Heβd been working on them since FjΓΊkβs birth, carving the small pieces meticulously. It was slow and meditative work but he was in no hurry. Heβd chosen pine, as he had a connection with those trees, but they would later be dyed with black walnuts. The wooden chips were about the size of a gil, each with a different symbol - a rune - in a language known to very few; at least outside the Skatay Range. Sometimes he had to wonder how he managed to remember the ancestral tongue of his people for, truly, he had no right to. With everything he did in the past century to forget who he was - all those emptied bottles and those drugs indulged in - it was a miracle his brain had survived the ordeal. Was it that surprising, though?
Part of him had always refused to surrender. His heart still yearning for the snow and the evergreen forests; his soul still worshipping the spirits of the land. And while the birth of FjΓΊk marked a new chapter in his life - a new beginning - he could never forget his roots. He recalled the intimate βceremonyβ of marriage, the vows exchanged while sitting on their couch. He had used the words of his people, albeit in the Eorzean tongue, a ritual as old as the mountains he called his homeland. Seda, however, had chosen to move forward into this new life, forgoing their old names to embrace the present moment and a future together; a new βtribeβ.Β
He was surprisingly alright with that.
It wouldnβt stop his mind from musing over impossible scenarios, like presenting his son to his tribe. He knew quite well heβd never climb those peaks again. It was for the best, for he had no intentions to relinquish his son to another when heβd be of age. This was a tradition he never questioned, not until he left anyway. Now he had trouble wrapping his head over what was a very large pillar of Vieran society. Why did they chase the males away into the untamed wilderness, hoping theyβll survive? To be part of the strongest? Natural selectionβ¦ right. Fakhri never saw himself as one of βthose strong and brave warriorsβ that was fit to father the next generation. No, he had been more akin toβ¦ a cockroach. A pesky bug that lived on the trash left behind by others, unwanted and regarded with disdain. But however you wanted it gone, how hard you stomped on it, it would Fucking. Never. Die. He had to grin at that.Β
Another rune was completed as his mind wandered. Was it strange that, despite wanting to move forward and start fresh, to βstart his new tribeβ as it were, he still felt a need to keep that thread to his people. For over a century now, his deck of cards had been his companion. A gift from his old friend and mentor, they had guided him and others whenever an obstacle arose or a path forked into many. With the birth of his son and the exchange of vows, they had felt foreign in his hand. His dreams had been full of the scent of pine, of naked feet walking on a bed of fallen needles, under the evergreens swaying gently from a cold breeze. Thus he had taken a day away from his wife and son, to walk where his dreaming self threaded. He came back with a single branch.Β
He looked down at his hands, rough and calloused, holding a knife and a completed rune; Laguz. Well then, no wonder he felt so spiritual today. It felt good though, to let the memories wash over him and through him. And maybe this was the message, that starting fresh didnβt require that one completely let go of the past, for it was and would always be the path we once walked.Β
And it made the man he was today; a husband, and a father.Β
And a damn good one at that.
