Limsa Lominsa's training yard was alive with clangs of steel and the crash of waves beyond the walls. Young adventurers sparred beneath the watchful eyes of guild instructors, their shouts rising like gulls over the sea breeze. Reks stood at the edge, axe and shield strapped to his back, his stance quiet, unassuming. He had finished his trial, proven himself in battle against the Sahagin, but still the memory of Ivalice weighed heavy in his chest. He had been forgotten once. He would not let it happen here.
A commotion broke out near the center of the yard. Four adventurers—barely out of youth, by Reks's measure—were fighting a practice squad meant to simulate a raid. The squad wasn't pulling its strikes, and the four faltered.
The boy with a sword and shield, not much younger than Reks himself had been when he first wore armor, swung wildly and nearly dropped his blade. An archer loosed arrows too fast, her shots missing by inches. A monk darted into the fray with fists blazing, but her footing betrayed her temper. A white mage shouted healing spells, her voice breaking from the strain.
They were talented, but raw. Too raw.
When one of the practice squad's axes nearly took the boy's head, Reks moved without thought. His shield flashed as he caught the blow, shoving the attacker back. The four stumbled, staring at him in shock.
"Steady," Reks said, his voice calm, anchoring. "You're not fighting alone."
The boy blinked. "Who—"
"Questions later," Reks snapped, raising his axe. "Line up. Gladiator, hold the front with me. Archer, steady your aim. Monk, guard the mage. White Mage—control your breathing, heal when it counts, not every scratch."
Something in his tone—quiet, certain, soldier-sharp—cut through their panic. They fell into place almost without thinking.
The practice squad pressed again. This time the line held. Reks met every strike with shield braced, axe answering with precise, brutal arcs. The boy mirrored him, finding courage in the rhythm. The archer took her time, each arrow finding its mark. The monk gritted her teeth and reined in her fury, fists darting sharp when the enemy turned. The white mage's voice steadied, her spells bright and sure.
When the final opponent fell, the yard rang with cheers. The instructors raised brows, murmuring to one another. The four adventurers crowded around Reks, eyes shining.
"You saved us," the boy blurted. "We'd have been—"
"You would've been fine," Reks interrupted, though his lips curved faintly. "You just needed direction."
The monk scowled, wiping sweat from her brow. "Direction, huh? You bark orders like some officer."
Reks shrugged. "Old habits."
The archer studied him curiously, then spoke in a quiet voice. "Still… thank you."
The white mage smiled shyly. "You were like… wings around us. Keeping us safe."
Reks blinked at that, caught off guard. His hand tightened on his shield. Wings, she had said. Not forgotten. Not cast aside. Wings.
He looked at the four—siblings, he realized, from the way they moved together, bickered even in exhaustion, leaned on each other like they had all their lives. Young, fiery, desperate to prove themselves outside the shadows of whoever had come before them.
"You're sparks," Reks said slowly, the words tasting strange and true on his tongue. "Not yet a blaze, but close. Keep at it, and you'll rise higher than you know." He let his gaze sweep over them, his voice soft but steady. "You're the Ember Wings."
The siblings exchanged startled glances. Then, one by one, they smiled.
"Ember Wings…" the boy repeated, testing the sound.
"Better than what we had," the monk admitted.
The archer's lips quirked upward.
The white mage's eyes glimmered. "Then Ember Wings it is."
Reks gave a small nod, stepping back toward the edge of the yard. "Make the name worth something. Don't waste it."
"Wait," the boy called after him. "Who are you, anyway?"
Reks paused. He thought of Ivalice, of betrayal, of his death forgotten by the world. Then he thought of the villagers on the coast, saved because he had stood. He thought of the shield in his hand, and the word Warrior echoing in his chest.
"Reks," he said quietly. "Just Reks."
He left them behind with their new name and their new fire, walking alone as always. But this time, the word "alone" didn't feel so heavy.
High above, gulls cried, the sea crashing steady against the piers. The Ember Wings watched him go, and though none of them knew it yet, a bond had been forged—one that would burn bright when the world grew dark.