Falling Stars, Lost Light
Chapter 5: Those Who Arrived Before
The walk to the Carline Canopy was quieter than Kassalyn expected.
Beside her, she could hear the jangle of armor and the measured cadence of footsteps—always in time with her own.
She would not lie to herself: she had been worried when she woke alone in the woods, after they had all been pulled into the void.
Carefully, through lowered eyes, she observed him.
Taller now. Changed in small ways—ears drawn slightly longer and sharper, a jawline more angled than she remembered. Yet there was no mistaking the things that had not changed.
The coolness of his hands, a remnant of his Evol.
Eyes the color of the Twelveswood canopy at noon.
Hair black as midnight, perpetually disheveled as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times.
She did not notice his own quiet study of her.
Gridania moved around them in its usual rhythm—lanterns swaying gently, voices rising and falling beneath the boughs, birdsong layered over the musical burble of streams. A waterwheel groaned steadily as it turned, maintaining its eternal cycle.
Walking beside Zayne made the familiar feel… provisional.
As though the city itself sensed that what passed between them did not belong to the ordinary rhythm of contracts, errands, and guild business.
They walked in silence for a time, content simply to be side by side after so long apart.
It was only when the wide wooden arch of the Canopy came into view—warm light spilling outward, music and voices carried on the breeze—that Kassalyn finally spoke.
“You said there was no going back,” she said, deftly dodging a small elven child at play. “That implies you tried.”
Zayne exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose—a habit she knew well.
“A year ago,” he replied, “I woke up beneath snow instead of leaves.”
“Ishgard,” he said. “Cold stone. Colder people. Faith sharpened into a blade.”
They entered the Canopy together, the scent of bread, spiced ale, and Mother Miounne’s famous pies grounding Kassalyn immediately. Miounne looked up from her ledger at once, her expression soft but attentive.
“Ah,” she said warmly. “Two of my favorite fledglings. You both look like you’ve come to unburden something heavier than coin.”
Zayne inclined his head in greeting. Kassalyn followed.
Zayne stepped forward and placed a pouch into Miounne’s hands. “The herbs you asked for. For the pies.”
She logged the task with a satisfied nod before looking back to them.
“If we might speak privately,” Kassalyn asked.
Miounne studied them a moment longer, then nodded. “The back table.”
When they were seated and the din of the Canopy softened to a distant hum, Zayne spoke again.
“I stayed in Ishgard longer than I should have,” he said. “I thought… if I understood their suffering, if I helped enough people, the voice would quiet.”
“And did it?” Miounne asked as she set drinks before them and took her own seat.
“No.” His mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile—pained, but resolute. “It only grew clearer.”
He checked his cup to ensure it contained no alcohol before taking a measured drink.
“You were a healer there,” Kassalyn said quietly.
“I still am.” Zayne lifted one hand. A faint, controlled shimmer of aether traced his fingers—precise, restrained. “Knowledge doesn’t vanish because the world changes. Nor does skill—though my methods have had to adapt considerably between our realities.”
Miounne nodded approvingly. “Many who arrive here leave pieces of themselves behind. Few manage to carry them forward.”
“I refused to,” Zayne said simply. “People were dying. Faith wasn’t saving them. Someone had to act.”
“And that’s why you left,” Kassalyn said.
“I grew disillusioned,” he admitted. “With doctrine. With obedience demanded at the cost of lives.” His gaze hardened briefly. “I chose the path of the Dark Knight not out of anger—but because I could no longer pretend righteousness was clean.”
Miounne nodded. “Gridania does not forbid healing of the weak or those without coin. It forbids carelessness.”
Zayne inclined his head. “Which is why the Elementals allow me.”
Kassalyn blinked, thinking of the weight of judgment she herself had felt since arriving. “Allow you?”
“I carry steel,” he said plainly. “And I wield it. That alone should have seen me driven from the Twelveswood.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “But I learned quickly. I do not draw unless permitted by the Hearers. I do not heal by tearing at the aether.”
Miounne’s expression softened. “The Elementals are not blind, Kassalyn. They know intent. Zayne’s presence has never been one of conquest. He came to learn the conjurers’ ways—and to respect them.”
“Healing doesn’t anger them,” Zayne continued. “Not when it’s done in balance. Not when it preserves rather than commands.” He paused, selecting a cookie from the plate. “They do not welcome me. But they tolerate me.”
“In Gridania,” Miounne said mildly, “that is no small mercy.”
Kassalyn absorbed that in silence.
“And your Evol?” she asked softly. “You didn’t lose it?”
Zayne’s eyes flicked to hers—sharp, assessing. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
He lifted his hand, and a small seal sculpted of softly falling snow formed atop the table. He nudged it toward her with a faint grin. “Even mine—volatile as it always was—is calmer here.”
She looked down at the frozen memory of their old world, preserved in glistening snow, and sniffed back a tear.
“I think mine is still here too,” she said, voice unsteady as she met his gaze. “Even with the Echo. I was afraid it was just wishful thinking.”
She lifted her hand slowly and reached toward his.
The air between them thrummed—warm, familiar—triggering a gentle response from his own Evol as soft snowflakes drifted between their fingers. It was not the vast, ancient pull of Hydaelyn.
Zayne stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the resonance after so long apart.
“That’s not the Echo,” he said.
“No,” Kassalyn whispered, lowering her hand. “It’s me. My Evol.”
Miounne watched them with quiet interest. “Then the Echo has not replaced what you were. It has layered itself upon it.”
Her gaze lifted toward the great window lining the Canopy wall.
“That makes you more dangerous than most,” she said softly, then looked to Kassalyn with concern. “And more at risk. Which brings us to Yda and Papalymo.”
Kassalyn looked up sharply.
“They are Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” Miounne said plainly. “Observers in matters of the Echo. Diplomats between nations. Guardians of balance when the world strains.”
“I suspected,” Zayne said, nodding once.
“They waited,” Miounne continued, rising as she finished her drink. “Watched to see how you would walk once the truth found you. Now that it has, pretense serves no one.”
After she cleared the table, silence settled—not heavy, but contemplative.
Zayne stood, drawing his cloak into place. “I left Ishgard because faith demanded obedience where lives demanded action.”
He met Kassalyn’s gaze. “The Elementals tolerate me because I learned restraint. The Darkness answers me because I do not deny it.”
A pause—his eyes distant, then sharp once more.
“You,” he said quietly, “will have to decide what answers you.”
He turned and stepped out into the night, leaving Kassalyn alone with her thoughts.
She rose and moved to the doorway, gazing up the hill.
Outside, Gridania continued—steady, breathing, alive. The aetheryte spun softly in the distance.
Inside her, two truths now coexisted: the ancient call of the Echo, and the familiar resonance of who she had always been.
Neither erased the other.
And for the first time since her arrival, Kassalyn understood—
She would need all of herself to become what fate now asked her to be.
