Roevember 2025: Day 29 - Heritage
⊶⊰ Prompt List ⊱⊷
Stow away yer sea pups! (sea pups!)
Whisper not a peep! (peep!!)
Lest the evil tyrant king (tired king!)
Steal ye while ye sleep! (while ye sleep!! Eeee!)
⊶⊰ °‧ 𓆝 𓅰 𓆞 ·。⊱⊷
While Sahja and Arland shared all they had with little Wilfreda, there was one thing they could not provide: a connection to her roegadyn heritage. For this, they turned to Swygwyda, one of Arland's crew, who was more than happy to share the old myths and legends she had learned from her own parents. She and Wilfreda quickly became thick as thieves; in all but blood, Wilfreda was her klynswysta.
Sahjah, my very curious Kaldorei Druid who is quite literally attached to her Elkish features and Azerite! She is known for handing out curious nature-made “gifts” such as the Buckeye nut, Devil’s Pod, and fresh sprigs of herbs. Her Aesthetic inspiration comes from The Great Forest Spirit from Princess Mononoke and all the glow Fern Gully has to offer!
The steaming mug of tea between Merlwyb’s hands was a welcome comfort, even in the humid island air. She tried to focus on it: the smooth ceramic, the heat radiating from the crimson liquid within, the puffs of steam which were instantly whipped away by the warm sea breeze. She anchored herself as she had so many times before, holding fast as the last waves of adrenaline rolled through her. In the past she might have shuddered against the electric feeling in her nerves, but years of practice had taught her it was best not to resist.
The bench creaked beneath her, and she remembered that she was not alone—not this time.
Her companion sat quietly huddled around her own mug, trying not to take up too much space. She looked awkwardly hunched in her sleepwear, like a sasquatch with a teacup. But it was a kind gesture, as was the tea, which had materialized in Merlwyb’s hands without a single word exchanged. It all seemed so calm, so practiced, that Merlwyb could not help but wonder whether it came from experience.
How could it not—she’s been through the hells herself.
Merlwyb gazed across the cabin at the bed, then at Annihilator. Lamplight glinted off its barrels like an accusation, and a pang of guilt bloomed in Merlwyb’s chest. The pistol lay nestled in the bedcovers, exactly where she had dropped it. Been forced to drop it, in truth; her wrist still ached slightly where Wilfreda had caught it. Had Wilfreda’s reflexes been any slower… Well.
So much for their idyllic retreat.
Merlwyb owed her an explanation, at the very least. “These… nightmares… have plagued me since Carteneau,” she confessed. “Nigh on a decade has passed, yet the dream remains as sharp as ever.”
“I… saw,” replied Wilfreda. “Rhoswen, the magitek armor… the cannon.” She rubbed her temple, apologetically.
No secrets to be kept from the Echo, then.
They sat in silence awhile, waiting for the tea and the tension to cool. The ocean breeze swept over their backs, carrying the warmth of the sun-heated sea through the cabin and away to the jungle beyond. Up in the paddocks, the pelicans chattered amongst themselves while the other beasts slept. Even now, Merlwyb had to admit, the island truly was a sanctuary.
She tested the tea, which scalded the tip of her tongue. With a quiet sigh, she returned the mug to her lap and glanced once more at her companion. Wilfreda was staring down at her own mug, but her gaze seemed leagues away.
Merlwyb had a feeling as to where that far-off gaze might lie. “What of you?” she asked. “Where were you when Dalamud fell?”
Wilfreda closed her eyes.
“Home, south of Costa del Sol, along the coast." After sitting in silence for so long, it took a moment for her words to gain momentum. "Garleans and monsters were roving the countryside, so Pa told everyone to grab what we could and bring it aboard the boat... Guess he figured we’d be safer out on the water. We shoved off and went out a ways, then dropped anchor where it was still fairly shallow. I remember the sea was strangely calm.
“We watched as the moon descended,” she continued. “Wasn’t much else to do, really… imperial airships were flying overhead, but they didn’t seem to care about our little merchant ship. We weren’t able to contact the folks at the ports, either.”
Merlwyb recalled the countless reports of civilian vessels lost or stranded in the aftermath of the calamity. She’d witnessed many of them herself—or what remained of them—as splintered husks littering the waters of Galadion Bay upon her return.
“With the Garleans at our doorstep, communications were restricted to only a few necessary channels,” she said. Necessary, yet it was the people who paid the price.
“We figured as much, but gods was it terrifying, sitting out there alone… We watched it sink lower and lower, until it had nearly dipped below the horizon. And then…”
The sickening crack of Dalamud’s shell reverberated through Merlwyb’s memory. “It hatched.”
Wilfreda gave a gentle nod. “It didn’t look like much, from so far away. To us, the moon just… shifted, suddenly. From red, to white, then so bright we couldn’t make it out anymore. For a moment, that blinding light was the only thing we could see, until smaller pillars of light shot up all around us. Y’shtola once told me of Louisoix’s ritual… I didn’t understand the details, but it must have been a sight to behold.”
“T’was indeed. Would that it had succeeded.” Merlwyb’s gaze was leagues away too, now.
Wilfreda paused for a sip of tea, and the movement in her periphery tugged Merlwyb back to the present. She cautiously tried her own cup again. The tea was delicately spiced and a bit sour—hibiscus—freshly collected from the island, no doubt. Her eyes wandered to Wilfreda’s hands, which were presently occupied with cradling her mug. Hands possessed of terrifying strength, yes, but remarkable gentleness also. She wondered if Wilfreda had plucked the blossoms herself.
After another sip, Wilfreda resumed. “We watched as the explosion grew bigger and bigger, like a bomb going off in slow motion. It wasn’t until it spread across half the sky that we realized what was happening…”
Merlwyb frowned. “The shards.”
“The shards,” confirmed Wilfreda. “They were falling all around us, some as big as the cliffs themselves. We were damn lucky none struck our ship, but a huge piece landed in the water nearby, and the wave it created was massive. It tossed us aside like a child’s bath toy...”
At this, Wilfreda hesitated.
After a few quiet moments, Merlwyb prompted, “What happened?”
“Well… The impact was so hard, it overwhelmed the restraints on much of our cargo… Swygwyda—my sister, in all but blood—she was next to me, and she…” Wilfreda opened her hand and frowned at her palm, as if it had disappointed her, then let it fall to her lap. “She saw the loose crate before I did. Shoved me out of the way. It pinned her to the railing, crushing her from the waist down.
“The nearest chirurgeons were in Moraby, so we weighed anchor fast as we could and sailed south. But the sea was heaving from the falling shards—between the waves and the shards themselves, none of us really expected to survive. Ma and I stayed with Swygwyda, tried to keep her as steady as possible, but the way the ship was rolling, there was only so much we could do... Her screams were… gods, her screams…” Wilfreda’s voice trailed to a whisper. Tears were welling in her eyes.
Merlwyb said nothing, but she reached over and gathered up Wilfreda’s limp hand in her own. It was trembling, almost imperceptibly. She steadied it with a squeeze.
“I don’t know how we made it. Or how long it took to get there, except that the sun had risen by the time we arrived. Moraby was pure chaos; the clinic was overflowing with the wounded and dying. I’m not even sure how we managed to carry Swygwyda in there… but we did, and the chirurgeons did what they could.”
“And?” Merlwyb dared not presume.
Wilfreda squeezed her hand back. “She lived, though she never walked again.” Wilfreda sniffed, then coughed out a laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Right pissed she was, when she realized that meant she’d be stuck peeling popotoes most days… it always was her least favorite chore. I should visit her again soon.”
"I should like to meet her myself."
The tension dissolved then into a gentle weariness, and they finished their tea in peace, shoulder to shoulder. Before returning to bed, Annihilator was carefully unloaded and placed on the bedside table, safely out of reach. Later, when Merlwyb instinctively searched for its reassuring grip beneath her pillow, she instead found Wilfreda’s outstretched hand waiting in its place.
Wilfreda inherited her love of the sea from her adoptive father, Arland—a merchant captain by trade. Her adoptive mother, Sahja, generally preferred to stay ashore to mind their cottage (and to make sure Wilfreda got at least some semblance of schooling). Occasionally, though, they would all go sailing along the coast of Vylbrand, and these little voyages remain some of Wilfreda's fondest memories.
Shoutout to @diplomagics for making this incredible boat!
