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FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 5 - Barbarous

Spoilers for Endwalker MSQ, circa level 82-83.

Xander knew Lucia would never exaggerate about the coldness of Garlemald, yet he found himself surprised by the sheer frost both consuming the environs and in the demeanors of the people. He knew any extension of humanitarian efforts was like to be met with some resistance- one did not simply overcome a lifetime's worth of prejudice and propaganda in mere moments- but the fact that many would sooner die from spite than accept necessary aid... It sat ill on his stomach, gnawing at the edges of his fraying temper.

They didn't have to be here, doing this. Hells, most of Eorzea and the Far East would much rather this army was an invasion force come to mete out some justice for all the lives the Garleans shattered over the past several decades. The fact that Fandaniel's forces and the massive spire of horrors in which they- and doubtless, the resurrected Crown Prince Zenos yae Galvus- loomed over their every action only spurred that tiny voice of bitterness that they were wasting time trying to help the oppressors to speak ever louder.

A voice that Xander forced back down inside, again and again. He'd made this mistake with the reticence and seeming ingratitude shown by the people of Ala Mhigo when he'd arrived there a year prior and gotten roundly condemned for his words and behavior. For his inability to see why they wouldn't exactly roll out the welcome wagon for those who would only make their immediate lives worse.

To expect people already writhing on the ground to lick his boots for the privilege of being saved was barbarous behavior, ill-becoming of a hero. Ill-becoming of anyone.

And so, he pushed that little voice, the one now actively roaring that all of this humanitarian effort was wasted on these intransigent bastards, back down into the depths where it belonged as he wandered with Alphinaud and Alisaie through the military installation known as Tertium.

Rage flared and flickered in his veins as his eyes drifted down to the magitek collars around Alphinaud and Alisaie's necks. The voice spoke up once more. Waste of time. Foolishness. They need to be PUNISHED for their barbaric behavior.

He took a deep shuddering breath to calm himself, his frustration coiling in front of him in frozen mist. We're supposed to be taking stock of the situation here. And it's far better that I came here with the twins than anyone else. If M'hana or, gods forbid, Celeste were here with them when those collars went on...

A shudder not prompted by the cold ran through Xander's body as he recalled the reports he heard from Ser Aymeric about Celeste's rampage through the Tribunal shortly after their arrival into Ishgard. There had been a hostage situation then, and she'd made it perfectly clear that she didn't give a damn about repercussions or trauma experienced by the hostage if it meant the hostage-takers were slain to a man. Such behavior then nearly cost them their temporary sanctuary. Such behavior now would forever scuttle any attempt at diplomacy they could have with the remains of Garlemald.

And so, though he felt deep in his core that it was a waste of time and resources both, though he longed to his soul to slaughter the camp to a man for daring to endanger those he loved like his own siblings, he forced those barbarous impulses down, down, down to focus on the mission at hand.

The first soldier he approached rested near some barrels of provisions. When he addressed her, she searched his face for several long moments of confusion before her eyes widened in recognition and an emotion he hadn't expected- terror.

"It's you! Xander Kinneman! My name is Octavia. I- I served under Lord Gaius in the XIVth Legion. I was there on the night the Praetorium fell..."

Octavia shook before him with something akin to white-hot rage and conviction as she continued, "You and your adventurers... you killed them. My comrades, my friends... Swept them aside in their dozens like they were nothing to you."

Xander blinked in stunned shock. He'd still been in the form of a Hyur back then. That this woman could possibly recognize him after so long, and in a different body besides... "How did you recognize me, when I-?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's your eyes. Those damnable dead eyes. We expected celebration at our fall. We expected sadism or delight or duty. But you... you-! There was nothing in your eyes. Nothing but boredom and calculations. And yet you and your savage ilk call us the barbarous ones while the vaunted, worshipped Champion of Eorzea weighs lives like stones in a bloody abacus!"

She broke off her rant with a manic laugh half-interrupted by coughing. "And maybe in the end, I'm nothing to you too. Just another faceless enemy to be cut down." Righteous fury blazed in her eyes as she glared up at him. "But it won't be long until our countrymen return. Until you get what you deserve. Mark my words."

Xander staggered back as though struck while the soldier returned to her duties, pointedly ignoring his presence. The implied threat registered to his conscious mind, but only barely above the yawning maw of dread opening in the depths of his stomach.

He had often considered the thought idly in sleepless nights where self-loathing spoke louder than good sense, but now he had confirmation: To the Garleans, he was the unstoppable juggernaut that saw naught in the lives dashed against him that Zenos was for Rhalgr's Reach.

Well did he remember that terror, that despair, of fighting to the brink and his best efforts only being enough to mildly entertain that monster in the shape of a man. And to the Garleans, in his calculating nature and unstoppable might, he was no better.

No better.

"Farewell, my first friend. My enemy."

...They should never have come to this frozen, forsaken place. He should never have come here.