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Slipping in unnoticed was a simple affair, considering the sheer amount of people attending this year’s Grand Ball. Well, Emet-Selch supposed the ability to teleport at will also helped, but he preferred to chalk it up to his ability to blend in when he truly willed it. He was very much at home at a masked ball, after all, considering his previous stint as the Garlean Emperor. He had more than earned a break until the next—well, whatever it was these fragmented creatures considered to be a generation—and he was within his rights to decide how to spend it.
His costume had been easy to pull together. He simply recreated the jet black coat with white fur trim he had quite enjoyed during his younger days as Solus. A black cravat with a garnet and gold pin completed the look and a pair of white gloves only added to it.
Emet-Selch smirked at his reflection in the mirror. One or two adjustments still had to be made to his appearance before he joined the ball proper. The damnable white streak in his vessel’s hair, for example, set him apart and combined with the Garlean third eye, well… his discovery would make the party more lively, at the very least, but he wanted to enjoy the night.
He ran a gloved hand through his hair, turning the rest of it white. A tug on the upper tips of his ears lengthened them into points. A decisive swipe over the protrusion on his forehead sent a shiver down his spine before it receded into his head.
Emet-Selch admired his work in the mirror, twisting his head from side to side. Finally satisfied that he resembled the Elezen swarming the ball, he plucked his red mask from where he had stored it in the aether and pressed it into place on his face.
His lips immediately twisted into a scowl. His normal shade of lipstick simply would not do . He ran his finger over it, changing the color to a deep red that matched his mask. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Now he was satisfied.
The Ascian turned and sauntered into the main ballroom.
It was your typical Ishgardian affair: a large open space with enough room on the sides for the nobles to watch and gossip. In keeping with the season, green garlands wrapped around the columns flanking the dance floor, a gilded leaf here and there added to the opulence. White crystalline lights hung from the painted ceiling to simulate snow—as if the pampered nobles didn’t have enough of it outside. A banquet table laden with food ran the width of one end of the room, while the orchestra occupied the other. Music mingled with the buzz of idle chatter and the gentle clinking of glasses as they touched in greeting.
Servants wove their way through the assembled mass of people, carrying trays with glasses of sparkling white wine. It wasn’t exactly his favorite, nevertheless he snatched one from a passing tray.
He sipped as he walked, humming snippets of the melody played by the musicians. Emet-Selch idly recalled when the piece had first been commissioned. The Ascian had been enjoying his break between vessels, much like he was now, when he had stumbled across the musician and his patron. An anonymous donation later and the song had been released to the music halls at large, much to his delight, before making its way to the ballrooms. His steps fell in line with the song and his lips lifted into a genuine smile as he danced with himself.
The sound of feminine giggling interspersed with tittering brought his attention to a nearby trio of young Elezen women. His smile twisted into a smirk as he bowed to them while ensuring the safety of his wine glass. The girls curtsied back, the very images of Ishgardian propriety.
Before Emet-Selch could ask one of them to dance, he caught a glimpse of a certain soul out of the corner of his eye. He bolted upright and stared after the faded, yet still painfully familiar, shade of blue. It had been centuries since they had last crossed paths. He couldn’t even recall if they had ever met when he wasn’t elbows deep in one of his plans.
Impulse seized the Ascian.
With barely a polite nod to excuse himself, he chased after the flickering soul. The lanky Ascian dodged and wove a path through the nobles in his way until he came upon the bearer of that soul.
It was currently housed in the latest incarnation of the Warrior of Light: a female Miqo’te—a Keeper of the Moon, judging by the fangs he noticed when she smiled. Her raven blue hair was gathered into a braid that draped between her shoulder blades. A string of pearls had been plaited into it, adding a contrast of color to her dark hair. She wore a long dress the color of pale gold. The bodice was covered in detailed embroidery that embellished the pattern already present on the cloth. Light caught on parts of the skirt, making it glimmer with whatever had been sewn into it. A simple, pale gold mask covered the top half of her face; the upper edge was trimmed in ivory feathers.
In all, Emet-Selch had to admit the Warrior looked lovely—albeit obviously uncomfortable, if her lowered ears and twitching tail were anything to go by. He would have to learn who had tailored the dress and surprise them with a gift.
One of her companions, a black-haired Elezen who wore a white domino mask—the sight of which brought back too many memories—along with a black and royal blue coat, excused himself with a softly spoken word and a smile. Emet-Selch bit back a snarl and watched the Warrior innocently smile back and lift a hand to wave goodbye to the Elezen as he walked away. The Ascian briefly considered snapping his fingers to send the Elezen into the center of the nearby snowy highlands.
Just as his fingers came together, he caught sight of a familiar smirk in the crowd. An aethereal whisper reached him a moment later.
“Temper temper, Emet-Selch. Leave that one be; Elidibus has plans for that particular bastard.”
His gloved hand froze and the spell gathering within it sizzled out as he recognized the bright soul attached to the smirk. Painted lips twisted into a disdained scowl.
“Noted. Good to see you, Lahabrea, although I see you still prefer Hyuran vessels. Do you never tire of being short?”
“At least I know how to stand up straight. How have you not snapped that vessel’s spine with your horrendous posture?”
“Because I’ve managed to inhabit it longer than five minutes—unlike a certain Speaker who—”
“Enough.”
A sharply hissed whisper nipped their budding argument.
“The two of you shall behave like proper members of your seats, or you will find yourselves back in the Chrysalis for the next century.”
While neither Ascian replied, they both reluctantly conceded to the Emissary. Lahabrea’s soul flickered in annoyance as he silently slipped out of a side door. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes behind his mask and waved Elidibus’ attention away with a flick of his aether.
He refocused his gaze on the Warrior who was chatting with her remaining companion, yet another Elezen—by Zodiark why were there so many of them?—who led her towards the banquet table. A mask designed to mimic the head of a unicorn obscured the man’s face, his pale blue hair served as the beast’s mane. A silvery white coat served as his costume, the sleeves of which were trimmed with fur that matched his hair. As they passed the Ascian, he noticed a stream of pale blue hair trailing from the center of the Elezen’s lower back that acted as the animal’s tail and completed the look. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes at the ostentatious costume and followed the pair.
When they reached the table, the Elezen handed the Miqo’te a plate before taking one for himself. They carefully made their way down, taking samples from whatever caught their eye. At the end of the table, the Elezen herded the Warrior away from the dance floor and towards the edge of the room where they could watch the dancers while they ate.
As she followed her companion, the Warrior glanced around the ballroom. Their eyes met and she hesitated for the briefest of moments. The Miqo’te’s ears perked and seemed to focus in his direction while her swaying tail fell motionless behind her. The Elezen swept back to urge her forward, but Emet-Selch held her gaze. He smirked and lifted his half-empty glass to her while tilting his head in greeting. An awkwardly polite smile served as her response, but that was all he needed.
All he wanted was a few minutes alone with that soul. Even a moment spent admiring its faded hue—painful as the sight was—would be enough to sate him until the next Rejoining. A new song began, inspiring a plan as he approached and bowed to the woman and her companion.
“May I have the honor of this dance, hero?”
“H-hero? I… I’m not—”
“A hero?” Emet-Selch interjected with a twisted smirk. “Are you not the esteemed Warrior of Light? Hero to so many and foe to a quickly diminishing few?”
“Hah! You have to admit his words ring true, my friend!” added the unicorn.
Emet-Selch stifled the urge to ask him to bother someone else. Instead he agreed with a stilted nod and turned his attention back to the Warrior.
“Surely you can grant me this small honor,” he added, lowering his voice to a whisper. “A dance must be nothing to a hero such as you.”
Color drained from the Miqo’te’s face. Her ears drooped as her pupils dilated, making her golden irises nearly vanish. Her mouth worked quietly for a moment before she visibly swallowed and licked her lips.
“You… you think too much of me, ser.”
“I beg to differ,” he countered gently and drew closer to her. He locked eyes with her while a hand gently took her plate and gave it over to her companion. “Do not tell me the hero is afraid . What is a simple dance compared to fighting a primal or infiltrating a Garlean castrum?”
“Ah, but I’m used to all of that. A dance can be terrifying when you’ve never done it before.”
Emet-Selch hummed softly in understanding. The unicorn said something he promptly ignored as he carefully took her hand.
“Would you like to hear a secret, hero?”
The Miqo’te tilted her head and perked her ears, which immediately twitched as they brushed against the feathers lining her mask. A smirk crossed his face at the sight and he leaned in to whisper into her ear.
“It’s easy if you simply follow my lead.”
Words he had once spoken to that same soul in a time long gone came unbidden to his lips. They alone transported him back in his memories to a lavish apartment with his latest acquisition playing on the phonograph. Back then, only the three of them mattered…
Ah, but he was getting sentimental in his old age.
The Warrior lifted her head to study him. In the periphery of his vision, he caught the very tip of her long tail twitching in thought. Her eyes swept over his red mask, seemingly following the two white arches that helped set him apart from his fellows. Something changed in her gaze as the golden orbs came to rest on his eyes.
Emet-Selch took a step back, bowed, and offered a hand to the dark-haired Miqo’te. She accepted it with a faint smile. He led her out to the dance floor, once again ignoring whatever complaint her companion had.
Once they had claimed a spot, he arranged her hands on him before allowing one of his hands to naturally fall onto her. He took a step back, granting the Miqo’te a look at his feet.
“This is one of the simpler steps, hero,” he explained. “Merely mirror what I do. And worry not if you step on my toes; I assure you they’ve suffered worse.”
A faint smile lit up her eyes as she nodded and lowered her gaze to his shoes. At first, Emet-Selch kept a close eye on the Warrior’s movements, offering a word of advice whenever her frustration seemed to grow. By the end of the song, however, she had grown more comfortable and he allowed himself to study her soul as he continued directly into the next song.
Despite being a faded shade of what it had once been, Emet-Selch could still distinguish parts of the person he once knew. The way it coiled in on itself when frustrated was particularly nostalgic along with the brief flare of joy when she finally hit her stride, so to speak. A genuine smile that lifted his spirits found its way to his face as he watched the ephemeral soul unfurl before him. The Warrior glanced up with a smile of her own and squeezed his hand in happiness.
For a split second, he did not see the Warrior of Light in his arms, but rather—
“I hate to ruin the mood,” said the Miqo’te, “but I have to know. Which one are you?”
Emet-Selch did his best to curb his instinctive reaction. Instead, he adopted a more… Elidibus approach.
“Whatever do you mean, hero?” he asked, plastering a polite smile across his face. “Do you mean to ask to which House I belong?”
The Miqo’te shook her head and closed the small gap between them. She tightened her grip on the Ascian, as if to keep him from escaping. Her voice was a low whisper when she finally spoke.
“I mean which of them are you?” she insisted. “I’m sure you know that I’ve already met some of your… what would they be called? Colleagues? Underlings? Don’t take me for a fool; I know what a red mask and no shadow mean.”
His lips twitched as he struggled to maintain the polite smile. There were few things he despised more than being caught unawares—and of course the bearer of that soul would be the one to do it.
Multiple options lay before the Ascian. He could politely insist the Warrior was mistaken. He could vanish without a word. He could spirit her away with a snap of his fingers and throw her off the nearest cliff to force a reincarnation and buy them some time.
He could lie . Then again, he couldn't bring himself to lie to the bearer of…
"An astute observation, hero," he said with a smirk. "Yes, I am an Ascian. As for which , however, that is my secret to keep. This is a masked ball, after all, and I am allowed a modicum of anonymity."
The Miqo’te leaned in until all of her weight rested on Emet-Selch while she peered up at him. Her golden eyes darted across his face, almost as if she hoped to identify him despite his mask. A strange and bothersome thought occurred to Emet-Selch.
Could she be whole enough to remember?
Her hold on him gradually loosened and he released her in turn. She shook her head, ears twitching as she glanced around the ballroom. The Warrior rubbed the hand he had been holding. Her eyes slowly fell to it before she looked up at him.
“Have we… Have we met before?”
The question stabbed at him, bringing a pain that made Emet-Selch think he would be cast out of his vessel and into the void.
But nothing happened.
He shook his head as he noticed her companion excusing himself as he waded towards them through the crowd.
“No, hero. We have not met before.”
Her tail twitched at the news. Her mouth set itself in a confused line which Emet-Selch found he knew well. He smirked at her companion as the Elezen reached them only to place himself between the Ascian and the Warrior. He smirked at the futile gesture. If this sad, sundered thing only knew what Emet-Selch was capable of doing. Instead, he addressed the mortal.
“Ah, it seems the noble unicorn has come to defend the maiden from the sinister dragon.”
“Watch your tongue, ser, or you’ll be branded a heretic,” the man commanded in a low voice, all trace of his previous joviality gone.
The response tickled Emet-Selch, who chuckled.
“I’ve been branded much worse in my lifetime, I can assure you, my good horse. But pray, tell me: did you wish to dance with the good hero now that I’ve given her a lesson or two? By all means, you are free to take her. I find myself suddenly in need of a rest.”
Without a second look at the soul he had longed to see, Emet-Selch turned away from the Warrior and her companion. He faintly heard the Miqo’te try to call out to him, but instead blocked out the sound of her voice and focused on the music.
The Ascian walked out of the ballroom and wandered down one of the candlelit hallways, lost in the memories dredged up by his dance with the Warrior. A gentle nudge at his elbow brought him into the present only to finally notice the bright soul walking beside him.
He stopped to stare down at the blond Hyuran male serving as his colleague’s newest vessel. He idly considered how close this one actually resembled the man’s original form. Lahabrea offered him a half-hearted smile as a portal opened before them.
“Let’s go back, find Elidibus, and have a drink,” he offered. “It might help you forget.”
“You know it doesn’t,” Emet-Selch replied tersely.
“Then we’ll have a few drinks and reminisce about Amaurot. Perhaps we’ll even convince Elidibus to play one of his old pieces for us.”
Emet-Selch let out a dry laugh. Honestly, all he wanted at that moment was to curl up in his chambers and sleep for the next few centuries. The Speaker, however, did not seem willing to leave him be. He finally sighed and rolled his eyes before crossing his arms.
“I suppose I should agree before someone stumbles across us standing like mummers in front of this portal. After you, Lahabrea.”
He followed the shorter man into the portal, ready to drink his vessel’s weight in whatever they could raid from Elidibus’ cabinets.