You could try, she says, and for some reason in that moment he finds himself considering taking up the task of indeed making some effort in that regard. Not now, of course. Not in the midst of tempestuous, consumptive chaos, or the shadows of a (potentially) still haunted forest. But elsewhere. Later.

“That is because we are not made enemies by our allegiances.” He asserts, missing the point by staggering miles.

Not uncommon for him.

“Yet I cannot imagine any future without—”

He cuts himself off there, realizing that the edges of his subconscious thoughts lie yet unfinished in reality’s swaying hold. What is to be spoken of in their futures? Victory he has promised her, and that much he intends to deliver, yet once it is done....

He thinks of the crumbling gates he’d once spoken of with Vanadi. Too old and forgotten to hold purpose in a world without borders. He thinks of Ivalice, flourishing without him.

“It would curse our fate to speak of such determinations now. Only success lies before us. In thread, as it so is in woven tapestry alike.”