep breath.
“We were supposed to dive today. It was supposed to be the four of us. Jonathan was supposed to lead the unit, and Forty-three was to support us with his magic. I was supposed to bring the knowledge of handling what we find, and Eighty-five was supposed to help everyone out with their duties.†He crossed his arms slowly, a melancholy sigh escaping his lips. “But that didn’t happen. We ran into an open war. Jonathan’s leg is broken. He can’t walk. Forty-three’s magic is gone because he destroyed his crystal. Eighty-five is clinging to life right now…â€
He took a few more breaths before finally glancing at her, his hair bending to the wind once more, blocking the features of his face at times. But Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes always shined through, locking onto the Captain’s after a long enough while. “I was briefed by my commanding officer this afternoon after everything settled down. We had agreed prior to boarding your ship that, with all intents and purposes, shall one of us still be standing right now then we would still green light the mission. So that means I will have to dive down to what lies underneath and… do it on my own. All by myself.â€
He seemed melancholy. There was a lot on his mind. The burden was very heavy. It was as if at any moment he could collapse under the weight that everything from today had placed on his heart. “The Clutchfather of the Sahagin told me that we are not the first to dream those dreams. That we are not the first who has tried to do this. Men and women from ages past, from all eras of time that we know about tried, and failed. Even they failed. I know I don’t have to explain. You can feel it. Feel it like I feel it. Feel what they dreamed and… what this mission means.†He solemnly placed his hand over a section of his trousers. It was the one suggestion he did not follow from P’welro. “I know I don’t have to explain what else the Clutchfather said to me.â€
His folded arms shifted a bit. His palms were on his elbows. He looked longing, as if he was trying to glance at the sea beyond its horizon. Beyond time. To try to see where his place was in this world, and what his purpose was. “I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to dive down into the belly of uncertainty… not knowing what I am going to face. I don’t want to find myself all alone. All alone in a deep, dark place all the way down there where no one can reach me. I don’t want to have to survive in the most forgotten corner of the realm in a place that I try so hard to understand all by myself.â€
“Sounsyy…†Ryanti said softly, his words filled with the emotion that had grown up along with him from the time he had met her on the bloodsands. That he tried so hard to keep bottled. “I want you to come with me.†He allowed it a moment to sink but he had a feeling that he was always supposed to have asked her to go. “I want you to come. You’re the only one besides my unit that has shared these dreams with me. I know they’re calling you along with me. I don’t know why it has to be us, and I never thought this would happen, but… if there is anyone on this planet that I would like to be there with me down there, it’s you. I know how strong you are, and how strong you make me when I’m around you. Not only that, but… I feel like you would be the only one that would understand right now.â€
He swallowed a welt in his throat. It was hard for him to ask her to do something like that. But it was what he wanted, what he needed. How it was meant to be. Another salty gust of wind lifted the young man’s hair as he extended a hand out to her, the sun setting underneath the horizon right behind him, the rays passing through his locks and bouncing off of his extended hand, palm up. “So will you come with me? … Can we do this together?â€
The shorewalker’s grief cannot be broken. Seven disasters have done their worst, yet the cycle persists.
It hit Ryanti hard as he thought about this. The culmination of memories from the past flooded his mind when he took those steps back away from the Sahagin Clutchfather. Mere moments before, his legs have struggled and his skull felt like it was going to implode due to the force that the Clutchfather had placed on the sides of his head, lifting him up like he was nothing, capturing him within his grasp like a helpless lamb and delivered him a lecture that ultimately proved him the ignorant one.
Ever since Ryanti was a child, he had borne witness to the suffering of others. In his youth days, he would watch outside of his window, lucky to be spared of any real hardship. Yet it was all he was ever able to witness within the city it seemed. It were those memories of witnessing refugees coughing up blood from some terminal disease they didn’t even know they had, or a grieving young lady burying an infant within the desert sun. Those memories were the hardest to forget. Ryanti was touched by these moments in life, and had grown up with a fire in his heart to try to fix this world. As naïve and ignorant as that seemed.
But he didn’t know there were seven. Seven. He didn’t know that the people he had painted within his mind to be nearly omnipotent in knowledge and wisdom, the once great people of the mighty Allagan Empire, had never realized their dream as a whole. As a people. That even they could not do what Ryanti had strived out to do. That even they fell victim to this seemingly inevitable cycle of chaos and destruction that mankind were just seemingly so inclined to do to themselves.
His heavy eyes glanced over at the Allagan key, still alive in a sense. Still operational and still coated with the presence of that residual aether that had clung to the device for countless millennia. He had wanted to tell their story to P’welro, because he felt like he owed not just her an explanation, but the entire crew. Yet… yet P’welro didn’t want to know, and despite Ryanti’s wishes, what she said was true. The world was not ready to know and accept that part of history, a forever that happened forever ago. They were not ready to, as the Clutchfather said, do good with it.
And it killed Ryanti on the inside. It killed him that he couldn’t tell her. It killed him that he could not explain to the rest of the crew just why they were doing what they were doing. Why it mattered so much. Why it could change the course of history for not just the nation of Eorzea, but the entire planet. He wanted to tell them why he had passion, and why they should have passion for it too. He wanted to be understood, and he wanted everyone to just understand. Just understand…
Ryanti placed the palm of his hand over his mouth, his eyes lowering to a half lidded position of grief, pain, and self-doubt. What the Clutchfather had said to him was a powerful message that would haunt him for a time coming. When P’welro had addressed him about the things the Captain would say, his mind briefly returned to Leura, and the idea of witnessing her corpse on a deathbed horrified him further. He took a little sniff through his nose as he tried to keep his composure. “Yeah… she would, wouldn’t she? I guess she would find my sight right now rather pathetic. Maybe she was right.â€
It was meant as a joke, but maybe it wasn’t conveyed like that. But Ryanti didn’t want that to keep him from supporting P’welro’s current state of mind. So despite his emotions, he placed a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, rubbed it back and forth a little, and held her briefly in a half embrace, speaking quietly to her. “I’m sorry, Welro. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you, can’t tell everyone, when I want to –so badly-.†He let go of her, taking a heavy breath and turning his attention to the key. “Clean yourself up. I want you to look lovely again.â€
With that, he slowly made his way over to the key, picking it up with the palm of his hand. It was still warm to the touch, and facing that feeling caused the train of thought in his head combined with his physical mood to go over the edge. P’welro could faintly hear Ryanti’s pained exhales. The young Hyqo’te clutched the key to his chest, shaking his head once or twice in a violent manner, feeling his soul was being ripped to shreds due to the realization the Clutchfather had given. “I don’t understand…†He murmured with a tearful, painful voice. “If the men of all eras… if even the mighty Allagans... could not even do it... w-what can I do? .., What can I ever do…â€
He had leaned himself against the guardrail of the Ganesha, clenching his teeth and losing his composure, hiccupping and closing his eyes in tears, the sunlight from the day not being able to reach him in his heart now as the young Veanysus gave into despair, clutching onto what had become the physical embodiment of his dreams for all people…
Now the burden of thousands was all on him, and he couldn’t even confide in others about it.
---
What quality of life is there for a young girl…
The Lalafell in question frowned a little bit. He had bared witness to her makeshift surgery. Vivid memories of his experiences as a battlefield were coming back to him. Despite having regained his healthy glow with his body and despite him being full of energy, the middle-aged man’s face was so contorted with a frown that one could easily spot every single wrinkle on his face, and his eyes looked as they were to break. The blood was still on his spectacles, along with the salt of the seawater stanching his complexion. He could hear the sounds of Jada vomiting bile, and blood was… everywhere.
This was one of the many reasons why he had taken up blood magic. He was tired, exhausted of seeing what would happen to the quality of young people’s lives after the trials and tribulations of war. He was sick and tired of witnessing men and women of all ages scream out at him in the middle of his work, screaming out that they had wanted to live, which ended up becoming their last dying breath, their last dying wish. He was sick and tired of witnessing mothers and husbands become widows, or to outlive their children. He had come to hate his own life. To hate the fact that he was chosen to stay behind the front lines and be spared from the carnage and these people weren’t. He had wanted to make more of a difference than any natural man could.
So in secret, he practiced blood magic. In secret, he numbed his brain from draining the life out of his enemies in horrific ways to empower his ability to save the men on his own side. All while sacrificing years of his life due to the toll it took on his body: his soul. He would certainly not live as long now if he hadn’t practiced it. Of course, one could not forget either that it killed his dreams to become a Doctor. A graduate of Sharlayan’s elite schools.
It was ironic then, that the last remaining thing he could do to keep Leura alive with a chance to recover, did not involve blood magic. “My staff.†He replied to Cwaenlona’s message about using aether to join the vessels together. “My staff. I need my staff. Anyone in here that can get me my staff – please do so. It is at the corner of the door.â€
The Lalafell looked on as several figured raced for the door. Leura looked deathly. Her breaths were weak, and her body was already preparing the final stages of death. She was ready to drown in that water she was tossed into.
“After I do this, this will make me practically useless.†Forty-three mentioned. “As I have to use the source of the power I have utilized as a Magi in order to save her. Please leave the incision open.â€
Upon taking the staff, the Lalafell marveled at its construction very briefly, a look of sadness and despondency upon his staff. “Oh, my dear friend. However many years have we traveled together and shared experiences with one another? Alas, we are both old, and unfortunately your life expectancy is shorter than mine. Alas, with you dies one of my only companions that could bare witness to telling my life’s tale, but perhaps that is for the best, as the things I have seen I do not wish on my worst enemy. So please, your life for hers. Give one that hasn’t a chance to truly live yet an opportunity to do so.â€
With that, he plucked the aetheric crystal out of the staff. Within moments, the staff began to dematerialize. From the bottom up little white lights emerged from the cane, as if a thousand phaeries were beginning their exodus towards the heavens, rendering the staff nonexistent as the tool faded away, leaving only the shining crystal of aether, imbued with the life force of making miracles, the kind that one would whisper to be the deeds of the great white healers of the long-passed Fifth Astral Era. “I need total silence please.†The lalafell requested.
He closed his eyes, and managed the palms of his small hands around the crystal. He began to rub his hands back and forth, as it figuratively crushing the pieces of crystal in his hands. A great light shone within, and the crystal began to simmer and boil down into bits of diamond dust that glowed with a powerful blue hue. The failed Doctor then sprinkled the powder of life into the wound of Leura’s.
The area itself began to glow a bright blue hue, illuminating the faces that were looking down upon it, including Forty-three’s own. His twitching hand removed his spectacles softly, lowering them to his side before dropping them onto the floor, preferring to glance at this work with his own eyes. The dust had sprinkled over her wound and melted inside of the very fabric of it, joining the end tips of the two veins and securing a bridge. Afterwords, Forty-three disengaged the clamps, and witnessed the blood from her head flow down that piece of vein and downward towards the rest of her body. Following on that, he also pulled Sounsyy’s donation tube out of her system as well. He held Leura’s cheeks with both hands softly. She was unmoving, but still breathing.
“Stitch her up. That is all we can do for now… if she survives the first hour it’ll… look better for her. Let’s… move her over to a better place. And I do –not- mean the lifestream. I just mean one of those cots.â€
---
When the Captain’s curtain was pulled, Jonathan and Forty-three were together in a corner of the room. Jonathan’s legs was all bandaged up, and two pieces of plank wood were tied to each side of his leg. His leg was broken, so it was apparent that he would be crippled for at least a few months. But to a man like Jonathan, his wounds were considered minor in his eye. He was already standing up, albeit with a crutch huddled underneath his armpit. He was engaging in a rapid conversation with Forty-three, and the Lalafell had a punch of papers on him, fiddling through them with expertise and writing things down rapidly as Jonathan was speaking.
The Captain could pick out a few bits of conversation. “He is going to have to go through with this alone, so it is important that we make sure that h-“ Jonathan was mumbling to Forty-threes yes’s and yes sir’s. It was apparent that they were talking about Seventy-seven: Ryanti. Forty-three’s power had left him with his staff, and he was only useful now as a helpful aide to Cwaenlona. Jonathan had been shot in the leg, and could barely walk without a crutch. Eighty-five was…
---
He too, was floating. But he was in no ocean. He could see the brilliant ceiling, and the familiar deep blue diamond-shaped lights that decorated it, along with the majestic and divine paintings of the sky itself littered with all of the glowing stars that were sometimes difficult to see at night… especially in the enormous towering cities...
He could see the water droplets sparkle in the light as he turned around. The perspective around him was unintelligible to him besides the ceiling. The rest of it was… blurry, and the doorway leading out of the room he was in shined with a blinding white light. A white light so blinding that is silhouetted the figure standing near the pool he was in, a figure that was sitting on the edge of the pool with feet in the water but nothing else. “I can’t…†He heard the figure say. It was a woman’s voice. A thought ran past his head, a thought that Ryanti believed wasn’t his, couldn’t be his. Could it?
It felt so wonderful here. So soothing. He raised up a hand to the dark figure… a beckoning, inviting hand that was palm up. Droplets of water slowly fell from his arm. He extended his fingers towards the dark figure. The voice that came out of his mouth were a combination of his voice and… someone else’s. “Come in. The water is fine… and if you were to fall underneath the water… I will pull you right back up. I promise.â€
I promise.
The aquamarine eyes of Ryanti Veanysus slowly but surely opened. His vision was a blur at first, and he didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. He was seated on a small stool, having rested his upper body upon an infirmary cot. His hair was sprawled about his scalp in a fluffy, clean sheen, having taken a bath as soon as he was allowed do during the process of sterilizing the deck.
He was wearing nothing now but a pair of tan trousers that were tied to his waist by a leather strand and ran down to his knees. He had his Sharlayan undershirt on him as well. The sleeves stopped at his shoulders and covered the center of his chest in a thin see-through fabric. Papers of scribbled down information were cluttered all around the bedside that he fell asleep on, and the pen he was using had escaped his hand in his slumber. He had been trying to be by Leura’s side as much as he could, all the while juggling all of the information the other two were feeding him and trying to comprehend everything. It all just shut down on him. His body shut down.
He still felt very tired as he eyed the two individuals that had walked into the room. His eyes focused on Sounsyy shortly afterwords, realizing that the arm that he had extended in the dream was extended upon the bed, lightly gripping the sheets. For a moment, he believed that Sounsyy was also part of the dream. With the manner of her dress and...
“Captain!†He quietly exclaimed, sitting himself up. His locks, which had been greased down before, were once again their pearly white selves. “Oh… “ He murmured to himself, a little taken aback by being caught in the middle of a paper clutter and… everything else. He turned his face away from her and stroked a bit of his locks back, feeling his cheeks were a bit hot.
Eighty-five was laying down back first in the infirmary cot. The side of her neck that contained the injury was heavily bandaged, and the disinfectant was liberally applied underneath her bandage, where her wound had been stitched up. She still looked very pale, and there were bags under her eyes of a slight crimson. A wet rag was resting upon her forehead. She looked very still, and for a moment it could have been believed that what Sounsyy was looking at was a corpse.
Until it took a breath. One very rough, tad unstable breath that had a bit of a wheezing sound to it. Her diaphragm slowly settled down, and forced itself to breathe once more. “She’s… she’s alive. Messed up and hasn’t woken up yet but … she’s alive.†Ryanti said with happiness and relief, turning to look at the Captain again. Ryanti himself had reddened cheeks, and it was impossible to tell if it was a blush from earlier, a result of his crying, or both as the afternoon wore on and forced him to shut down and sleep some.
He quietly stood himself up, noticeably allowing the papers around him to scatter, completely and utterly losing the willpower to keep track of them. He started to walk out of the room, but stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with the Captain. “Hey... umm... when you’re done, I’ll be out on the deck.†He murmured, eyeing the bandage on the Miqo’te elbow as he glanced downward at her. A gentle warm feeling passed through his stomach. She had donated blood.
“Please see me when you can.†And with that, the Sharlayan agent passed through the curtain.
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The deck outside was tainted with the orange sky of dusk. The Roehmerl had pulled away from the Ganesha and the wreckage of the two Easterner ships, enough to give themselves a fair distance to be safe from the impending blast. They were to destroy whatever remained to make sure that the Garleans would never find out what became of the little scouting vessel they had sent to investigate the unknown. Ryanti had his back against the Mast that was still standing. He witnessed the gunshot fired at the cereleaum tanks that had been lined up on the deck of the ship. With an explosion of its own resources, the ship bent in half in a brilliant, fiery light to the cheers and claps of an exhausted crew. It was the glosest they got to a happy victory – seeing the enemy go up in smoke. But still, they were but one small ship far in the midst of the ocean blue, and the cleaning… the cleaning was to never end it seemed. Everyone was contributing to the cleaning. To try to break through the smell of war.
There was much repairing for the Roehmerl to be done. Everyone was so tired though. It was difficult. They may have to push the dive back even further. No one expected a fight of this caliber out here, and it was just hard. But at least they were not fighting anymore. At least they were not killing anymore. Leura had managed to live. Everyone moving around had managed to live. Ryanti had lived, but his thoughts were claimed by the inevitable encounter he was to have underneath the deep blue sea.
He heard the steps of the Captain approach him after long enough. Now she was in a bit more clothing, as if she was… ready to step outside. Ready to hear whatever Ryanti had to say. He was silent for a moment as the ambient noises of some of the crew around him allowed him a temporary peace of mind. For the thousandth time, he had wished that he was sailing with her for other reasons than business. Other reasons than war.
“I like the dust out at sea. It’s without the glare of the sun, and you still have enough light to see the horizon. The sky is also so beautiful, so orange.†He murmured to her, smiling a little bit through his soft expression as he allowed a salty breeze to wisp his locks around as they danced to it. He glanced to the side of him, taking a deep breath.
“We were supposed to dive today. It was supposed to be the four of us. Jonathan was supposed to lead the unit, and Forty-three was to support us with his magic. I was supposed to bring the knowledge of handling what we find, and Eighty-five was supposed to help everyone out with their duties.†He crossed his arms slowly, a melancholy sigh escaping his lips. “But that didn’t happen. We ran into an open war. Jonathan’s leg is broken. He can’t walk. Forty-three’s magic is gone because he destroyed his crystal. Eighty-five is clinging to life right now…â€
He took a few more breaths before finally glancing at her, his hair bending to the wind once more, blocking the features of his face at times. But Ryanti’s aquamarine eyes always shined through, locking onto the Captain’s after a long enough while. “I was briefed by my commanding officer this afternoon after everything settled down. We had agreed prior to boarding your ship that, with all intents and purposes, shall one of us still be standing right now then we would still green light the mission. So that means I will have to dive down to what lies underneath and… do it on my own. All by myself.â€
He seemed melancholy. There was a lot on his mind. The burden was very heavy. It was as if at any moment he could collapse under the weight that everything from today had placed on his heart. “The Clutchfather of the Sahagin told me that we are not the first to dream those dreams. That we are not the first who has tried to do this. Men and women from ages past, from all eras of time that we know about tried, and failed. Even they failed. I know I don’t have to explain. You can feel it. Feel it like I feel it. Feel what they dreamed and… what this mission means.†He solemnly placed his hand over a section of his trousers. It was the one suggestion he did not follow from P’welro. “I know I don’t have to explain what else the Clutchfather said to me.â€
His folded arms shifted a bit. His palms were on his elbows. He looked longing, as if he was trying to glance at the sea beyond its horizon. Beyond time. To try to see where his place was in this world, and what his purpose was. “I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to dive down into the belly of uncertainty… not knowing what I am going to face. I don’t want to find myself all alone. All alone in a deep, dark place all the way down there where no one can reach me. I don’t want to have to survive in the most forgotten corner of the realm in a place that I try so hard to understand all by myself.â€
“Sounsyy…†Ryanti said softly, his words filled with the emotion that had grown up along with him from the time he had met her on the bloodsands. That he tried so hard to keep bottled. “I want you to come with me.†He allowed it a moment to sink but he had a feeling that he was always supposed to have asked her to go. “I want you to come. You’re the only one besides my unit that has shared these dreams with me. I know they’re calling you along with me. I don’t know why it has to be us, and I never thought this would happen, but… if there is anyone on this planet that I would like to be there with me down there, it’s you. I know how strong you are, and how strong you make me when I’m around you. Not only that, but… I feel like you would be the only one that would understand right now.â€
He swallowed a welt in his throat. It was hard for him to ask her to do something like that. But it was what he wanted, what he needed. How it was meant to be. Another salty gust of wind lifted the young man’s hair as he extended a hand out to her, the sun setting underneath the horizon right behind him, the rays passing through his locks and bouncing off of his extended hand, palm up. “So will you come with me? … Can we do this together?â€