Morning light crept over Narshe, washing the stone buildings and the rough wooden stables in a pale glow. Moss sat at the edge of the central training yard, watching the trainees guide their chocobos through their paces. Even after weeks of instruction, the younger riders were still jittery, their birds skittish at the slightest motion. Yet Moss noticed their steady improvement, their careful attention to how the birds' bodies moved, how to anticipate sudden leaps.
Lyra approached quietly, her white robe brushing against the frost, covered stones. She didn't need to speak; Moss knew she had noticed the change in him. The pounding in his chest, the echo of what had stirred that night near the ice lake, was stronger today.
"You feel it again, don't you?" she asked softly, adjusting the white mantle around her shoulders.
Moss didn't answer immediately. He shifted on the stone, watching the morning fog curl along the ridges. "Yeah," he admitted finally. "It's calling me… back."
Dole joined them then, his hands tucked into his sleeves as he leaned against the railing of the training area. "You shouldn't go alone this time," he said flatly. His voice carried the weight of someone who had seen too many close calls. "That Miqote, the chase… if it happens again, you're not dealing with it by yourself."
Moss didn't meet their eyes. He had seen what they'd done, how Serra had clung close during the escape, but he knew she hadn't really helped. The Miqote had pressed them hard, and it had been him and Bran's speed that kept them alive.
"You're both being dramatic," he murmured, though the slight edge in his tone betrayed the truth. "I can handle it."
Lyra frowned, crossing her arms. "Handling it isn't the same as surviving. You know that. And we both saw what happened. We aren't going to let you walk into that on your own again."
Cid appeared then, trudging through the frost with Bran following, the chocobo's leg still stiff from its previous recovery. "You lot talking about heading out?" he asked. "Bran's ready enough, but I want to see him rest before I let you take off."
Moss nodded, glancing at the younger riders who were now gathered nearby, practicing mounted maneuvers under Varrin's gruff instructions. He could feel the hum in his chest, a reminder of the events at the ice lake, a sensation stronger than he had felt since Shiva.
"We leave first sun," Moss said, standing. "Everyone's coming. Serra too."
Dole scoffed. "She's mostly going to get in the way. You need someone solid at your side, Lyra or most especially me."
Serra, standing a little to the side with her device clasped in both hands, smiled brightly. "Oh, nonsense. I'll be useful! I want to see what's happening in the field, there's so much we can learn and I have ways to protect myself!" Her excitement was infectious, but Moss didn't respond. He simply nodded.
The preparations took the better part of an hour. Moss ensured the chocobos were fed and properly saddled, checking Bran's hooves for any lingering stiffness. He noticed Rynne lingering near the stables, her gaze darting between him and Serra. A subtle flush crept across her cheeks, but she quickly looked away when Moss caught her eyes.
The morning air was crisp, frost clinging to the ridgelines and the low branches as Moss guided Bran along the narrow forest trail. His hand occasionally brushed against his chest, the subtle pounding reminding him of what was calling him, though he said nothing. Serra rode beside him, device in hand, eyes scanning the subtle aether readings in the forest, her enthusiasm barely contained.
Lyra was quiet, focused on the path ahead, glancing at the trees and undergrowth for anything unusual. Dole brought up the rear, his attention split between the trail and the scattered sounds of the forest. Cid's chocobo moved carefully over frost, laden roots, and he whispered softly to it, keeping pace without drawing attention to their slower rear.
For several hours, the party followed the winding trails east, the world around them alive with the sounds of morning: wind rustling through frost, coated branches, distant birdcalls, and the soft crunch of chocobo hooves over frozen undergrowth. Serra occasionally muttered to herself, analyzing fluctuations in the aether and whispering her observations.
Moss gave a slight nod, not speaking, only tightening his grip lightly on Bran's reins. Lyra glanced sideways, curious.
Serra hesitated, eyes flicking to him. "I don't fully understand it yet, but it's almost like it's resonating… twice."
They continued in silence for a stretch, the quiet only broken by the gentle crunch of hooves and Serra's occasional murmured observations. Then, faintly behind them, a rhythm echoed over the forest floor, a distinct set of beats, lighter than theirs but steady and deliberate. Moss tensed slightly but didn't comment. Lyra's eyes narrowed, scanning the trees behind them.
"Who's back there?" Lyra called aloud, voice firm enough to carry. "Show yourself! Whoever's trailing us!"
From between the trees, a figure emerged cautiously, ears swiveling as she raised her hands in surrender. Rynne. She looked flustered but determined, her mount trotting carefully to close the distance. "I, I just wanted to keep track of you," she admitted.
Dole raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You're lucky we didn't assume you were scouting for the Miqote or worse. Best stick with us. Safer in a group than alone where you're going."
Rynne's face flattened slightly, but she nodded and fell into position behind the main group. Moss gave no expression, simply keeping his focus on the trail ahead, though Serra shot the girl a brief glance and returned to her readings.
The morning passed in a rhythm of careful riding, quiet discussion, and subtle observation. The forest thinned slightly as they followed the ridges, sunlight now spilling over more open patches of snow, covered ground. Moss adjusted Bran's stride, noticing subtle changes in terrain, the way frost shifted under hoofbeats, the thin flicker of sunlight through the canopy, but he kept his gestures small, only pressing his hand lightly to his chest when the pounding intensified.
Cid whispered softly to his chocobo, keeping pace behind the party. "Whatever it is, Moss… just don't let it distract you. That's all I'm saying."
Hours later, as they crested a ridge, the frozen lake came into view, mist rising faintly from its surface. Serra's device pulsed steadily, picking up stronger fluctuations. Moss's hand moved to his chest once more, the motion barely perceptible. Lyra noticed and frowned.
Dole, now scanning the distant treeline, spotted movement. "Finally," he muttered, voice tinged with amusement. "Looks like our escort has decided to reveal themselves. There's that female Miqote up ahead, can see her face. Beautiful, if you ask me."
The forest opened fully around the lake's edge, revealing the frozen expanse stretching outward. Moss guided Bran carefully along a narrow path, avoiding thin ice patches. The Miqote ahead remained at a distance, moving deliberately, subtly guiding the group toward the lake's center. The pulse in Moss's chest grew slightly stronger as they approached, and Serra's device hummed in tune.
Lyra's voice was steady, cutting through the cold. "Keep your eyes sharp. They're not attacking yet, but they're not leaving us any other paths either."
Dole smirked again, observing the Miqote's movements. "Shepherding us, huh? Looks like they've got their own plan. Can't deny the grace though. I'd follow her anywhere, weaponless."
Rynne rode closer to Moss, keeping a watchful eye on the Miqote. Moss maintained his calm composure, Bran's hooves crunching against frost, and Serra kept muttering excitedly about the readings, tracing patterns in the air with her finger as if doing calculations in front of her.
The path narrowed, guiding them toward the lake's center. The Miqote shifted position, enclosing the path lightly, but no direct attack came. Moss and Dole exchanged a glance as they nodded towards the throne; the pattern of energy and presence made it clear that the Miqote were leading them to a single destination.
The forest behind them was quiet, Rynne riding silently now, her breaths visible in the cold air. The group navigated the last stretch to the lake's edge, the frozen surface glinting under the low sun. Serra's device pulsed more rapidly, indicating the strongest readings yet. Moss pressed his hand lightly to his chest, a subtle acknowledgment of the pounding sensation as they approached the clearing where the ice throne awaited.