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The message came early in the evening while Zhai'a was preparing to go to the Conjurers' Guild for his nightly tasks. He did not receive many messages, let alone those stamped with the official seal of the Adventurer's Guild, so he opened it immediately.
His ears flattened against his head as he read. The messenger waited patiently.
Zhai'a sighed. "Pray, allow me a moment to pen a message to E-Sumi-Yan."
"That'll be a hundred gil, ser," the messenger informed him.
Zhai'a pinched the bridge of his nose. He wrote his note and handed it over with the necessary amount plus a tip for haste. With that sorted, Zhai'a took the aetheryte network to the main plaza. From there, he briskly strode to the Carline Canopy.
Mother Miounne was waiting at her usual desk. She smiled warmly.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Conjurer Zhai'a." She gestured for him to follow her. "The lad is quite acerbic, but he has a good heart. I fear that he may not understand how severe his condition is — I hardly know myself. He is quite adept at concealing discomfort, but… Well, you shall see."
The Carline Canopy was crowded with the dinner rush. Zhai'a carefully navigated behind Miounne. She had earned enough respect and admiration that no one intruded or interrupted. Soon the busy tables were past and they were winding through the Canopy's halls. She stopped in front of a door at the end of a long hall. Her knuckles rapped thrice on the wood.
"Kiah'a? Are you awake?"
There was no answer.
"Kiah'a?" Miounne knocked again.
"What?" the voice was harsh, but Zhai'a had been training with the Conjurers' Guild for years and knew what the injured sounded like. There was a breathlessness in his tone.
Miounne took a deep breath. "I have a conjurer here — Zhai'a Nelhah. He is here to provide aid without expectation of repayment." Her letter stated she would compensate him, so Zhai'a kept his mouth shut.
"'m fine," Kiah'a insisted.
"You clearly are not," Zhai'a interrupted. He gripped the doorknob, though he was not willing to break in without more signs of immediate distress. "Do you have any idea what it takes for Miounne to request a conjurer make a personal call? And you would just spit in the face of her generosity?"
There was another moment of silence.
Then the lock on the door clicked. The door opened no wider than a coeurl's whisker. A single golden eye peered at Zhai'a through dark bangs.
"What do you get out of this?" Kiah'a asked Zhai'a.
"I am a conjurer of Stillglade Fane. 'tis my duty to aid those who need it, and you need it." Zhai'a met his gaze. "I may not be able to fix whatever ails you, but I implore you to allow me to examine you."
Kiah'a's eye narrowed. Whatever was wrong, he did not wish another to see it. Zhai'a held back a sigh.
"You are not the first individual with a dubiously acquired wound. 'tis not my business to report you to the Adders or Wailers." And oh, Zhai'a saw the flinch when he mentioned the Wailers. Poaching, then? Zhai'a did not like the reputation that Keepers had of being poachers, but 'twas a fact that some were in that occupation. It was a consequence of Keepers being granted few opportunities in the city. "If it brings you comfort, I can swear to secrecy."
For a third time, silence strung out between the trio. Miounne peered over Zhai'a's head.
"Kiah'a, pray listen to Zhai'a. I would not have requested his aid if I did not trust him entirely." She clasped her hands together. "I am worried for you."
Zhai'a was already preparing additional arguments in his head when the door swung open further. Kiah'a pointed at him.
"You, only. And I owe neither of you nothing." Kiah'a retreated further into the room. Zhai'a took initiative, nodding at Miounne before entering. He closed the door behind himself and cast an appraising eye to his patient.
Kiah'a was unwell. He was far too skinny, his grey skin had an unhealthy pallor, and there was a thin sheen of sweat that soaked his tunic. The fabric clung to his thin frame, doing little to hide the bandages wrapped around his torso. There was a foul smell in the air that made Zhai'a gag. Was the lad living in his own filth?
No, the room seemed clean enough. It was like any other room in the Carline Canopy, with a small bed, desk, dresser, and forest facing window. The scent must've come from Kiah'a's injuries. That did not inspire confidence. He strode across the room and slid the window open. Kiah'a scowled but remained silent.
Kiah'a's shoulders slumped as he began pacing on the other side of the room. His tail drooped, almost dragging along the floor. He was looking down, but his ears tracked Zhai'a.
"When were you injured?" Zhai'a asked, beginning with the simple questions.
"Right before the moon renewed," Kiah'a said.
Six days. That was a long time to be in such a state.
"Remove your shirt. I must examine the injury directly." Zhai'a expected an adverse reaction and was not disappointed. Kiah'a's ears flattened against his head and he snarled, flashing his fangs in threat.
"No."
Zhai'a looked at the lad. There were long scars over his face. One wound had blinded his left eye. That seemed caused by a blade. There were three along his cheek and chin. Those were caused by claws.
Miqo'te claws, if Zhai'a hazarded a guess.
"I shall not harm you," Zhai'a assured him. "I am a healer. This is my job."
Kiah'a slumped against the wall. "Didn't know they let Keepers into the guild."
"Guild membership is open to any who can prove themselves." Zhai'a decided now was not the time to mention that he was an exception as the only Keeper amongst the guild's ranks. He was on track to be the first Keeper Hearer in Gridania's history. "What caused the injury? A beast or man?"
Kiah'a hesitated, which was enough of an answer. Zhai'a had to fight his own curiosity. Too many questions would make the already reticent lad hostile, and that went against his duty. He could survive not having his curiosity sated. He was unsure Kiah'a could survive without medical intervention.
"Come. Sit, at the very least. You have very little strength to be wasting it pacing like a caged creature." Zhai'a gestured towards the desk chair. Kiah'a decided that was acceptable, taking a seat with a soft groan.
His eyes fluttered closed before snapping open. They focused on Zhai'a with an accusatory glare, despite Zhai'a not having moved. Zhai'a pinched the bridge of his nose. Menphina give him strength and remind him how to love, because Kiah'a certainly was not.
"Are you injured anywhere else?"
"What does that mean?" Kiah'a replied sharply.
Zhai'a was not being paid enough for this. If Kiah'a was not a Keeper, he would have left by now — but that was why Miounne had called upon him, was it not? The Keepers had so few on their side. They had to watch out for one another.
"You have bandages around your chest. Are there any other injuries I should be aware of?" Zhai'a clarified.
Kiah'a's ears flicked back and forth. He looked like he was fresh out of his clan, just of the age where he needed to take care of himself. They must've done a poor job preparing him for him to be so marked already.
"No," Kiah'a said. Zhai'a wasn't certain he could be believed but nodded.
"I shall ask again — pray, remove your shirt. There is very little I can do without seeing your injury myself."
Kiah'a breathed deep, his chest heaving with the effort. Another bead of sweat made its way down the sharp line of his face.
"What can you do without seeing it?"
Zhai'a was unsurprised by the question. "I can cast a cleansing spell, recommend you get rest, and leave you with new bandages." He had a small pouch with him. He drew a spool of bandages and then placed them on the desk. "But I would not think it wise to cast healing magic without knowing what I am working with."
"Why not?"
"Conjury draws on the aether of the land and the recipient. Proper application requires care and observation." And there were many occasions where concealed wounds caused a spell to go awry. Zhai'a stared Kiah'a down. "You are not the first stubborn Keeper fresh from his mother's clan that I've met, nor will you be the last. If you wish to survive outside of your clan, you cannot treat all other male Miqo'te as threats."
Kiah'a scowled. "How old do you think I am?"
Zhai'a did quick math. "180 moons."
"You think I measure my age in moons?" Kiah'a remarked. Zhai'a raised an eyebrow. Many of the Shroud clans did, as was tradition. Did that mean Kiah'a was from the city? But why would he stay in the Carline Canopy and not in the Keeper Quarter? "'m nineteen, if you care that much."
"Nineteen summers?!"
Kiah'a could not have been that old. Surely not. It made his condition even more dire — how malnourished must he be to be so small? And with hardly a scruff of hair on his jaw. Miqo'te varied in how much body hair they possessed, but Zhai'a would have expected more.
"Aye," Kiah'a said, jutting his chin out in defiance. "Do you have a problem with that, healer?"
"None at all," Zhai'a replied, bringing his expression back under control. "I am 26 summers, if you would like to know."
The two of them stared at each other. Zhai'a prepared to be told to leave. He would at least be able to cast a quick Esuna and leave the bandages. It was better than naught.
"You cannot tell a soul," Kiah'a said. He trailed a finger along the hem of his shirt. "Even Miounne."
"I swear to it," Zhai'a said.
Kiah'a grunted with effort as he removed his top. He tossed it to the floor. If the injury was sustained six days ago, the bandages were as old. They smelled rank and Zhai'a scrunched his nose. That was an unpleasant way to have his earlier suspicion confirmed. Zhai'a reached out when, with surprising alacrity, Kiah'a grabbed his wrist.
"I am only removing the bandages. You cannot keep wearing them," Zhai'a explained. Kiah'a's grip was fierce for someone dying.
"You tell no one," Kiah'a repeated. There was a fear in his eyes that Zhai'a had rarely seen before.
"I tell no one," Zhai'a echoed.
With one last reassurance, Kiah'a released him.
Zhai'a removed the bandages. He had to peel them off of Kiah'a. He grimaced as he tossed them into a nearby waste basket.
It looked like Kiah'a lost a knife fight. There were two large gashes across his chest, the skin more black than gray. It almost seemed like someone had cut skin from him and another tried to patch him together, though Zhai'a wasn't certain.
He was validated in his decision to refuse healing without an examination as each was sutured, but whoever had done it was sloppy — uneven handiwork that even the youngest apprentice would be ashamed by. If he had tried a healing spell, they might've been absorbed into the skin.
"Those need to come out," Zhai'a declared. He knelt down and adjusted his glasses. "How in Menphina's grace did you get hurt so?"
The wounds were not even, but curved. And Kiah'a's nipples seem to have been torn off, then re-grafted into place — albeit crooked. It—
Oh. Of course.
Zhai'a looked at Kiah'a. He was a thin lad and short in stature, but not solely from malnutrition. His hostility had a new undertone. It was not kind and Zhai'a did not welcome it, but 'twas understandable.
Kiah'a glared daggers. Even his blind eye managed to hold anger, but he was trembling. He was waiting for Zhai'a to say something.
"You had a surgeon do this, did you not?" Zhai'a huffed. "Whoever did it barely knew what they were doing. You are fortunate that I do."
Kiah'a mumbled something. Zhai'a's ears swiveled forward.
"What was that?" he said as he stood. He wished he had tweezers, but was loathe to leave Kiah'a alone.
"They were better before I had to take a job," Kiah'a repeated louder.
"You went back to — are you daft? Do you wish to die?" Zhai'a pulled his staff out. Anything was more productive than continuing to yell at the lad, no matter how dearly he wanted to. "Hold still. I shall cast a spell called Esuna, which helps rid the body of toxins and other sickness. The rot from your wounds should be much improved."
Kiah'a grimaced and, despite Zhai'a's words, tensed in his seat. Zhai'a waved his staff. The spell shimmered in the air. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Kiah'a gasped, looking down at his chest. The dark patches returned to a shade closer to Kiah'a's natural hue. Several strands of suture fell out, no longer held in place from inflammation.
"I — I am not in pain anymore?" Kiah'a questioned. He gingerly placed a hand over his left pectoral. His eyes widened and he poked and prodded himself several times more. "Are you done, then? You'll leave me alone?"
Zhai'a did not hide his unimpressed expression. "No. As I have said, the remaining thread must be taken out. Then I can perform a proper healing spell. I shall only do this once, so if you injure yourself again by pushing yourself, you can beg aid from a different conjurer. Do you understand?"
Kiah'a bristled. "I did not even want your help. Miounne asked you here, not me."
"And you may have died without my magic, so you can be quiet as I finish my work." Zhai'a used magic to start the process, drawing the sutures out as smoothly as he could. They used to be one long thread for each side, but Kiah'a's mistreatment of his body had not left them unaffected.
Save for one or two soft gasps and the creak of the chair as it shifted under Kiah'a's weight, he was quiet. Zhai'a could have left the conversation there. It was tempting. Alas, Zhai'a had never taken the easy path and he would not start now.
"What clan are you from?" Zhai'a asked after he finished the right side. He had a matron to have severe words with. It was improper but his duty as a conjurer outweighed any adherence to tradition. Besides, surely Kiah'a's mother would wish to know that her son was being so reckless?
Kiah'a winced as Zhai'a pulled a particularly long thread from his chest. His wounds had reopened and were bleeding slightly. Zhai'a wanted to find whoever performed the procedure and remove their hands himself. They did not deserve to practice medicine.
"You have not heard of them," Kiah'a said through grit teeth.
"Try me." The Keeper community in Gridania was tight-knit by necessity, and many still had connections to clans in the Shroud. Even if those clans never stepped foot in the city, they often traded for luxuries. Zhai'a may not know them, but he was all but guaranteed to know someone who did.
"No." Kiah'a exhaled slowly as Zhai'a removed the last remnants of sutures. Zhai'a frowned at him. "You do not need my clan name to heal me."
"Miounne's letter claimed your name was Kiah'a Claw. That is no clan name. You sound like a poacher."
"I'm no poacher," Kiah'a grumbled. Zhai'a wasn't certain that he believed him.
"At any rate, your given clan name leaves much to be desired." Zhai'a leaned back on his heels. He cast an appraising eye over Kiah'a. There was an older scar above his right hip. He wasn't a betting man, but it looked to be from some kind of bladed weapon. "Are you an orphan?"
"What is it to you?"
So that was an affirmative. It made many other things fall into place. Kiah'a had no one to turn to. He had been hurt by another Miqo'te in the past, so he'd rather slowly die in his inn room than seek aid. Miounne had a soft spot for those without family and Seekers — a bit of solidarity between Duskwights and Seekers — so she sent for Zhai'a. And now here he was, feeling both incredibly annoyed and quite sympathetic.
Zhai'a sighed. Every sliver of information made the situation more frustrating.
"Let me heal you. Now be warned, this spell may not fully repair the harm. 'tis dependent on your own aether." Zhai'a glossed over the details, presming most of them would go over his head. Kiah'a nodded. His ears were tilted up in anticipation.
Zhai'a had cast thousands of Cure spells between training and actual application. Pulling from the Twelveswood came as easily as breathing. It was the first skill conjurers were taught. He still took a moment to steady himself before opening his senses to the aether around them. The Shroud was still recovering from the Calamity and, by all procedures, he should ask one of the Seedseers for permission before doing this.
But no one had heard from the Elementals in years and Kiah'a needed help now.
The spell left his lungs and spilled from his fingers, magic collecting in his staff before settling over Kiah'a's chest. Zhai'a hoped for the bleeding to stop and the incisions to scab over. Not perfect, but enough that Kiah'a could get wrapped back up and not infected the moment Zhai'a turned his back.
He was shocked to see the flesh knit itself back together. Kiah'a's nipple grafts settled in place and the jagged scars turned into keloids. A month or more of recovery was condensed into less time than a jog around the aetheryte plaza. Zhai'a did not even feel drained.
Kiah'a's ears flicked back and forth. His eyes darted from Zhai'a, down to his chest, and then back at Zhai'a. "Is… it done?"
"Aye." Zhai'a returned his staff to its sling as he leaned forward to examine Kiah'a's chest. He must have missed something. Mayhap they were not as severe as he thought? But no, the size and shape of the keloids were clear: this was not something Zhai'a should be able to repair like a papercut. He should have needed much more aether at the very least.
He discounted the possibility that Kiah'a supplied the extra aether. The lad was skin and bones. Most likely, he had barely enough aether to fill a thimble.
It was rare that Zhai'a found himself stumped by magical quandaries, but he was forced to accept defeat as he stood back up straight.
"That is… incredible, truly. Menphina smiles on you."
Kiah'a's expression shuttered. "I doubt that."
"You do not believe in her love?" Zhai'a asked. He rummaged through his pouch. His tail curled in annoyance. Where is it?
"No one's ever answered any of my prayers. Have they answered yours?" Kiah'a retorted.
Zhai'a found his notepad and quill. He began to write as he spoke.
"The Calamity took many lives. Entire neighborhoods were destroyed, family trees pulled from the roots. The following months of starvation and sickness afterwards claimed even more. Yet we persisted. We came together and saved as many as we could." Zhai'a's mouth was a thin line. "Mayhap Menphina and the Twelve were not present. Mayhap our prayers fell on deaf ears. Mayhap not."
His quill stilled. There were birds chirping outside of the window. The Shroud had recovered from the fall of Dalamud, but the scars remained. Every Keeper's faith had been tested that day. To learn that one of the moons was an Allagan creation boggled the mind.
"Do not mistake me, Kiah'a. I do not believe that the gods have a particular care for me or you. But I believe they are watching us all. Are you on any potions?"
"What?" Kiah'a's puzzled expression was met with a sudden wall of professional disinterest.
"Are you on any potions?" Zhai'a waited for a response before realizing Kiah'a was about to lie to him. "I need to know so that I do not suggest you one that will react poorly to another."
Kiah'a paused. Zhai'a could see him weighing the merits of telling the truth or not. "There's a mixture from an alchemist that helps me… look proper," he eventually admitted. "I don't know what is in it."
Zhai'a nodded once. "Do you have one?"
"Aye." Kiah'a stood. With much more confident steps than before, he crossed the room and then knelt next to a small leather pack. He drew out a rather plain glass bottle, about as tall as Zhai'a's palm was long. It contained a liquid with the viscosity of oil and was closer to the color of wood pulp than Zhai'a liked. "I take a swig of this every week."
Kiah'a hesitated before holding it out for Zhai'a, who took it. He popped the cork and sniffed it. He closed his eyes as he tried to think what it could contain.
"Is it working?"
"Slowly." Kiah'a went to cross his arms over his chest, then grimaced. "Can I put my shirt back on?"
"Aye. I'll leave the bandages here in case they reopen, but you look as hearty as any could hope." Zhai'a was no alchemist, but if the potion was working then there were only so many substances that could be in it. He scribbled a few more things down before carefully ripping the page from his notepad. He held it out to Kiah'a. "Instructions and a list of potions you should take. If you are attempting to change your physical form, there are certain precautions that I'd recommend."
Kiah'a gave him a blank look. Zhai'a exhaled, shoulders slumping.
"You cannot read."
"Of course I can't. Do you know anyone who can?"
"I can," Zhai'a huffed, barely restraining obviously from the end of his sentence. Kiah'a made a fair point. He shouldn't have presumed that Kiah'a was literate. "'tis fine. Miounne can read it for you, or any vendor in the marketplace."
Kiah'a shook his head. "Just read it to me."
Zhai'a raised an eyebrow at him. "You shan't remember all this."
"Then that's on my head, not yours." The lad had a point.
"Cleanse your wounds daily with a mixture of one part distilled water, one part dried tinolqa mistletoe, and one part dried chanterelle mushroom. If they worsen, an antidote made of rock salt and the venom of a grass viper should suffice." Zhai'a paused. "The poison should be diluted by water, and I do not mean for you to go hunting for a viper. There are numerous stalls that sell the required substance."
Kiah'a glared at him. "I wasn't about to go stomping 'round the Shroud looking for vipers."
"Generally speaking, you also should eat more. If you can, I recommend proteins — fish, eggs, meat if you can afford it." Zhai'a looked at how Kiah'a's collarbones were prominent even underneath his shirt. "But you look as if you could use any meal."
"You think gil grows on trees?"
"You're an adventurer. Do you think you can fight beasts or bandits if you're close to falling over from hunger?" Zhai'a snapped back. His ears flattened against his head and he felt the urge to flash his fangs. "If you wish to disregard my advice, then 'tis fine — I'm only trying to keep you alive."
Outside the window, two of the birds were fighting. The flurry of their wings grew louder until one of them hit the glass with a thunk. Zhai'a flinched. Kiah'a was still.
"Daily mixture, one part distilled water, one part dried tinolqa mistletoe, one part dried chanterelle mushroom. If I need it, antidote made of rock salt and diluted grass viper venon. Eat more fish and eggs. Hunt a deer." Kiah'a rattled it off quickly and with ease. Zhai'a gave him a nod. "I can remember it."
"Good. Then I am done here, and can leave you to your own devices. I shall have Miounne send dinner. Your aether must be taxed after today," Zhai'a remarked.
Kiah'a shook his head. "Truly, I feel better than I have in days." He looked far improved compared to when Zhai'a had first entered the room, but down that path lay overexertion and reinjury.
"I'll remind you that I shall not be doing this again, so if you do harm yourself again Miounne can find another conjurer." Zhai'a smoothed down the front of his robes. He waited for Kiah'a to thank him and complete the social nicities. Then Zhai'a would be free to fetch his payment from Miounne and be on his way.
Kiah'a stared at him. Zhai'a stared back.
"I won't hurt myself again," Kiah'a said. "Is that what you want?"
Zhai'a took a deep breath. Dealing with ungrateful patients was part of the job. He did not do this for the accolades, but still — would a little bit of gratitude be too much to ask for?
"Menphina watch over you, then." Zhai'a turned towards the door, stepping across the room in three large strides. His hand curled around the knob. Menphina's tits. He glanced back at Kiah'a. "If you are in need of work, the Conjurer's Guild oft has tasks for adventurers. You do not need to be skilled in the art either."
Kiah'a's eyes narrowed. "What, you think me too stupid for spellcasting?"
"I said no such thing," Zhai'a replied coldly. "But if you wish to continue being some orphaned bandit, be my guest."
"I'm no bandit," Kiah'a hissed.
"Then act like it." Zhai'a rolled his eyes. "The last name 'Claw' is a mockery."
The fur on Kiah'a's tail stuck out and his fangs flashed as he growled, "Do you have a recommendation for that too, o' gracious healer?"
"Elakha," Zhai'a said, because it was the first name that came to mind. "There are half a dozen clans who have a connection to the name. It shan't be suspicious if none of them have heard of you."
He opened the door and the noise of the Carline Canopy drifted down the hall and into the room. "Try not to waste all of my hard work."
Zhai'a waited only long enough to give Kiah'a the opportunity to say something else. Once the moment was gone, he was as well, and he closed the door behind him with a gentle click.
"Arse," Zhai'a muttered to himself. He hoped that Kiah'a lived a long, healthy, safe life — after all, that was the best way to ensure they never met again.
(Two and a half years later, Zhai'a would hear about the Warrior of Light defeating Garleans at the Praetorium. He wouldn't believe the tales from the front until one of them described a Keeper with one gold eye.)