Don’t Leave
-An OC WoLx OC WoL, featuring Kyrie Dotharl (at this point in time) and Syren Delphi.
Author’s Notes: this is my first time posting anything of this sort on tumblr and BY GOD AM I NERVOUS!!! This is an original FFXIV thing I’m working on, all original characters that my friends and I have made. I hope you enjoy!
MINORS 🔞 DNI!!!
Words: 2k
Triggers: Abandonment, violence, implied sexual intercourse, philandering, mentions of mental health, delirium, scars (if I missed any please let me know)
The chill in the air as a crowd formed in Mor Dhona shot down Syren’s spine when he entered the town. His boots thudding against the stone, the aetheryte casting an aqua hue on the ground as it spun slowly, contained. He rubbed at his nose, crimson eyes narrowing, trying to peer through the crowd as the commotion escalated. People were shouting to get someone to the infirmary, to a bed, somewhere to keep this person contained. “Do you know how often she comes through?! She’ll kill us all!” someone cried.
“She hasn’t hurt anyone yet, all she’s done is help us in our time of need, what is your issue?” someone accused. Syren’s tail flicked in annoyance as he walked up, and – due to his natural height from being a Xaela – his eyes widened when he saw the girl on a man’s back. His jaw clenched, nails digging into his palms as his hands closed when he recognized Kyrie. Her raven hair was filled with dirt and leaves, and she clearly had picked up a few knicks and scars since he had last seen her. It had been four moons since they had gone for their first and last date, where he had politely declined her invitation to come into her home. He hadn’t had any contact with her since, and had distanced himself from her for his own reasons. But here she was, unconscious on some Hyur’s back, head lolling as he carried her to the inn.
Syren didn’t move from his spot. He had finally managed to flex out his hands; they had started turning numb with how tight he was clenching them. Feelings flooded throughout his body that he thought he would never have felt for someone he had only met with twice. Feelings that he only held for his closest friends, a sudden need to protect Kyrie, to take care of her. He couldn’t place why he cared so much in this specific moment, the voice inside his head to chase after her. It was a hard decision, and where he had a tendency to run from those conditions, he turned on his heel, heading towards the inn. The Xaelan pushed through the crowd, not even bothering with being polite as they parted for him; whether it be the fact that they were intimidated by him, or simply just didn’t want to be trampled over by a 7 fulm tall man.
He found the Hyur that had carried Kyrie in, looking through the mass of people for possible chirurgeons. Walking up to the muscled man, Syren blurted out, “I can help. I can heal Kyrie.”
The other male’s brow furrowed, blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You know her?”
“Yes. An acquain— a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. I can help her.” Long fingers pulled at the scholar grimoire on his belt, where the leather caught against the base of his tail. He flicked it in annoyance, apologizing immediately to the victim at the sudden lash. The Hyur craned his neck to meet Syren’s gaze, red eyes meeting blue, and nodded.
“Fine. I don’t like the looks of you, but we’re looking for all the help we can get. I’ll take you to where she’s recovering,” the man grumbled, and Syren rolled his eyes inwardly. Just because he had a small braid on the left side of his face, complimenting the feathered plaits of his hair, people always assumed that he was a philanderer. It was implied even in the Hyur’s statement, and Syren couldn’t deny what everyone thought of him. That’s how he had met Kyrie in the first place, another girl who took him well, another conquest. That thought led to how this conquest was turning into something a little more as he was led up the stone steps to the inn rooms. He made a mental note how far back her room was, his footfalls echoing against the stone walls, then stopping in front of the last of the rotted wooden doors. His fingers twitched, and as he reached for the knob to push into the room, the Hyur caught his wrist. Syren’s head snapped down, glaring at the man in annoyance.
“Just a warning, pal. She’s delirious right now. There’s a good chance that if she’s awake, she’ll be at your throat,” he whispered. He gulped, squeezed Syren’s wrist one more time for emphasis, then let go. “Be careful.” He turned to walk back down the hall, then disappeared out of sight as he turned to walk down the stairs. The Xaela stared down at his hand on the door knob in thought. Delirious? Kyrie hadn’t mentioned once that she’d been mentally ill, never mentioned that she’d been struggling with inner demons. She was cheerful, and though she said she was usually quiet and withdrawn, she held conversations extremely well the times he had seen her. He pushed the thoughts out of his head, sighing heavily.
When he pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold, Syren didn’t flinch as a knife stuck in the doorframe by his head. An ilm closer, and it would have scratched his cheek, possibly taken a few scales off with it; he would have felt a trickle of blood down his face. He glared at the woman who had whipped it from the opposite side of the room — with tremendous speed and strength, he might add — as he closed and locked the door behind him. Her emerald eyes widened, her limbal rings around her irises a murky, stormy teal. When the Hyur had mentioned she’d be at his throat, Syren didn’t think that he meant cold blooded murderous.
“Why are you here?” Kyrie snarled, her fingers extending towards the hilt of an ebony greatsword that almost dwarfed her. He didn’t answer, only stepped more into the room to pull up a chair. The legs scraped against the decaying wood, catching on a nail as it screeched closer to her so Syren could sit. He wanted to be on her level; she was quite literally half his size. He found that he still had a fondness of how small she was, yet conditioned to kill anything and anyone who stood in her way. He didn’t underestimate for one second that she could toss that sword around her lithe body, and decapitate her enemy in one clean swing. He appreciated the weight of her petite hand in his—
“Why are you here?!” she repeated, her hand fully wrapped around the hilt of her weapon. She was borderline shouting at this point, and Syren sighed as he propped his elbow on his knee, chin in his palm.
“Stop yelling. You’re starting to give me a headache,” he shot back, eyes closing. He knew full well that he was playing with fire, knew that if she really wanted to, she would rip his throat out to get out of this situation as a cornered animal would. Did she feel like a cornered animal? The way that Syren was sitting in front of her did seem like he was crowding her in…
He pushed the chair back a few more ilms to give her some breathing room. When he opened his eyes again, Kyrie still hadn’t relaxed, poised to strike like a coeurl if she was provoked any further. Her limbal rings were still stormy, and he could see the hypothetical lightning as it split across the pretty color. With his chin still in his palm, he unclasped his grimoire from its holster and opened it. Crimson eyes flicked through the text as he summoned his fairy, Eos immediately apparating on his shoulder, her feet swinging back and forth. “I’m here to help,” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers once more. Confusion flitted across her features, her hand finally falling lax from her greatsword.
“And why would you want to do that?” she grumbled, sitting cross-legged in front of him. Oh, if looks could kill, Syren would be dead in a split half second. The freckles across her face almost disappeared into the lines that decorated her face, her eyebrows narrowed into a deep scowl, the same color as her hair. He waved his free hand forward, Eos following his command as she knelt on the bed next to Kyrie’s thigh, tentatively putting a hand against her skin. A green glow filled the room as the healing magic spread across the female Xaela, only the surface wounds closing, skin knitting together, vanishing without a trace. Kyrie swatted the fairy away, but the deed had already been done.
“Because you’re my friend—”
“A friend wouldn’t drop off the face off the planet, Syren. A friend wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t ignore any linkpearl calls, a friend wouldn’t…” She trailed off as her voice quivered, but the next time she spoke, it was filled with resolve. “I could kill you. I could break your neck—”
“You won’t,” he stated. He tried softening his expression, remembering that some people told him he wore a scowl constantly. “You and I both know that you won’t. I’m not calling you weak, but I know that you know that you’re not willing to do it.” Heaving a sigh, Syren leaned back into the chair, the back of it creaking dangerously, the top of it digging uncomfortably into his shoulders. A frown tugged at his lips when Kyrie’s head slumped, her raven hair falling into her face. On the left side, he could see that a part of her hair was more twisted than usual; she must have had a braid just like he did.
As the silence continued, it gave Syren more time to observe the smaller Xaela, to recognize the details that he had seen when he first looked at her. A jagged scar that started at her midsection, curved to the left and down her hip and thigh. The callouses that decorated her palms along with the bruises that came from heaving a giant sword around. The dark scales around her body contrasted greatly against her skin, even if she came from the Steppe. It made him wish that she would smile for him again, for her limbal rings to glow with excitement as they walked down the market, perusing different wares. Even though he spent a short amount of time with her, Syren found that he missed the little things about her that she had given to him.
“I’m sorry.” Her meek voice split the air, and he refocused on the here and now. “You’re right. I’m not willing to kill you, because… Because, maybe, a little part of me was looking for you. Wanted you to come back. Nobody but two friends listened to me the way you did. It just…felt right.”
“Only two?” he questioned lightly. Her mouth immediately pulled into a frown, and he quickly added, “Sorry, that didn’t come out as I intended.”
The girl didn’t relax right away, but when she did, she stared at the wall. “Only two,” she confirmed. Kyrie sighed before she murmured, “I just wanted answers. Why did you drop off the face of the earth?”
He sat there, contemplating before speaking. “How…about you get some rest, before we have a deep conversation? The Hyur that carried you here—”
“Charon. His name is Charon.”
“Sorry, Charon,” he replied sarcastically. Her eyes narrowed at that. “He said you were delirious, and from what I saw, you were injured. You should get some rest.”
“You’re dodging my questions again,” Kyrie protested.
“And you’re probing into things that I don’t want to talk about again,” Syren shot back, eyes narrowing, folding his arms across his chest. “Now, rest, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you.” He didn’t miss the way that she drew her mouth up in a small pout, puffing her cheeks out in irritation before flopping on her side and drawing the blankets over her.
“You’ll be here when I wake up? You won’t go running off again?” Kyrie sounded childlike, her hair covering her eyes with the way that she landed on the bed. He could hear her pleading with him, begging for him to stay. He scanned over her form under the sheets, before landing back on her partially covered face.
“I’ll be here. I promise.”
