The Reunion Festival was in full swing, and Sitting Duck was already sweating—and not from the summer sun.
Banners of old battles flapped above the village square. Food carts sizzled. Musicians tuned their instruments while actors stretched theatrically near a wooden replica of a Titan arena built entirely from stage props and optimism.
Duck stood awkwardly near the festival announcer’s stand, holding what he could only describe as a prop axe’s distant cousin. It was foam. It wobbled.
He looked like a child’s drawing of a warrior.
“Hey, Mister Duck!” came a bright voice.
A small Miqo'te boy no older than ten ran up, his hands sticky with candy, his face smudged with chocolate. He pointed excitedly at Duck’s chest. “I remember you! You won the prize in the Egg Hunt! You were, like, super cool!”
Duck blinked. “I was?”
“You ran from that huge chocobo! It was awesome!” the boy said, beaming. “I wanna be a tank like you someday.”
Duck stared, mouth slightly open. His ears didn’t twitch in embarrassment. For a second, he didn’t feel like a walking punchline.
“…Thanks,” he said, softly.
Behind him, Stool Pigeon watched with an unusually quiet smile.
The stage was set.
Smoke poofed from hidden canisters. Duck took his place at the center of the fake battlefield as a wooden “Titan” loomed behind a curtain, ready to be dramatically unveiled.
The crowd cheered.
He peered over his shoulder. The crowd was really cheering. They were happy.
Sincere.
Off to the side, was a familiar face. Roxxy Glamshine, head-to-toe in dazzle pink, had her tomestone raised with her back to the action. Every time Duck blinked, she was in a new pose, searching for the elusive perfect shot.
Well, at least she's not laughing at him.
The curtain falls, revealing the primal in all his fabricated glory.
More cheers.
The show was on.
Duck cleared his throat and delivered his opening line, voice quavering.
“I… shall stand as your shield!”
Applause.
He looked down at the foam axe. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
As the words left his lips, his nose scrunched. He sniffed the air – his nose hairs uncomfortably fidgeting. The itchy sensation crawled through his nostrils, expelled with a prompt sneeze.
“Is that… burnt marshmallow?”
She lowered her hands, the crackling aether fading with a coiled sizzle.
From under her dark hood, her crimson eyes bore into the figure of Sitting Duck standing before the pathetic imitation of a god felled by the Warrior of Light.
Those eyes flicked into the crowd. Pigeon. Paira. Bird Brain.
The whole family was there, watching the boy who believed he could soar.
She clicked her tongue and curled her fingers toward her chin.
Watching.
At first, Duck thought it was part of the show.
The air shimmered with heat. Aether cracked across the square like lightning veins.
His nose twitched again – his eyes shot open with realization. His hands instinctively crushed the foam axe with a nervous squeeze.
“Summoning magic,” he whispered.
The wooden Titan shuddered, then shattered — splinters flying as something real emerged from the mist.
Titan.
Not a costume. Not a prop.
The primal – mostly. But enough.
The villagers screamed and scattered. Stalls collapsed. The sky turned a shade darker.
Duck stumbled back, stunned. His heart dropped into his boots.
Then he saw her. The cloaked woman standing amidst the chaos – calm, expression unreadable. Her gaze met Duck’s across the square.
She smiled.
Then vanished.
Duck turned and found his mother barreling toward him.
“Ma!” he shouted. “Get everyone to safety!”
She stopped short, face livid. “Don’t tell me—”
Then she saw him.
Greatsword at his back. Shoulders squared. Eyes blazing, golden and defiant.
Soaring Eagle. For a moment — he stood there in Duck’s place.
She blinked away tears, yanked his real weapon from behind a stall, and shoved it into his hands. “Make me proud, baby.”
He nodded, gripping the hilt.
Titan roared.
The first hit nearly killed him.
He was flung across the square into a makeshift confetti cannon, emerging moments later in a cloud of glitter and bruises. He groaned, staggering upright.
Titan advanced.
Duck spat blood and swung again.
He was bleeding, his vision swimming, and Titan’s fists kept pounding like festival drums of doom. Around him, people were still fleeing at Paira's command.
“Duuuck!” a familiar voice rang out.
Duck's ear flicked towards the sound.
Pigeon was standing on a supply crate, clutching a bow he’d clearly snatched from Roxxy’s display.
Ignoring his mother's pleas, he watched his brother battle against a mightier, insurmountable foe. Titan's might crushed Duck over and over, determined to make the foolish Miqo'te part of the land itself.
But after every blow, Duck got up.
Pigeon looked down at his notebook peeking out from his satchel. The bow in his hand.
He had to do something.
Plink.
Duck looked down at the arrow that clattered off of Titan's body and down at his feet. He felt the primal's attention shift – grinding stone that rumbled as it moved.
His bones shrieked as he followed its gaze to Pigeon.
Another plink.
And then, Pigeon began to sing.
Badly. Passionately.
“The Duck who faced a god of stone, With muddy boots and heart alone…”
It was ridiculous. Off-key. Heroic.
Duck chuckled. Then he got punched again.
He hit the ground hard. Everything ached. His vision blurred.
And then he saw the worst thing.
The boy from earlier — his fan — was standing in front of Titan.
Holding the foam axe.
Titan’s fist rose, casting a sinister, malms-long shadow.
“No—!”
Instincts took over. A chain uncoiled from around Duck's arm and before he knew what was happening, it latched taut around Titan’s fist. With a bellow, Duck pulled.
The fist redirected — straight into Duck.
WHAM.
The fist slammed into him with the force of a dozen warmachina. His armor shattered into a million pieces, revealing a bloodied, broken torso.
But he didn't move. His feet were rooted to the ground, his teeth clenched.
He. Didn't. Move.
The boy was safe. Yanked into Paira's care while Duck held Titan at bay.
A rage roiled in his breast as he stood his ground. An unrelenting scream erupted from somewhere deep inside his broken body.
For once, in this fleeting moment, Titan seemed small. Ineffectual. Blow after blow was ignored by Duck's defiant will, the chain keeping the false primal in place and the last of the bystanders to flee.
Pigeon continued to sing while plinking arrows at Titan.
Duck found an odd comfort in his brother's voice, but the words came in and out as he tanked Titan's rage.
Words about his speed at the egg hunt.
His improbable victory in the coliseum.
Mentorship. The neverending duty. A goblin rescue.
They inspired him. Moved his feet when were too tired. Lifted his arms when he simply couldn't.
But it wasn't enough.
The chain fell from around Duck's arm. Every breath was its own battle – through bloodied teeth and broken ribs. The muddied visage of Titan's glowing core filled his view as Pigeon's voice faded.
The shape before him moved – the round, shuddering mass of rock elongating into an oval. He couldn't lift his head to see the fists coming down.
He closed his eyes.
As the moment stretched, he thought of his brother. A smile that shone brighter than the calamity. He was never angry or frustrated. He always knew what to say – even when the kids wouldn't stop bullying Duck over his name.
He hoped he could be like him – he hoped he was him. Now.
For Pigeon.
He smiled.
The blow never came.
Something grabbed him from the inside. An ice cold grip that yanked his very being from certain death and to the side of a a slim, graceful Elezen woman with dark hair in flowing braids. He slammed into her, sending her backward a few paces.
"Excuse me!?" Elisabet Rousseau chirped, her elegant Ishgardian accent several octaves too high. "The baddie is over there."
"Who…?" Duck wheezed.
A sweet warmth filled as body as she spoke, restoring his fatigue, vision, and the sound of Pigeon's voice.
"Get him!!!" Pigeon shouted.
Duck flung around to the sound of cinder blocks crashing against living stone. A Midlander with a Pink faux hawk was spinning Titan in circles. She was a blur of fists, feet, and wonton destruction.
Titan couldn't keep up with her speed, but it was clear it wouldn't last forever.
Duck felt a shove in his back.
"You heard the boy," Elisabet spat, "get him."
He obliged.
"Hey!" Duck called to the false primal. "I'm still standing."
Titan's golden eyes narrowed as it rumbled to face Duck.
Duck swallowed hard. Elisabet's healing magic gave him his breath, but things were still broken.
He gritted his teeth and charged ahead.
The four of them battled. Axe, fist, arrow, and magic. Pigeon continued to sing tales of Duck and Eagle. Bystanders dared to get closer to watch.
Murmurs and gasps became shouting and cheers.
Titan's core was exposed again.
"Hey, uh, punchy girl," Duck said, pointing at the core. "Break that thing!"
Larielle Dunn's foot dug into the ground. Without hesitation she sprinted at Duck. Dumbfounded, he lowered his body, only to have her foot stomp on his back. He reflexively lifted upward, giving her a boost as she delivered the final blow, shattering the core with a clap of thunder.
Titan bellowed one last time, crumbling into a pile of rocks and fading into a mist of aether.
The only thing Duck could hear was his own, ragged breath. He looked up. Pigeon hugged his waist. Elisabet adjusted her white robes just so and gave him a wink. Larielle shook some pebbles out of her gi.
They won.
The crowd erupted.
Paira rushed over, tears streaming, voice loud enough to shake the heavens. “THAT’S MY BOY! YOU TOOK DOWN A TITAN!”
Duck winced. “Ma… ribs…”
“Took you ten episodes,” Pigeon said, voice half a sob, “but you did it.”
Duck grinned, exhausted. “Start the next one with that.”
Bird Brain wandered in from nowhere, arms folded calmly.
“Even a duck learns to fly,” he murmured, “if the wind believes in him.”
Pigeon blinked. “Dad… did you just write my next chapter title?”
Duck winced when his mother let him go with a hearty pat on the shoulders. A few fulms away were the two unlikely adventurers that jumped in to lend a hand. Pigeon, standing as tall as he could, sidled under Duck's arm to walk him over to them.
“Thanks for your help, we –” Duck started.
“Elisabet Rousseau," Elisabet said, her Ishgardian accent returned now that the furor of battle has faded. She curls her fingers around her staff, “Pleasure."
“What?” Pigeon chirped. “Plooshoore?”
“Don't mind him,” Duck apologized. “He doesn't get out much.”
Elisabet smiled. “You can take a punch. Next time… maybe don't.”
“Noted,” Duck chuffed under his breath, feigning a weak grin. “And you, um, punchy –”
“D,” Larielle said, almost knocking duck off balance with a hard slap on the shoulder. “Or L. Dunn. Larielle if you're being stuffy. Nice to meet ya.”
“Nice hair!” Pigeon said.
Larielle fluffed her pink faux hawk with her hand. “Thanks, squirt.”
“It's Pigeon,” Pigeon corrected with a snort.
“Weird name, but I respect it,” Larielle said with a smirk. “You two fight pretty good. Always down for a workout.”
“Well, this chance encounter was,” Elisabet paused, a slender finger tapping her chin, “fortuitous? A quaint village.”
“It's our home!” Pigeon said.
“Quite,” Elisabet said.
“And you,” Larielle popped her fists on her hips. “What's your name? You know, in case we cross paths again.”
Duck smiled down at a glowing Pigeon who smiled back. He looked up at Larielle's unshaken confidence and Elisabet's elegant aura.
He straightened, ignoring the pain.
“I'm Sitting Duck,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”