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When G'raha went to sleep, he never expected to wake up to a world covered in ash and smoke, rather than the bright future filled with hope that he had envisioned. Biggs — not even the Biggs he knew, but his descendant; that was just how much time had passed — had been the one to solemnly recount the events that had transpired since G’raha had sealed himself away. He could scarcely believe his ears, but the world past the entrance of Garlond Ironworks’ workshop was more than enough proof that the Roegadyn was telling the truth.
G’raha’s heart dropped when he came to know the devastation that Black Rose had wreaked, to know that civilisation and society as he once knew had entirely collapsed, to know how cruelly its victims’ lives had been stolen from them. Not even the Warrior of Light himself was immune to Black Rose's effects, having perished when the Garlean Empire unleashed it upon the land.
It wasn’t the fact that Izulle was dead — foolish as he was, G’raha knew that the blue-haired Miqo’te would most likely have long since passed by the time G’raha awoke from his slumber inside the tower, even if some small part of him had hoped against hope that he would awaken before then. While adventurers often died young, the Warrior of Light was a figure that was bigger than life. Izulle should have been able to grow old and leave a long and lasting legacy behind him. Or at least, he should have gone out in a blaze of glory. Not like this.
Biggs had pressed a small pack into the shell-shocked Miqo’te’s arms, even as he stood there in a state of shock.
"His belongings are inside," the Roegadyn had said. "This was all we had been able to recover.”
G'raha didn’t answer him. He returned to his room — courtesy of the Ironworks — and sat there for ages, simply staring at the pack’s worn leather. At last, curiosity won out. G'raha sighed as he pulled the pack over and undid its clasps to sift through its contents. Inside was a hunting knife, still in its sheath. Its handle indicated that it had seen its fair share of use, but it was clear that its late owner took good care of it. There was a wooden whistle as well, along with a coin pouch, still half-filled with gil. Much to his surprise, though, there was also a journal and a small, wooden box. Curiosity gnawed at him at he stared at the two items, not knowing which to open first.
In the end, he decided on the box, a plain, unadorned thing. G'raha couldn't fathom what could be inside it, but he soon got his answer when he opened it. Inside was a wooden ring. Gingerly, he picked up the ring to inspect it. It was a rather simple ring, but it was clear that no small amount of craftsmanship and care went into it. The ring was made of wood, wrapped around twin silver bands with a streak of blue running between them. Some kind of crushed gemstone, perhaps? The lamp next to him further accentuated the radiance of the blue.
Something bubbled inside G’raha as he studied the ring, before hastily placing it back inside the box and closing it. This felt a bit too intimate, like he was invading Izulle’s privacy. He had an inkling as to what that ring was to Izulle, and he might be able to confirm his suspicions if he read Izulle’s journal. But now was not the time; G’raha feared that he would not be able to handle the truth, if it really was what he thought it to be. There were far more pressing matters to attend to, and it would not do for him to get distracted by old feelings now.
G’raha stowed the pack away, but he would take the ring and journal sequester them in a box that he kept by his bed. The box remained with him, even long after G’raha arrived on the First and assumed his new identity as the Crystal Exarch. Years may have passed since he first received them, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the contents of the box. Today, however, G'raha caved in. He wasn't sure why: perhaps it was the loneliness of being in a foreign land — although Novrandt had been his home for years now — with no one to confide in. Even the Archon marks on his neck had already been consumed by crystal. When he looked in the mirror, blue was all he could see, the crystal having slowly crept across his body, numbing it. Even he struggled to recognise himself at times of late.
The journal and ring called out to him, relics from the Source that still tethered him to his past.
Swallowing, G'raha gingerly opened the journal, handling the pages with extra care. They were yellow from age, but the writing on the pages was still legible. Most of the journal entries were brief, more akin to to-do lists at times. “Check on Alphinaud,” read one page, and on another was a checklist of adventuring supplies. The next page after that simply read “I think I should not have gotten eel pie from that new shop down the street.”
G’raha immediately burst into laughter at that journal entry, wondering what exactly about that eel pie had repulsed Izulle so. He knew the blue-haired Miqo’te was not usually one to be picky about his food. That eel pie had to be truly awful for him to even remark about it.
On the next page was a sketch that more closely resembled a bunch of different scribbles intertwined with each other. If it weren't for the labels sprinkled generously across the page, G’raha would not have recognised it as a simplified map of Mor Dhona. The sheer dreadfulness of Izulle’s map-making skills was enough to draw a laugh out of him. Nostalgia washed over G’raha as he ran a finger across the landmarks on the map.
He flipped through a few more pages, reading the entries written on them, but this particular one made him pause.
“I feel very much like an ignorant fool. Had I known that it is not Seeker of the Sun custom to offer to groom another’s tail, not unless they’re propositioning another, I would have exercised more caution. Little wonder G'raha had looked at me that way when I suggested it that night. He must have thought me overly forward, even when he accepted my offer!”
Heat rushed to G’raha’s face as memories of that night crashed over him. It had only been some days since they began working together to foray into the Crystal Tower. G'raha had returned to their shared tent, having finished washing up earlier. Izulle was already inside by the time G’raha entered the tent, checking the contents of his pack. But when he spotted the red-haired Miqo’te, he promptly held up a brush, a wide smile on his face as he offered to brush the Seeker’s tail.
G’raha had stared at Izulle then, his mind trying to process the Keeper’s words. Was Izulle interested in him... in that way? Was this a prelude to... sex?
Gods, G’raha distinctly remembered his mind working overtime, trying to discern the other man’s intentions through this innocent — or possibly less than innocent — gesture. Frantically, G’raha tried to remember the exact words he had said in response back then, but he drew a blank. He knew that he did accept the offer in the end, for he remembered taking a seat before the Keeper and feeling a brush gently run through the fur on his tail.
It actually felt... rather pleasant, if G’raha were to be honest. This was far nicer and more soothing than if he were to do it himself. No one had ever done this for him before.
Despite his misgivings, G’raha had secretly wanted that moment to continue forever. The lovely bliss of Izulle's brush running through the long fur of his tail, the melody of a tune that Izulle softly hummed, the hazy flickering of the lamp casting shadows everywhere inside their shared tent.
He must have dozed off after that, for the next thing he recalled after that was waking up to Izulle calling him for breakfast.
After that night, G’raha had wondered if Izulle would offer to brush his tail again. He was proven right when Izulle beamed at him while holding up his tail brush two nights later. This time, G’raha had no reservations as he took his place in front of the Keeper.
This routine of theirs continued for a little over two weeks, until Izulle came to G’raha with a blush burning brightly on his cheeks.
“I hadn't known!” Izulle had groaned, his ears drooping in a rare display of open embarrassment. “Keepers of the Moon often groom each other as a platonic bonding activity, so I thought that since we're both Miqo'te... I should have known that Seekers of the Sun do not necessarily share the same customs! I swear upon the Twelve that I didn't know that you would have thought that I... I was...”
Never had G’raha wanted the earth to swallow him whole so badly. To think that he had gotten so worked up over what turned out to be a purely platonic gesture due to a misunderstanding over customs!
Despite that embarrassing memory, he still craved the other man's gentle touch.
Pull yourself together, G’raha Tia.
He finally flipped to the next page, but this new entry made him stiffen.
“I will never see him again in this lifetime.
I am sorry I never told him until it was too late. These words will remain unsaid.”
It had been centuries since then, but G'raha could still clearly remember the day the doors of the Crystal Tower had closed behind him; this entry was written on that very day, according to the date scrawled in a corner of the page.
G'raha’s hands trembled as he read the entry over and over again. No, he must not get his hopes up. Izulle must have been talking about someone else. About something else altogether. He was simply seeing things that weren’t there. He flipped to the next page before he could dwell even further on that entry. This new journal entry was just another shopping list, seemingly for Tataru this time, according to the note at the bottom of the page.
G’raha continued to read through the rest of the journal. From whatever dates that Izulle had jotted down, this would have been around the time when Izulle had taken refuge in Ishgard. The red-haired Miqo’te eagerly read through every entry, even the to-do lists and miscellaneous scribbles that were supposed to be maps of the places that Izulle had visited. While G’raha had read Edmont de Fortemps’ Heavensward cover to cover countless times, it was still a memoir of the Warrior of Light’s feats in the Dragonsong War from the perspective of another. The book didn’t contain any of Izulle’s personal thoughts, or the smaller, inconsequential details of his journey. This particular entry after the end of the Dragonsong War, however, made him pause.
"Before our dinner was interrupted, Aymeric asked me what I wanted for myself. In all honesty, much has happened since I last pondered such a question — Miriam asked me as much before I began my studies in Gridania years ago. I remember she shook her head and told me to think about it again when I could not answer her.
I think I now have a better idea as to what I personally want, and I want to tell G'raha that I'm sorry for staying silent then.”
G’raha turned the page once again.
“Does he dream of me when he sleeps?”
G'raha clapped a hand over his mouth. He would not cry. He absolutely wouldn’t. To think that Izulle had felt the same way towards him! They were fools, the both of them.
He continued to flip through the pages, drinking in the words written there. The entries here would have been written during the liberation of Ala Mhigo and Doma. Another particular entry caught his eye.
“This is my first time making jewellery of any kind. It is different from what I am used to, and I have to admit that I have little experience with jewellery. However, I consider this ring to be a success as a first project. Urake and Sakyo from the Kogane Dori market have been kind enough to give me some pointers in ring-making. I shall see what I can further improve on."
G’raha recalled how he often saw Izulle absentmindedly whittling away at a small piece of wood whenever he was back at camp. Wooden dolls, spinning tops, whistles, and more, all to be given away to the children residing at Revenant's Toll whenever he made a stop there. It was a wonder to see Izulle's hands deftly transform a simple piece of wood into a work of art, and so casually at that — the Keeper sometimes looked half-distracted, staring into the distance as his hands worked.
Now that he thought about it, G’raha had never seen Izulle make any kind of jewellery. What exactly spurred the Keeper to learn ring-making in Kugane? The journal entries immediately after that yielded no answers to G’raha’s question, but there was yet another entry that made him pause several pages later.
“I have to admit that I have little experience when it comes to goldsmithing. However, I have narrowed my choices down to blue opal and lapis lazuli. I know how much he loves his blue, but I am unsure which would be better suited for this endeavour. Perhaps I should ask Tataru for a favour. I do not wish for him to know yet.”
G’raha flipped to the next entry again, wincing when he nearly crumpled the paper in his haste. There was no doubt about it; the gemstones from the previous written journal entry were for the ring that G’raha currently had in his possession. And though it wasn’t directly spelled out for him, G’raha had a sinking suspicion as to who that ring was for.
He continued to read through the journal. From the dates on the pages, these entries would have been written shortly before Black Rose was unleashed.
"At times like this, I wonder what the future holds. I never got to say goodbye when G’raha sealed himself away in the tower. Neither did I get a chance to tell him that I wanted a future together with him. If there is a tomorrow for me, then I promise that I will propose to Aymeric after this is said and done."
The pages after that were understandably empty. Gently, G’raha closed the journal. He knew he shouldn't feel this way over a man long since dead, shouldn't let this dark emotion overcome him. And yet, he couldn't help but envy Aymeric. Was it surprising that the lord commander of Ishgard wound up capturing the Warrior's heart in the end? Izulle had thought that he wouldn't see G’raha again. It was only natural that he would move on.
Having put the journal back inside its storage box, G’raha glanced at Izulle’s ring before slipping it onto his thumb. It would have been too large on his ring finger; it was sized for an Elezen rather than a Miqo'te, after all. But it fit his thumb perfectly. He examined the ring, holding it up before pressing a kiss to it. How pathetic of him, to wear an engagement ring that was meant for someone else. However, he couldn’t bring himself to stop this moment of indulgence.
Just let me pretend, please. Let me pretend that I am the man of his dreams, that I am the one he chose instead.
Who was he begging permission from? Even he had no idea.
When the spell succeeded and Izulle was on the First at last, the Exarch’s heart beat fast in his chest. He readied himself, pulling his hood securely over his head, making sure that his tail was still safely tucked away. But most of all, he made sure to take the ring off his thumb, threading it through a cord that he then tied around his neck and slipped under his robes. It would not do for Izulle to see his engagement ring hanging around a stranger’s neck, even if the blue-haired Miqo'te presumably never made the ring in this timeline.
Izulle regarded the Exarch with a guarded look when he ran to meet the Keeper outside of the Crystarium. There was no animosity in his gaze, but he clearly did not trust the Exarch, not just yet. The Keeper hardly looked any different from the day the Exarch sealed himself away. His hair was a little longer with even more flecks of white streaking through his blue locks, and he no longer sported the same blue tabard that the Exarch was familiar with. But otherwise, he was as how the Exarch remembered him.
The Exarch could barely stand to see the wariness in Izulle’s eyes, even as the other Miqo'te obediently followed him into the Crystarium. What had he been expecting anyway? For Izulle to once again gaze at him with that look of fond exasperation that he often reserved for G'raha? For Izulle to welcome him once again as a friend? Or perhaps for Izulle to smile at him, to cup his face, to pull him close—
The ring was heavy around the Exarch’s neck.