Midnight had long passed, and were it any other night, Eithne could have reminisced on the deafening silence. She would have let her mind wander across those darkened inn rooms, through the halls, out onto the streets she’d wander, back when insomnia was a constant companion... But alas, tonight she had found herself accosted by Fray’s incessant chatting since the moon’s rising. Ever since she had accepted Fray’s hand a few nights ago, there had been no reprieve. Sleep had turned into an enemy, and though night’s shadows did not bring with them fear, they did bring something dreadful, a grief so violent that Eithne felt she might lose herself in it.

Thus, she felt that she had not slept a wink ever since, instead finding herself only able to doze deep within the offices of the Annex, alongside a certain M’iqote she had come to know quite well these past few weeks. It was only the song of quill on parchment, of leather against leather, that could lull her into peaceful slumber, G’raha’s quiet humming, at times more of a purr, often being the last thing she would hear before surrendering herself to a quick kip on a nearby chair. Were it not for his company, she’d have long gone mad, seeing as the moment she closed the door to her chambers, Fray would speak to her, filling the silence with her usual cantankerous banter.

“Finding your quarters too cold, Eithne? You must be regretting it, telling your little friend you’d try to brave the dark alone.”

Eithne remains still, her back against the headboard of her bed. Only her eyes trail across the room, until finally coming to rest upon some dark corner at the edge of her peripheral. In her hand sits a familiar gem, her thumb absentmindedly tracing the grooves of the insignia carved upon it. Fray’s words are barbed, but she cannot deny the truth in them. She had turned down G’raha’s company tonight, the shadows under his eyes now resembling her own. She had arrived in the Annex from her recent adventures to find his body curled over his desk, snoring softly, and she knew she could not burden him further. It had been she who decided to embark upon the dark path once more, and it was only she who could overcome this trial.

G’raha had yet to ask the questions she had been expecting of him, after that first night. He had said nary a word about the bloodied Job Crystal, of the sword more metal ingot than blade that was now propped up against the wall of her room, the constant nightmares. When she would prod him, he would simply smile, his clever words moving the subject to more comfortable topics, and that was that. She figures he must have searched his records, gleaned some sort of information regarding the path of the Dark Knight, and yet he did not press.

He had also come to stay with her most nights ever since then, filling the usual silence with warm laughter and copious amounts of tea. They would discuss his time on the First or in Mor Dhona, of the thesis that led him to earning his title of Archon. There were many things she didn’t understand, but what little she did grasp filled her with a sense of quiet wonder at the scale of the man sitting in front of her.

He spoke of dreams, ones he had held sacred in his breast for time immemorial, their flame a lighthouse, his knowledge the wind that wouldst carry him home. When he spoke, the flicker of candlelight showed myriad sides of him, from brash youth to wise Exarch, all coming together into G’raha Tia, the man she...

“First you resent the cold, and now you fear the flame that would warm you?” Again, Fray gives her no quarter, and Eithne lazily follows her voice to another far corner with her eyes, her body still motionless in its exhaustion. “A heart bleeds, a man weeps, a soul burns... you have come to know these words well, you know that you must submit!”

“When will you acknowledge it?! This yoke around our neck, do not pretend that you are not—!”

A gentle knock on the door is enough to silence her.

It is not difficult to imagine who is on the other side.

Slowly, Eithne shuffles towards the door, haphazardly stowing the Soul Crystal in some drawer nearby, and instead of Fray’s voice she hears another, smaller one, fading in the distance, you mustn’t leave the story unfinished...!

“A-Ah...!” She can scarcely see his expression once she opens the door, his head bowed as it was, as he fiddled with his hands in his nervousness. All she can see are his ears, now laying almost flat against his crimson locks, free from their usual arrangement. “I-I hope I am not i-intruding... I heard a strange voice! From your quarters, and... well, I-I became... a touch concerned...”

Eithne opens the door wider, giving him a clear view of her room, empty save for her. She had failed to consider it again, that her communion with Fray could be overheard, that their words could strike fear into those unaware. The situation gives her a sense of deja-vu, as she recalls a similar experience with Alphinaud, many moons ago...

“Oh, may I?” Before she knows it, he is making his way past her, despite his reservations. Although it had not been her intention, it is not unwelcomed, for try as she might’ve to convince herself otherwise, that he should rest, that she must go at it alone, she knows she would have invited him inside anyways.

“Forgive me, you had wished to spend the night alone, and yet here I am...” As she closes the door, her back to him, she can imagine his mannerisms: the way he was likely rubbing his wrists, his hands, as he fretted over his actions. She wishes she could be honest with them both.

“Do not worry, it seems I had grown overconfident.” Eithne answers, her voice quiet as she steadied her breathing. Turning to face him, she could not help but smile, her predictions more accurate than she had expected. “Seeing as sleep continues to elude me.”

She notes the droop of his shoulders as she says so, his eyebrows knitted together, the previous nervousness now wholly replaced with concern.

“I see...”

Silence begins to fill the space between them as Eithne moves towards the small kitchenette in the room, punctuated only by a quiet tap here, a small clink there, as she moves about; lighting the lamps, heating some water, setting out some cups. Eventually, she hears G’raha settling into a chair she had placed a cup in front of, and as she brings back a pot of tea, a feeling of nervousness creeps up her spine, as she sees the deep frown that had settled on his usual gentle features.

“Eithne.” She can hear the seriousness in his voice, its usual youthful buoyancy all but gone, and as she sits herself down opposite of him, she braces herself. “Do you know the source of your troubles?”

“Yes.”

She cannot tell what the shift in his expression means, but he looks down at his tea, hands curling around the cup, before she can see study it further. As if to steady himself, he takes a deep breath, and...

“Would you... be willing to accept my offer?”

He looks up at her as he speaks, his words slow and careful, and the eyes she had thought would be full of trepidation now flare with Allag’s royal flame, a bright crimson which would shine evermore even in the depths of oblivion.

“Would you share your burdens with me?”

She knows she must answer quickly, and that her words will be precious to him, but before she can speak she feels the vice grip around her heart tighten its hold. The same bindings that the darkness has been fighting against this whole time, the yoke—

We must push forward.

You must.

“...Yes.”

He smiles gently, and it is enough.

There is no great revelation, no tumultuous reckoning to give her life new meaning. Sidurgu had been right, just as Fray had been, and within the rubble of what she had once been lay all that she needs. Her soul is laid bare, and G’raha takes her hands in his. Once again the man bowed low and bade her to follow, and once again she rises from smoldering ruin to untouched splendor. There is silence, and then understanding, and in the scarlet fire of his eyes she finds her answer.

The nightmares never disappear, not completely, but a part of her wouldn’t them to, anyways. They are the wages she must pay, and she is sure to amass many more such debts, but such is her nature. The greatsword’s weight never gets lighter, the well-trodden path never any easier, but she knows she will never again face them alone. Within her, beside her, would burn a flame everlasting, and with its warmth and light she would enter the abyss, as many times as she must.

And it is enough.