Plunge
“Go, it’ll be fine, they’ll need y’more in the Mists. We’ll meet up when y’get back to save the day.”
Tallyn stumbled over a large piece of stone, barely noticing the ache in his shins as he hastily picked his way over what remained of the Steps of Faith. Dawn had broken over Ishgard, and with it Nidhogg’s final demise. A fearsome battle was waged between the dreadwyrm and the Warriors of Light--the people Tallyn had, grudgingly, come to acknowledge as family--and after what felt like an age, Nidhogg was laid low at last. Estinien was freed, the wyrm gone, the war of a thousand years of vengeance finally--finally--over.
“You cannot shake me that easily, Stella. We agreed that I would be watching your back, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”
It was a battle he was never meant to be a part of, and one he could never have prepared for--that Tallyn still breathed, he felt, was a miracle. He clambered over another chunk of broken rock to where the rest of their ragtag team had gathered, to lick their wounds and assess the situation. The injuries he had suffered in the fight were minimal; small bruises, at best, and perhaps a cracked rib at worst. Certainly nothing compared to what some of the others had suffered. Tallyn had never underestimated them--the Scions or his sister--but until now he hadn’t been able to comprehend the kinds of dangers they faced. He understood now, and fighting for his life on that scale...it shook him.
“’M not tryin’ to shake you. ‘M serious, you’ll be more help in the Mists with ‘Velgr than y’will be here. Don’t worry, ‘M gonna wait for y’on the sidelines, promise.”
“I’m not going to win this, am I.”
“’Fraid not, vhenan.”
As he passed what few temple knights remained alive, limping home on their comrades’ shoulders, and neared his group, one broke off from the herd and approached Historia, and in words carried faintly by the wind, he heard a name.
“...Demistel...”
“Saesa dareth, Stella. Manka tivol marte a’lle, Amin il-sinta mani umaya.”
“Mela lle, vhenan.”
Tallyn’s heart quickened, and he ran to intercept them. “Please!” he said, putting up a hand to beg a pause while he collected himself. “Ser, you--you speak of Demistel? Please, tell me your news immediately. She’s my sister, I--I haven’t seen her since we joined the fighting, please--what is it?”
He had looked, he had scoured the length and breadth of the Steps, hoping for a glimpse of that silver-white hair, but Tallyn’s eyes had seen nothing. Only bodies he didn’t recognize and survivors long since returned to the safety of the walls. A cold sense of dread had taken root deep inside him, seizing his muscles and filling his ears with a wordless roar that said the worst had come to pass, but he still clung to hope. Please, not her, not her...
The temple knight looked to Historia, as if waiting for some kind of signal, or proof that he wasn’t lying--that he really was her brother. He held his breath until the knight nodded, and turned to him once more.
“My lord,” he said gravely. “It pains me dearly to bring you these tidings, but...your sister... She was lost to us in the battle. I am so sorry--”
In a blind rage, he grabbed the knight by the shoulders and slammed him into the broken wall, hard enough to crack the stone. The knight yelped, and blood from a freshly staunched wound trickled down his armor, but Tallyn didn’t let go, only gripped harder.
“You lie!” he thundered, eyes aglow with equal parts fury and aether. He felt himself being pulled away, forced from his continued assault on the injured man, and he violently shook the others off. The knight sank to the ground, one arm pressing against the newly reopened wound, and shook his head.
“The horde broke through our defenses!” the man said, rapidly forcing the tale out lest Tallyn attack him again. “She was--your sister was in the open. She was protecting one of our own when the wyvern hooked its claws into her and took flight. We tried to save her, but the wyrm flew too fast! Last we saw...she’d injured the beast, and the two of disappeared into the mists below. I am sorry--I am so sorry--but there was nothing we could do!”
Tallyn stayed very still for a moment, hardly daring to move or breathe. The dread knotting inside him had spread, growing until his whole being was numb with it. He felt nothing, and heard little, and after a long moment of silence, three words, no more than whispers, left his lips.
“She’s not dead.”
He heard protests, muffled by his own shock, telling him not to give in to denial, that it was folly to believe--
“She’s not dead!” he repeated, louder this time, voice just cresting a shout. He turned to face the group, face alight with defiance and desperate hope. “Until I see her body, lifeless, before my eyes, I will not accept that she is dead! I will find her if I have to tear this entire accursed mountain range down around me, and I will not suffer anyone to get in my way!”
Proclamation made, Tallyn left, turning abruptly on his heel and striding away from the battlefield, back to Ishgard. And when he was out of sight, he dropped to his knees, letting out a wordless howl that echoed back through the air until it eventually became too faint to hear. Only when his pained scream was spent, did he get back up and keep walking.
He would not give up on her--he could not give up on her. Stella had survived more impossible odds than this, and Tallyn couldn’t bear the thought of losing his sister. He would find her, whatever it took, and he would bring her home--
--or die trying.