The blizzard accompanying my return to Ishgard was no more welcoming than the one which cast me out. It’d been a year since I’d fled, abandoning everything I knew in search of a fresh adventure in Gridania. So far had I departed from the prim dinner parties, the services in Saint Reymanaund’s Cathedral, the slight cling of high Ishgardian collars against my throat that I no longer felt as though I was returning somewhere familiar. I was different, now. Cast out yet again, but stronger for it.
Ishgardian spires rose into a hazy gray sky, prickly as its denizens. I shuddered with cold as I passed through the gates. Haurchefant bade me welcome here under the care of his father, Count Edmont De Fortempts, and my Elezen appearance no doubt allowed me to seamlessly blend in. But that I was known here did not escape me. Some would have questions. And if asked, I would answer.
The Dragonsong War had cost Foundation so much. Dilapidated buildings at the city’s entrance crumbled. Smoke rose from the Brume in thick dark plumes. The separation of excessive wealth and dire poverty echoed stronger than ever in the eyes of the orphans who glared with our passing, dirty with soot and exhaustion.
Once welcomed by the Count my companions seated themselves to take tea by the fire and warm their bodies after the long journey from Camp Dragonhead. A lifetime in the cold afforded me less recovery time. Following yet another round of thanks I departed to investigate the city once more, Haurchefant’s inquiring eyes following me though he said nothing.
I headed up the long set of stairs leading up to the cathedral as I’d done so many times in the past, the bell tower and stained glass windows becoming more apparent the closer I drew. A beacon in the frigid snows, a symbol of Halone’s power and authority. As if anticipating my arrival, the bell struck, ringing out through the streets. Once, twice, eight times before silence descended once more.
Despite everything, for but a moment, I was a child again. Garbed in a holy rainbow dress, clutching my mother’s hand as my father laughed with Count Durendaire and reflected on the day’s sermon. Eager to play, to descend into the snow, to fire a bow or wield a lance like the enormous statues towering over the city below.
I breathed in the frozen air and let the snow melt against my cheeks.
Home. I was home.
[Bluebird Earrings please! Thanks for reading!]