THE THOUGHT strikes him at the oddest times. underneath a sea of stars, in the light of a flickering candle guiding them through a winding cave, staring in wonder at a field of elpis flowers growing so very boldly where nothing should. what was once a barren wasteland, ruined by the garlean empire’s never ending pursuit of all, is now hope that time may yet heal all wounds.
this would have been beyond my reach not so very long ago.
the urianger who had first set foot on eorzea would have steadfastly refused the offer for adventure. never would he have heard the words thancred spoke and volunteered himself for the journey. not for fear of what he would find, oh no, but for fear that he would be refused. laughed at. scorned for even considering it. a holdover from a childhood where he was always out of step. of interests which dictated that he should be the hand moving unseen, his role never in carving the future but instead in puppeting all into place to see it through.
what a fool he was. preferring to live in the past than face the fear of fumbling in the present. how much he would have missed had he not come to realize that fate is what you make of it. that you miss every shot you do not take. life is a cascade of precious moments, oh so many doomed to slip through your fingers and fade to dust, and...
and he’s still learning to be bold in all ways. that thought chases him when their hands bump when they walk and he mutters apologies instead of holding fast. it happens again and he makes the excuse of reaching for the map, clearing his throat as he trails a long finger along the river they’ve been walking beside, comparing it to the treasure map he had memorized. it’s uncharted territory in a realm he’d thought they’d come to know like the back of their own hand.
“i believeth we art nearing our destination.”
