Lerr-isstory

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 20

[Entry 149 – Eyes on Me]
Something’s changed.Not in Valeria. Not between us. That… that still feels real. Steady. Like a second heartbeat I didn’t know I needed.But in the barracks—there are looks now.Not words. Not yet. Just glances held a breath too long. Conversations that stop when I enter the room. A shift in tone during drills. Ser Adalyn didn’t call on me during the tactics review. Not once. And I know she noticed that I corrected her mapwork in the ledger last week.Something’s spreading. A whisper without a name.I’ve been careful. Gods, I’ve tried to be careful. But shadows follow you, even when you don’t cast them.Valeria asked if I wanted to vanish for a while. Just disappear for a moon or two. She said she knows places beyond the reach of the Order—places even the sun forgets.And I thought about it. Truly did.But I said no.Because I still want to believe I can have both.
The armor and the flame.
The oath and the warmth.
The shield and her.But each day, that dream feels a little more fragile.And I don’t know how many more cracks it can take.

[Entry 150 – Called Out]
It started with a patrol. Routine enough—sweep the lower quarter, keep peace near the canals.Ser Jannor came with me. Younger than me by a year, full of pride and regulation. Quiet, until the halfway mark.Then, sudden as steel drawn in silence, he asked:“Do you think she loves you?”I stopped walking. Didn’t speak. I didn’t need to ask who.He looked at me with something between pity and fury.“I know what she is. We all do. Don’t think you’ve hidden it.”I told him to watch his tone. He told me to watch myself.He said he’d been watching for weeks. Said he’d seen me disappear at odd hours. That my reports didn’t match my movements. That it wouldn’t take much to open an inquiry.He didn’t threaten me.He just stated it, like it was already decided.I told him to go to hell.He told me I was already walking there.

[Entry 151 – The Breaking Point]
The mission was small. Escort and negotiate. Clear out a holdfast overrun with squatters turned violent. I volunteered. Needed the distraction.When the fighting broke out, one of the would-be raiders fled. Unarmed. Terrified. Barely out of her teens.I let her go.Didn’t shout. Didn’t chase. Just watched her vanish into the brush, eyes wide and wild with panic.Ser Adalyn saw. Of course she did.Later that evening, she pulled me aside. Her voice was low, but the words hit like hammers.“You're not here to save everyone, Rissa. You're here to follow orders.”And I said something I shouldn’t have.“Maybe that’s the problem.”The silence that followed was cold. Final. Like the world itself had turned its back.

[Entry 152 – The Inquisition Room]
They summoned me today.Formal inquiry. No trial. No chance to speak freely.Just cold stone. Three officers. Two scribes. And a sealed letter with my name burned into it.Inside: surveillance logs. Redacted reports. A hand-drawn likeness of Valeria—eyes sharp, features half-shadowed. Identified as a suspected Voidsent infiltrator. High threat. High charm.They knew everything.The dinners. The books. The meetings in alleys. The conversations by moonlight. They knew I let the girl escape in Sagolii. That I gave food to a thief. That I questioned the Code.They said I’d compromised my integrity. That I’d let a known enemy into my bed. That I’d bent the law to serve myself.They used the word corruption.
They used sympathizer.
They used traitor.I didn’t speak. I didn’t cry.I just stared at the sketch of her—my Valeria, painted in ink and accusation.And I realized they were never looking for the truth.They were looking for an excuse.

[Entry 153 – The Ultimatum]
They called it mercy.Said I had one chance to make things right.Turn in the Voidsent woman. Turn in the thieves, the smugglers, the orphans I kept off the record. List their names, their hiding places. Help the Order “purify the stain” and “reclaim the honor of the shield.”Or be exiled. Stripped of title. Branded a disgrace.They spoke of justice. Of duty. Of second chances.And not once—not once—did they ask me why I made the choices I did.So I stood tall. Straightened my back. Looked them in the eye, one by one.And I spoke:“You wear light like armor, but you’ve forgotten what it means to see people. You quote oaths, but you’ve never bent down to feed a starving child. You call me corrupted—but I’ve saved more lives by breaking your rules than I ever did following them.”Their faces twisted, but I wasn’t finished.“If exile means walking away from hypocrisy, from cowardice dressed in gold—then brand me. Strip me. Exile me. But do not think for a second you’ve won.”No one stopped me as I left. No one dared.I handed over my tabard. My sword. Not my honor.That they could never take.

[Entry 154 – The Last Flame]
She opened the door before I could knock.No questions. No fear. Just arms around me, warm and shaking.We didn’t speak—not at first. Just held each other in the half-light of her chambers, where shadows danced along the walls and the world outside couldn’t reach us.Clothes fell away without ceremony. Hands moved with urgency and reverence. Every touch said I’m still here—every kiss, remember me.She whispered my name like it was sacred. I memorized the way her skin felt against mine, the hitch in her breath when I said I love you, the way her nails curled against my back like she couldn’t bear to let go.And when it was over, we stayed tangled in silence.Eventually, I said what I had to.“They’ll keep hunting. They’ll come after you now.”She didn’t argue. She just looked at me—her eyes ageless and heavy.“You’re choosing to protect me.”“I’m choosing to survive you,” I said.The sun hadn’t yet risen when I left.She didn’t follow.
She didn’t have to.I felt her watching until I disappeared.

[Entry 155 – Dust and Salt]
I left at dawn.Didn’t want a crowd. Didn’t want a scene. Just Papa, Mama, and Erynn standing in the courtyard, arms crossed in different ways.Papa hugged me so tightly I thought he’d crush the last breath from my chest. He didn’t say “I’m proud of you.” He didn’t have to. His hands said it all.Mama tried not to cry. Failed. Pressed a little bundle of dry rations into my satchel like I was a child again, running off to market. Told me to eat more than I think I need.Then there was Erynn.She didn’t smile. Didn’t hug me. Just stood there in her perfectly pressed robes, judgment in her silence.“You could’ve brought them in,” she said.
“I couldn’t,” I answered.
“No. You wouldn’t.”She turned away before I could say goodbye.I don’t blame her.But it still felt like being unmade.

[Entry 156 – Salt in the Wind]
The ferry to Limsa Lominsa was crowded, loud, and alive in a way Ul’dah never was. The salt air stung, but it woke something in me—something I thought the Order had killed.I didn’t have a plan. Just coin, my old blade, and a letter from Papa with a contact name in the Upper Decks.Didn’t expect to be recognized.But as I stepped off the docks, two figures in blue stood waiting—broad-shouldered, grinning like wolves.Senior Marauders. One of them, a Roegadyn named Dorrek, slapped my back hard enough to knock the air out of me.“So the golden girl’s finally done polishing boots. Ready to break some bones instead?”I blinked. “You know me?”“Everyone in the guild’s heard about the Paladin who told her commanders to choke on the Code.”They welcomed me. Not with ceremony—just with challenge. With dirt and sweat and sparring circles, not politics.They didn’t care who I loved.
They didn’t care who I spared.Only whether I could hold my ground.

[Entry 157 – Unsent Letter to Erynn]
I keep trying to write to you.
Tore up the first five.This one I’ll keep. But I won’t send it.Erynn,
You always did follow the law better than I did. You believed in it with this pure, clear-eyed conviction that made people trust you the moment you opened your mouth. And gods, I envied that.But I need you to understand something. I didn’t leave the Order because I hated it. I left because I loved what it was supposed to be.A shield. A light. A force for good.But that’s not what it was anymore—not for me. Not when they told me to turn in a starving girl. Not when they asked me to betray someone I loved just to keep wearing their colors.I didn’t break the law to be rebellious. I broke it because sometimes the law doesn’t fit the people it claims to protect. You know that, even if you won’t say it out loud.I still hear your voice in my head.
Telling me I could’ve chosen better.But I did choose.I chose people.
I chose mercy.
And I’d do it again.Even if it meant losing you.—Rissa

[Entry 158 – Axe and Oath]
They made me fight for it.The guild doesn’t hand out titles for free—not even to disgraced former Paladins with a sob story and a heavy swing.They paired me with a Sea Wolf nearly twice my size. Said if I could hold my ground for two minutes, they’d consider me.I lasted three.
Dropped my blade, switched to fists, and drove my knee into his gut hard enough to knock him flat.The cheers were deafening.Someone handed me a flask. Someone else slapped my back. And when I looked up at the balcony, I saw Dorrek nod once before turning away—like he’d already known how it would go.They didn’t give me a speech.
They gave me a nickname.
“Stonepaw.”A joke, maybe. A nod to the past.But it felt like a homecoming.I’m still bleeding from the split in my lip. But gods, it feels good to hurt for something real again.

[Entry 159 – Bone and Salt]
First official mission. Three-person team. Cargo retrieval—pirates tried to lift a shipment of smoked raptor meat bound for the Drowning Wench.The pirates weren’t expecting us. One tried to flirt. The other two tried to run.I disarmed the first with the haft of my axe and talked the other two down with a firm voice and a smile. No blood spilled. No lives lost.Dorrek called it “an efficient show of force and personality.”I call it clean.We shared a bottle on the docks after. I made the greenest member of our team laugh so hard he hiccuped through the whole toast.It felt good to be part of something that didn’t need ceremony to have meaning.

[Entry 160 – The Rope Bridge Job]
Small fishing village outside Bloodshore. A landslide cut them off—bridge snapped in the storm. Supplies dwindling.Guild sent me solo. Said, “You’re gentle with scared folk. That’s what they need.”I took a chocobo, rope, and a pack full of dried food and medicine.The kids were the first to peek from behind the crates. One of them called me a “giant lady knight.” I flexed. They giggled.Built a temporary pulley line to get essentials across. Played cards with the elder until the storm passed. Slept in the hay with a kitten curled on my neck.They didn’t want me to leave. I promised to come back before winter.I meant it.

[Entry 161 – That Time With the Goblin Keg]
Mission log called it “bandit deterrent and morale restoration” near Bronze Lake.What it actually was: a bunch of half-drunk goblins had found a supply wagon and mistaken it for a wedding gift. The guards didn’t want blood. The goblins didn’t want to stop partying.I showed up with a new keg, a flute, and a deep enough goblin accent to confuse everyone long enough to swap the crates back.We ended up dancing. I don’t know why I danced. But gods, I laughed until my stomach hurt.One of the guards carved me a little wooden bear and said, “For the fiercest softie in the guild.”It’s in my satchel now.

[Entry 162 – Wounds and Words]
New recruit broke down in the locker room after a botched training match. Said he wasn’t cut out for this. Said he thought he could be strong, but all he felt was tired.I sat next to him, still covered in mud, and told him about the first time I dropped my sword in front of a crowd. Told him about a girl I let go. A woman I let leave.He cried. I let him.Then we trained. Side by side. Two hours. No pressure.Next day? He got a hit in on Dorrek during drills.They’re calling him “Snapblade” now.I call him “Kiddo.”He calls me “Boss.”

[Entry 163 – Rules Bent, Not Broken]
Mission to a former smuggler’s den near the cliffs of north La Noscea. A report said it had been reoccupied. Turned out to be three families hiding there—mothers, children, one old man with a limp.They weren’t smuggling. Just surviving. The city turned them out after the plague scare last season. No aid. No warning. Just fear.Technically, my report should’ve flagged them for removal.Instead, I gave them three crates of dry goods “salvaged” from the last pirate raid. Marked the cave as “abandoned, no signs of activity.”No one asked questions.And if they do, they’ll get the same thing I always give—A smile.
A shrug.
And silence.

[Entry 164 – Axe First, Talk Second]
Escort job in the Cieldalaes. Expected routine. Wasn’t.A sea serpent reared out of the water mid-crossing. Ship tilted. One sailor went overboard. Others froze.I didn’t.Leapt from the deck—armor and all—sank like a stone. Found the sailor tangled in rope, lungs full of panic. Cut him free with my dagger. Kicked for the surface.I don’t remember grabbing the ladder. Just his scream when we broke the waves.They’re calling me “Madpaw” now.
I hate it.
But I’m laughing too hard to stop them.

[Entry 165 – Quiet Mercy]
Merchant in Limsa asked for our help tracking a “beast” that had been raiding his caravans. Expected a bear. Found a starving coeurl with a broken jaw.She wasn’t attacking. Just scavenging. Terrified. Wounded.Dorrek told me to put her down.I didn’t.I sedated her. Took her to an old druid contact near the canyon outposts. Paid for the treatment out of my own purse.Filed the report as “handled peacefully, threat resolved.”No one asked what that meant.They trust me.
And they should.I don’t work for paperwork. I work for the wounded.

[Entry 166 – The Line Is Fading]
Another mission today. Cargo retrieval turned bandit chase. When we cornered them, two surrendered immediately. One tried to buy time—said his brother needed medicine, that the crates they stole were mostly potions.Protocol says you bring them all in.I made a choice.Took the crates back. Told the youngest to vanish before someone else found him. Let the oldest swing a punch so I could justify knocking him out.Left enough gil on the ground for one moon of healing.The others on my team didn’t question it. Just said, “That’s our Stonepaw.”But I wonder sometimes—how many more of these decisions before someone does ask?And what happens when the question isn’t “why,” but “how long have you been doing this?”

[Entry 167 – Sea Runs Red]
Bandit camp sweep east of Oakwood. They expected us to march loud and proud like the Yellowjackets. We didn’t.Four of us. Quiet approach. Smoke snuffed. Tents cleared.Found a stash of Empire-forged steel. Too refined for your average backwater thugs. No Garlean markings, but the weight and balance were unmistakable.Dorrek grunted, said: “Another one’s been through here. Someone bigger’s pulling strings.”I asked who.He shrugged.“Some say there’s a new hand stirring up the coastlines. Name whispered in smuggler camps. Kess? Kren? Something sharp.”Didn’t think much of it.But the name stuck.

[Entry 168 – Salt and Loyalty]
Old crew from the South Bloodshore called me in—small dock-town dealing with missing shipments. Nothing fancy. Looked like another pirate reroute until we found the ship.Empty deck. No crew. No bodies. Just the smell of rot and a single word carved into the mast in jagged blade-marks:“Debt.”Locals hushed up after that. Said things disappear when you say the wrong names too loud.Dorrek told me to let it lie.So I did.But I can’t stop wondering: What kind of man leaves no bodies?

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 21

[Entry 169 – The Beast You Didn’t Kill]
Three-man mission into the Bronze Lake foothills. “Culling duty,” they called it—something had been attacking livestock. Farmers blamed a rogue chimera. Turned out to be a wounded ursine—barely holding together. Hacked chains still clinging to one forepaw.Not wild. Not free.I calmed it with smoked fish and a slow approach. Found the mark on its flank—an iron brand, sharp as a dagger stroke.Poacher’s work. Organized. Clean. Intentional.Dorrek told me to end it. Said if we let it go, it would circle back. I looked him in the eye and said:“Then I’ll handle it again. But I’m not killing something someone else broke.”We sedated the bear. Got it moved to a protected glade through one of my contacts. No one asked questions.But the mark is burned into my memory. I’m going to find the one who did it.

[Entry 170 – Rise of ‘The Gentle Axe’]
Someone carved it into the dock post.“Stonepaw Was Here – Ask the Coeurl.”No idea who wrote it, but the name’s catching on. “The Gentle Axe.” Means I hit hard… but don’t kill without reason.I’ve started getting letters. Small settlements requesting me specifically. Not the guild—me.Bandit groups are starting to flee when they see me approach. I overheard one call me “the woman with the soft eyes and bloody hands.”I should be bothered.But I’m not.Because if my name frightens the ones who hurt the helpless?
Then let it echo louder.

[Entry 171 – First Trace of the Name]
Smuggler’s den under the northern cliffs. Empty cages. Blood pooled where aether should’ve been.We were too late.But the logs remained—shipment routes, inventory codes, even holding times for rare beasts.Most names were coded.Except one.“K. Dravanox. Clearance: Full.”Dorrek looked at me. Didn’t speak.We burned the papers.But not before I made a copy.

[Entry 172 – When the Blade Swings First]
Tried to talk them down. Three mercs working for some nameless syndicate—too well-equipped for simple caravan work. I offered terms. Showed mercy.They fired first.I didn’t.But when I moved, it was over in twelve seconds.One ran. One crawled. One begged.I left them alive. Bound. Bruised. One with a broken jaw.Told them to tell their boss something.“She’s not going to stop.”Let Kest hear it. Let him know it.Because the next time I see his brand on a cage—I won’t be so merciful.

[Entry 173 – Bounty on the Gentle Axe]
Dorrek slapped a notice on the table today. Bloodstained, folded, and written in a formal merchant’s hand.“Eliminate the mercenary known as ‘Stonepaw.’ Half-pay for capture. Full reward for a corpse.”No name signed. No seal. But it came from one of the southern syndicates known to run exotic trade.He stared at me across the fire.“You scared someone enough to spend gil. Congratulations.”I tucked it into my pouch. I’ll keep it.A reminder that I’m cutting too close to the source.And that someone’s watching.

[Entry 174 – The Blackwater Shipment]
Intel came in from a Lominsan customs clerk. A shipment marked “alchemical storage” was loaded without inspection. Destination: a floating barge near Widow’s Wail.I pulled together a four-person team. Disguised ourselves as workers and slipped in under false manifests.Inside: cages. Cramped. Screams muffled under silencing runes. An Opo-opo with its fingers shattered. A scalekin with sunblind eyes. A peiste pup nearly dead from dehydration.We didn’t talk. We acted.Freed every creature. Knocked out half the crew. Torched the records.And when the foreman tried to bribe me?I handed him over to a Doman syndicate contact with a long memory and a pet grudge.Let the paperwork clean itself.

[Entry 175 – Blood on Bark and Bone]
We tracked the camp for two days. A known drop site near the cliffs. Cold fires. Flattened grass. Signs of overuse.They were poachers. Seasoned. Smart. Fast-moving. Knew how to cover their tracks.But not fast enough.We crept in before dawn. Me, Snapblade, Dorrek, and a Dunesfolk archer named Kiri.What I saw broke something in me.A young cloudkin—feathers torn, legs hobbled, tethered to a post and beaten. For fun. The man doing it was laughing.I don’t remember drawing my axe.But I remember the snap.I remember the scream.And I remember the silence that followed.I cut through them. All but one. Fast. Focused. Cold.The last one dropped his blade. I let him crawl backward until he hit a tree. Then I stepped close, blood on my face, and said:“Tell your master: I’m done being gentle.”We left the creature with the druid circle.I didn’t clean the blade that night.I wanted it to remember.

[Entry 176 – Ghost in the Trees]
The camp didn’t burn. I didn’t need it to.The bodies told the story.And now? They’re calling me the Ghost of North Vylbrand. The Gentle Axe turned wild. “Stonepaw, breaker of bones.” I’ve heard them all.A poacher we captured last week begged before I even touched him.“We didn’t know it was your territory.”My territory.Like I’m some beast guarding a den.I’m not sure if I hate that.
I’m not sure if I care.But if that fear keeps them from stringing up another innocent creature?Then let the stories spread.

[Entry 177 – The One He Sent]
We found him near Aleport. Too clean to be local. Gloves too polished. Accent too thin.He asked for me by name.Said he was “a message” from someone who “preferred to remain above ground.”We fought in the rain. His blade was poisoned. Fast. Close to deadly. But he made a mistake—he underestimated my reach.I shattered his shoulder with a pommel strike and pinned him with a single boot.I asked who sent him.He smiled with blood in his teeth.“He said to tell the stone-hearted bitch she’s cutting into profits. He called you a problem with claws.”I broke his dagger, dropped him at the Yellowjackets’ gate, and paid a courier to deliver what was left of his manifest to the dragoons in Ishgard.I never learned his name.But I know who sent him.Dravanox.

[Entry 178 – Quiet Between Storms]
The sea was gentle tonight.Took my journal to the docks. Watched the waves push little lights back and forth—vessels from the upper decks. Lanterns. Stars.Snapblade joined me. Didn’t say much. Just passed me a half-wrapped biscuit and said I looked tired.I asked if he was afraid of me now.He laughed. “Terrified,” he said. “But only in the way someone’s afraid of lightning. You don’t blame it for striking.”He meant it kindly. And I knew that.
But it still stung.I don’t want to become what I fight.Not really.I want to believe there’s still softness in me. Still joy. Still the girl who once gave food to a thief because she saw hope in her eyes.But when I see what they do to these creatures…I don’t know if kindness is enough anymore.

[Entry 179 – The Net Tightens]
We intercepted a shipment meant for Thavnair. Exotic birds. Two jackal pups. One sick chocobo foal.Marked as “botanical specimens.” Clever. Subtle.But not subtle enough.I worked with Kiri and a dock clerk named Brelo. We swapped the cargo labels. Replaced the birds with alchemical flasks and sealed the cages with trace ink.Let it sail.That crate is going to arrive in Radz-at-Han carrying a ledger full of names hidden in the lining—and the first real proof of Kest Dravanox’s supply lines.Sometimes, the best revenge is delivered by customs officials with clipboards and very sharp smiles.

[Entry 181 – Smoke and Songbirds]
Set the trap near the old sulfur pools, where poachers sometimes corral creatures before sending them up to the markets.We used bait. Crates that looked full. Echoes of songbird cries played through a tiny aetheric device Snapblade rigged.They came. Four of them. One a woman with a whip. The others with knives and binding aether.We let them get close.Then we sprung.Kiri took two with arrows to the knee. I took the whip from the woman’s hand and turned it into a noose she barely escaped.One fled into the trees. I let him.He’ll talk.And I hope he says this:“She knew we were coming. She knew. And she waited.”

[Entry 182 – A Letter Without a Seal]
Found it under my boot after returning from patrol.No signature. Just a fine hand, smooth ink, and a faint smell of saffron.“You’ve cost me a dozen crates, three teams, and a considerable amount of patience. You should walk away while your name still carries weight.The creatures you love do not love you back.Nor do the people.Eventually, the tide will turn.–K”I burned the letter.But not before copying the handwriting.Because I want to recognize it when I carve it into the dirt beside him.

[Entry 183 – The Axe Is Earned]
They called me in today.Formal summons. Dorrek gave me a wink but didn’t say a word.I expected a reprimand. Maybe a warning. I've been working around too many edges lately—drifting too far from protocol, too deep into blood-marked territory.But when I stepped into the Guildmaster’s office, it wasn’t anger waiting for me.It was respect.Guildmaster Rhostel stood with her arms crossed, expression unreadable. She gestured to the blade on my back—chipped, notched, familiar.“That axe has tasted truth,” she said. “Pain. Justice. The kind of work most don’t come back from.”I didn’t know what to say.So she continued.“We’ve been watching. Not just your strength—but your will. The restraint when it matters. The fire when it counts. You’re not just a Marauder anymore, Blackbard. You’re something older. Something wiser.”She stepped forward and placed a hand over my chest.“You’re ready.”The parchment was already on the desk. Formal. Signed. Acknowledging my right to wield the way of the Warrior. Not just a title. A calling. A legacy.I took it with steady hands.They clapped for me outside. Even the ones who used to doubt me. Snapblade practically lifted me off the ground.Dorrek called me “Boss” for the first time. No sarcasm. Just pride.I didn’t cry.
Not then.But when I held that new greataxe later—clean-forged, heavy in the right ways, etched with my crest—
I let myself feel it.I am not what they tried to break.
I am not the girl who begged the law to bend.I am Stonepaw the Warrior.And the world has seen nothing yet.

[Entry 184 – The Ground Remembers]
First mission as a Warrior. Real one. Heavy axe. New stance. Different rhythm.It feels… right.More like motion than technique. Less like a weapon and more like a part of me I’d forgotten how to use.The fight was clean. Six smugglers near the tidebreak caves. Tried to flank us, but I saw the move before they did.I struck once. The earth cracked beneath it. One of them dropped his blade just from the sound.Snapblade told the others afterward:“She doesn’t need to hit you. She just needs to hit near you.”I laughed. I like that.Let them fear the tremor.Let the ground remember me.

[Entry 185 – Reverence and Rumors]
Got called “Lady Warrior” in Mist today. From a child barely waist-high.I knelt down and thanked her. She gave me a seashell. Said it was lucky. I kept it.Later that same day, a merchant tried to bribe me to look the other way on a small shipment of sedated scalekin eggs.I said no. Kindly.He muttered something as I walked off.“All that power and still bleeding hearted…”I turned back, smiled, and said:“Power doesn’t mean forgetting why you fight.”He didn’t answer.But I saw him close up shop.I think the guild is starting to understand—I’m not a tool. I’m a voice.And I will not go quiet.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 22

[Entry 186 – Beyond the Bay]
Guild sent me to Gridania.Said the Wood Wailers requested external aid—“outside strength,” they called it. Beastkin sightings. Tensions with the Ixal escalating again.Part of me knows this is a reshuffling. A way to move pieces on the board without saying why.Dorrek said it plain enough:“You're doing too much good in one place. Time to spread it around before someone comes looking too hard.”He meant it with love.I left the seas behind. Traded salt for pine. The hum of the waves for the silence of the Shroud.It’s quieter here. But not still.And the trees watch.

[Entry 187 – The Lost and the Bound]
Escorted a caravan through the South Shroud—traders, healers, and a small group of scholars returning from studying elemental activity.Halfway through, we were ambushed.Not by bandits. By a corrupted treant. Poisoned. Wrong.I stood at the front, axe held low. The scholars begged me not to kill it—not yet. Said it was being used. Driven mad.So I did something I never tried before.I knocked it down. Didn’t kill it. Just broke its focus. Let the Wailers bind it with their magicks.They called me reckless. Brave.The conjurer with us called me merciful.I think that meant more.

[Entry 188 – Whispers of Fire in the East]
Rumors out of Thanalan.Empire activity. Strange weather patterns. The Amalj’aa more restless than usual. And something about a flame… too big for a torch. Too hungry.I asked one of the Archers if they’d heard of anything real.She nodded.“There are names we don’t say anymore. The kind that answer when called.”I don’t know what that means.But the ground has been trembling more than usual.And I’ve started waking from dreams of skies on fire.

[Entry 189 – A Stranger at the Edge of the Grove]
Met a traveler outside Camp Tranquil. Wore robes, face half-covered, voice like coals under snow.She didn’t give her name. Just said she’d heard of me.“The axe that cuts clean. The heart that bleeds slow.”She said I was “in the current now.” That I was drifting toward something bigger than I realized.Before she left, she gave me a vial of crimson sand.“For when the world forgets your weight.”I don’t know what it means.But I kept it.Because sometimes, the smallest things survive the biggest storms.

[Entry 190 – The Red Dust of Thanalan]
Camp Drybone. Sandstorms sharp enough to draw blood. Fewer bandits these days, but more fear. More silence.Was sent to escort a medical wagon to a nearby hamlet. Thought it’d be simple. It wasn’t.We found the town empty. Doors open. Food half-cooked. A quiet wrongness in the air.No bodies.Only footprints—clawed, deep. Leading away toward Amalj’aa territory.The soldiers wanted to burn what was left. Said it was too late.I stopped them.If we burn everything that’s tainted, soon we’ll have nothing left but ash.We buried what we could. Took the remaining supplies to a nearby refugee post.I prayed at the edge of the ruin.I don't even know to who anymore.

[Entry 191 – Garlemald Watches]
Spotted a ship off the coast of Lower La Noscea while helping a trade convoy reroute after a landslide.Sleek. Iron-plated. No flags. But I knew the make.Garlean.They didn’t land. Just watched.One of the caravan guards muttered that the Empire’s been scouting all over—pressuring the East, testing Eorzea’s pulse. Like a predator waiting for the herd to stumble.We’re not ready. Not for them.I can feel it in my bones.War’s coming.And this time, we won’t be fighting each other.

[Entry 192 – Coerthan Steel and Ice]
Mission to Coerthas. A supply route collapsed after an avalanche. Needed Warrior support to carve a new one through the eastern cliffs.Cold like I’ve never felt before. Wind that cuts through armor.But it wasn’t the cold that rattled me.It was the quiet.Too quiet.The Dragoons muttered about sightings—shadows flying against the moon, great wings unfurling. They wouldn’t say the name.But I’ve seen old Ishgardian maps. Read legends. I know what lives in the mountains when it remembers how to hate.We finished the route in two days.But I didn’t sleep either night.

[Entry 193 – The Voice That Wasn’t a Voice]
South Shroud patrol. Solo. Simple. Clear the way for a merchant’s escort.Found an abandoned prayer circle deep in the woods—old Ixal markings, still smoldering. The air felt thick, like syrup on the lungs. Every sound muffled.I stepped into the clearing and felt a pull—like something looked through me.And then… a sound. Not a voice. Not quite. Just a presence.Cold and vast and wrong.It said nothing. But it made me feel small.I backed away. Didn’t run. But my hands shook until morning.I think something answered them.

[Entry 194 – When the War Begins, I Will Choose the Small]
Got offered a station post. Full command over a unit. Permanent assignment in Ul’dah’s outer districts.I said no.Not because I’m tired. Not because I’m afraid.Because war is coming. Real war.
And I don’t want to be another name in a battle line.I want to be there—in the corners. The alleys. The forests. The half-forgotten places where people vanish, where creatures suffer, where the world forgets to look.Because that’s where Kest hides.
And others like him.
And worse.I’ll fight Garlemald when it comes.But I’ll fight for those without a place on the map.Let the generals have the front.I’ll guard the back.

[Entry 195 – The Chocobo That Wouldn’t Leave]
Northern Thanalan. A minor outpost hit by raiders—quick, clean, organized. Survivors fled before the flames spread.I came with a relief crew two days later. Found a single chocobo—scarred, feathers scorched—standing guard over the ruins. Wouldn’t let anyone near a collapsed hut.Inside: three children. Alive. Dehydrated. Barely conscious.That bird had dragged water to them. Guarded the door.They tried to put it down after—said it was “unstable.”I raised my axe. Calmly.They let me take her instead.She’s recovering. No name yet. But she follows me like a shadow.Another survivor. Like me.

[Entry 196 – Whispers of the Red Moon]
The sky’s different now.Not every night. But sometimes, when the clouds thin just enough—you can see it. A red glow behind the stars. A shimmer that wasn’t there before.A trader near Quarrymill asked me about it. Called it “the watcher.”“Feels like it’s looking back now,” he said.I wanted to say it’s just Dalamud. Just another satellite.But even I don’t believe that anymore.And the conjurers?
They’ve started praying harder.

[Entry 197 – The Ones No One Claimed]
Refugee children were being shuffled between temporary shelters in Central Shroud—lost during the last beast tribe flare-up. No families. No names. No records.Just six pairs of eyes too quiet for their age.I wasn’t even assigned. I just found them during a supply run. One had a fever. Another wouldn’t speak.I stayed three nights. Brought broth. Cleaned their linens. Sang. Badly.On the fourth day, one called me “mama” by mistake.I didn’t correct her.I just held her until she stopped shaking.

[Entry 198 – A Village Beneath the Moss]
We were told the village didn’t exist.“Cleared out years ago.” “No one left.” “All records lost.”But the moss told another story.We found it—a handful of elder Miqo’te, two wounded veterans, a child with one arm and a sharp mind. Living quiet, beneath a canopy of green. No threats. Just survivors.But Garlean scouts were coming.I helped them move. No orders. No pay. Just instinct.They’ll be safer now.They didn’t ask for my name.But one of them gave me a carved stone pendant. Worn, smooth. Meant to ward off storms.

[Entry 199 – The Weight I Chose to Carry]
Dorrek wrote.Said I’m doing too much. Burning too fast. That I need rest.He’s right.
I haven’t stopped in over a year. I move from place to place like a tide with no shore.But the truth is, I don’t know how to stop.Because when I do—when it gets quiet—I start to hear the things I couldn’t save. See the ones I didn’t reach in time.And I need to keep going.
Because no one else is watching the edges. No one else is listening for the small cries.They sent armies to the front lines.I go where the maps go blank.And I’ll keep going.Until I’m nothing but footprints in the dirt and stories traded around campfires.Let them forget my face.
But let them remember the kindness.

Lerrissa’s Journal: Age 23

[Entry 200 – The Quiet Ache]
I left Gridania before sunrise.Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t write a letter. I just… left.Too many stories. Too many wounds. Too many places where I stopped the bleeding but couldn’t fix what was broken.There are more refugees than ever now. Families living in the hollows of tree roots. Old women dying beside shrines no one tends anymore.I bring them food. I patch their bandages. I leave them safer than I found them.But they still have no home.And I’m starting to feel like I don’t either.

[Entry 201 – Home is a Memory]
Ul’dah’s gates were the same. Loud. Blazing. Unfeeling.I expected warmth from the house. From the scent of Mama’s cooking. From the shape of Papa’s chair near the window.But everything’s tense. Wound tight.Papa hugged me. Fiercely. But he winced when the door knocked—twice in one morning.Erynn’s not speaking to me. Still. She barely looked at me.“People come asking,” Mama whispered. “Some nice. Some… not.”Merchants. Scouts. Bounty hunters. Rumors of someone called “Stonepaw” reach even the slums. Some want to thank her. Some want to use her. Some want her gone.And they all come here—because I never stayed still long enough for them to find me.I never thought I’d bring danger home.

[Entry 202 – The Letter Papa Never Showed Me]
I found it tucked behind the family ledger. Burned edges. Sealed with wax that had melted and reformed twice.Inside: a threat. Clear, measured, and personal.“We know where she came from. The next time she lays a hand on one of ours, we’ll lay three on hers.”No name. Just a jagged insignia I’ve seen burned into cages.Papa didn’t want me to see it.But I had to.Because I needed to know.I’ve been protecting strangers for years.But I didn’t protect them.And now I wonder if I ever can.

[Entry 203 – The Day I Let It All Fall]
I didn’t mean to cry.I came back from the market—some boy had shouted at me, called me a liar. Said “Stonepaw lets beasts live while men die.”I didn’t respond. Just kept walking.But when I got home, Mama was humming in the kitchen, Papa was trimming wood for the new door, and everything felt normal.Too normal.I sat down. Stared at my hands. And said—“I think I’ve broken something I can’t fix.”Then I wept.Hard. Ugly. Loud. Years’ worth of held breath in a single, shuddering collapse.Papa didn’t say a word. He set down his carving knife, walked over, and pulled me in with those arms that still feel like the safest place in the world.Mama sat on the other side and wiped my cheeks.And then Papa spoke.“You think you're the first in this house to be hunted? I taught the world how to break before I taught it how to protect.”Then came the stories. His days as a Warrior. The scars under his sleeves. The names he still remembers—the ones he saved, and the ones he couldn’t.Rorik came in later, sword at his hip like it never left. Quiet as ever. He simply said:“You don’t carry this burden alone.”And Mama… she told me about the Shroud. How she left after losing her sister to a skirmish no one talks about. How she met Rorik when he was stationed near Camp Tranquil. How they built this life from ashes, not dreams.And I wept again.Because I thought I had become something they wouldn’t recognize.But I was wrong.I am made of them.And they are still here.

[Entry 204 – The Sound of Home Again]
Mama’s soup is the kind that makes you cry if you’ve been gone too long.Thalin fixed the hinge on my door. Didn’t say much. Just smiled when I thanked him. He always sees me, even when I’m not speaking.Papa carved me a new axe grip. Walnut wood. Smooth in the hand, sturdy as the spine he gave me.I’ve been sleeping better. For the first time in… gods, years?The ache is still there. The fire still burns.But I’m not alone in it anymore.

[Entry 205 – The Sparring Circle That Raised Me]
We cleared the old yard yesterday.Rorik drew his sword. Papa brought out a greataxe so worn it looked like stone. And they smiled.“We’re not dead yet,” Papa said. “Time to teach the girl what she’s really made of.”We sparred until sunset.Rorik moves like water. Precise. Focused. His tribal roots come out in the way he shifts his weight, makes no sound.Papa is a storm. Every strike tests your bones. And he doesn’t hold back.I lost.And I laughed.Because I haven’t learned like this in so long.

[Entry 206 – Echoes of Erynn]
She walks the halls like I’m a shadow.Polite. Distant. Efficient.She keeps the books now. Runs the deals. Brokers contracts I don’t understand. Her hands are ink-stained where mine are scarred.We used to braid each other’s hair.Now I barely hear her voice.Papa says she’s proud of me. Just… scared.Scared that I bring too much danger too close.I don’t blame her.
But it still hurts.

[Entry 207 – What We Leave Behind]
The business has grown. They’re buying land outside the city—green space, quiet and open. A future for the next generation. A place safe from the politics of Ul’dah’s walls.Mama says it’ll be the family estate one day.I walked it today. Bare earth. Wind in the grass. Papa pointed out where the hall would stand. Where the forge would be. Where the stables would go.I carved my name into a tree.Not to claim it.To promise I’d come back.

[Entry 208 – The Part of Me That Healed Here]
I leave in two days.A small assignment. Low-risk. Routine.But part of me wants to stay.Part of me wants to wake up every morning to the smell of baked bread and warm oil and Thalin’s quiet humming.But I know myself.This peace has filled me. But it can’t hold me.I was never meant to sit still.I was made to protect.So I’ll go.
But I’ll carry this place with me.In every swing.
In every breath.
In every choice I make.Because this… this is the part of me that still lives.

[Entry 209 – Marissa of the Green Branch]
She arrived unannounced—boots muddy, smile radiant, voice like a windchime.Marissa.My aunt’s daughter. From the Shroud. We hadn’t seen each other since we were little.She hugged me so hard I nearly dropped my tea. Said she’d heard “The Warrior with the soft heart” was hiding at home, and couldn’t resist paying a visit.She’s clever. Loud in the best ways. Wears her spirit like a flag.We walked the market together. Talked about monsters and moonlight. She told me I’m more famous than I think.She also told me to write more.
And to not die.
She made me swear.

[Entry 210 – Goodbye Isn’t Always Goodbye]
My satchel’s packed. Axe wrapped. Armor cleaned.Mama hugged me twice. Papa handed me a sealed envelope—said to open it if I ever “forget who you are.”Rorik clapped my shoulder. Called me “Warrior” and “daughter” in the same breath.Thalin gave me a pouch of polished stones. “To weigh you down when you drift too far,” he said.Erynn wasn’t there.But I found a note tucked into my belt later:“You’ve always made things harder than they needed to be.But you’ve also always come back.–E”It’s not forgiveness.But it’s something.

[Entry 211 – A New Step Feels Like an Old One]
Back in the field today.No danger. No fanfare. Just a delivery route through the East Shroud.But something’s shifted.My hands feel steadier. My back doesn’t ache the same. I breathe deeper. Listen better.I let the chocobo graze longer. Carried the crates myself. Took a moment to show a child how to hold a stick like a sword.No rush. No fury. Just presence.I used to think I needed to move fast to do good.Now I know—sometimes, you do more by staying a little longer.

[Entry 212 – I Am My Father’s Sword and My Mother’s Calm]
Bandits at the river crossing. Six of them. Thought a lone traveler made easy prey.I gave them one chance to walk.They didn’t.I didn’t draw blood until the third strike. Just disarms. Knees. Elbows. Crumples.The last one ran.I let him.Because I am not here to punish.I am here to protect.And I am not just my blade anymore.I am my father’s sword.
My mother’s calm.
My grandfather’s strength.
My brother’s silence.
My sister’s sharpness—even when it cuts.I am Rissa Blackbard.And I remember who I am.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 24

[Entry 213 – The Tide Comes Quicker Now]
There are more caravans than I’ve ever seen—lines of people, walking from everywhere to nowhere.Gridania’s overwhelmed. Limsa’s turning away ships. Ul’dah… charges admittance.And every night, the moons look stranger.I saw Dalamud last week. Not just red. Glowing.The conjurers won’t say anything. The guilds are tense.But the people know. You can see it in the way they hold their children tighter. In the way no one laughs for long anymore.Something is coming.And it’s not waiting for permission.

[Entry 214 – No Room in the Refugee Hall]
Delivered supplies to a refugee camp outside Camp Bluefog.They turned people away at the gate. Said the tents were full. Said they’d “reached capacity.”So the families just sat by the road. Dust on their faces. Arms around one another. Waiting for… what?I set up a second field around the bend. Started a fire. Shared what I had. Others followed.That night, a girl kissed my hand and called me “the warrior with a kitchen.”I told her I was just someone who saw them.

[Entry 215 – When You Can’t Save Them All]
We were too late.A Garlean skirmisher unit hit a small village near Forgotten Springs. Two of us rode in after the flare.The air still smelled like fire.Bodies. Survivors. Screams.I helped who I could. Dug with my hands. Tore cloth for bandages.But one boy—gods, he couldn’t have been more than ten—held his sister and asked if I could fix her.She was already gone.I told him the truth. Gently.He didn’t cry. Just stared like the world had ended before I got there.Maybe it had.

[Entry 216 – A Letter from Marissa]
Came on courier wings. Folded neatly. Pressed with dried lavender.“Don’t you dare lose yourself out there, Rissa.You’re not the wind. You’re the tree.Come home again when you need to. I’ll be waiting with tea and a bucket of judgment for your fashion sense.Love always,
—Your Better Cousin”I laughed. For the first time in weeks.Still carry the letter. Still smell the lavender.Still need that anchor.

[Entry 217 – The Ash That Still Glows]
They summoned Ifrit.Not far from Little Ala Mhigo. The Amalj’aa raised him during the night.I didn’t witness the summoning, but I felt it. The wind turned hot. The earth cracked. Birds fled before dawn. And every stone hummed like it remembered fire.By the time we arrived, there were no Amalj’aa. No soldiers. Only scorched glass and bones.I walked the edge of the crater. My axe heavy. My chest tighter with each step.And then…I heard a breath that wasn’t mine. A presence at the far edge. Heat without flame.It didn’t speak. But it saw me.And it let me walk away.

[Entry 218 – The One Who Walked Behind Me]
Spotted him in Southern Thanalan. Followed at a distance—never closer than a shadow.He didn’t strike. Not until I reached the cliffs.Quick. Precise. One of Kest’s agents, no doubt. Scarred cheek. Gloves stained with beast blood.He called me “nature’s fool.” Said I was a child with a weapon, delaying the inevitable. Said Kest wanted to know if I still had bite.I showed him.Didn’t kill him. I wanted him to limp back—to report that yes, I still have bite.And I’m sharpening my teeth.

[Entry 219 – Some Things Shouldn’t Be Chained]
Merchant caravan near the Sagolii hired me to recover “a stolen specimen.”Tracked the thieves. Found the crate.Inside: a living anole of immense size. Modified. Caged. Trembling.It wasn’t stolen. It escaped.I broke the lock. Gave it fruit. Watched it blink, confused, then slink into the dunes, tail dragging like memory.The merchant offered double pay if I went after it again.I dropped the pouch at his feet and said:“Next time, I’ll unchain you too.”

[Entry 220 – The Ones Who Still Pray]
A small village near the Sylphlands asked for help rebuilding after a mudslide.Simple work. Clearing debris. Hauling timber. Teaching the children how to reinforce a roofline.But on the third day, I saw them—half a dozen quietly leaving offerings in the trees. Moss-wrapped dolls. Carved stones. Whispers.They still pray to the Lord of Levin.They didn’t summon him. But the hope in their eyes…I didn’t stop them.I just offered them better shelter.And kept my axe close.

[Entry 221 – Branded Soft by Steel]
Came across a broken patrol in the South Shroud. Gridanian soldiers. Three dead. One clinging to life.I carried him back. He survived.But the captain barely looked at me. Just said:“You don’t take sides, Blackbard. That’s the problem.”I could’ve snapped.But I didn’t.I just looked him in the eye and said:“I do take sides. I choose the living.”He didn’t answer.But the wounded soldier squeezed my hand as I walked away.

[Entry 222 – The Mask Slips in the Rain]
It was raining when the traveling priest confronted me. Said I was “an arm of the heretics.” Said I was “protecting the infected,” “harboring those who whisper too loudly.”He didn’t know who I was. Not truly.Until someone else—an old woman with a cane—stood between us and said:“She pulled my son from the fire. Let the gods judge her if they must. But I won’t.”The priest left. Spitting.And the old woman?
She gave me a scarf.Handwoven. Torn. Beautiful.

[Entry 223 – A Crack in the Temple Wall]
Ul’dah’s banners hang heavier now.I walked past a sermon near the Sapphire Exchange. A preacher was shouting about purity. About burning the old ways. About fear dressed as faith.I asked who gave him permission.He sneered and said:“The people gave me reason. That’s all I need.”It echoed like a sickness.I fear we are feeding the fire now.And when it ignites, it won’t care who lit the first match.

[Entry 224 – I Stay With the Small]
I was offered a posting. Permanent. High pay. Guard work for a rising merchant family with political reach.Safe.Secure.Respected.I turned it down.Because I saw a caravan on the road that same day—children hiding beneath crates, a mother with blood on her sleeve, a merchant crying over burned wares.And I remembered:This is where I belong.Not in halls. Not behind gates.But with the ones who are still running.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 25

[Entry 225 – The Familiar Gate]
I returned to Ul’dah under gray skies. Not storming. Not burning. Just… still.Mama greeted me with warm bread. Thalin handed me a new compass he carved from bone. Papa smiled like he already knew what I’d seen.Marissa’s laughter filled the kitchen like sun after rain. She ran to me, arms open, scolding my posture and then stealing my seat. Some things don’t change.But something had changed.Because in the stables—polished, prepared, proud—stood Reise.And she looked magnificent.

[Entry 226 – Legacy in Steel and Feather]
Papa brought out a crate. Wood worn, edges wrapped in canvas.Inside: armor. Chocobo barding. Old, weathered, reinforced. Gleaming under the dust.“Belonged to Stormhorn,” he said. “Best damned bird I ever rode. She carried me through three wars and one proposal.”We fitted it to Reise together. She didn’t flinch. She stood taller.She’s no longer just my companion.She’s my equal.And wherever I go now, she goes too.

[Entry 227 – The Shape of the Old Path]
Papa woke me before dawn.No words. Just a hand on my shoulder and a nod toward the paddock.Reise was already saddled. Armor gleaming like bronze over rose-colored feathers. She snorted when she saw me. Impatient. Eager.Papa led us to the old trail—packed dirt, half-forgotten flagstones. I hadn’t ridden it since I was sixteen.“You fight well enough on your feet,” he said. “But if you're to face what’s coming, you’ll need to move faster than your own shadow.”He mounted his old practice dummy on a drag sled and whipped it downhill.Then he smiled.“Keep up.”

[Entry 228 – Two Hearts, One Rhythm]
We trained all week.Thundering sprints. Axe strikes timed with spur and lean. Parry drills while Reise dodged low-hanging limbs like she was born for war.The first few days, we clashed—too eager, too fast, too proud.But then something clicked.She started responding before I gave the signal. I leaned, and she was already turning. I reached, and she gave me the angle.We weren’t rider and mount anymore.We were one body. One will.Papa watched us from the fence line.Didn’t clap. Didn’t cheer.Just nodded.Like something sacred had been remembered.

[Entry 229 – Morning in the Stables]
Reise let me sleep against her side today.She’d curled herself into the straw while I worked late—polishing armor, mending leathers—and when my body gave out, she just leaned in.Her feathers are warm. Smell like hay and salt.I woke to her breathing slow and even, as if she’d timed her rhythm to mine.Papa says the old riders believed a bonded chocobo could sense your thoughts. Share your will.If that’s true, then Reise already knows we won’t stay long.She’s ready.And so am I.

[Entry 230 – The Last Supper of the Quiet Days]
Mama made dumplings.Thalin brought out old song sheets. Papa polished his axe but didn’t touch it. Marissa braided my hair in silence.Even Erynn stopped by. Didn’t stay. Just left a tin of preserved plum slices on my bed, labeled in her handwriting:Don’t waste them.It didn’t feel like a goodbye.It felt like a pause.Like we all knew.Even if no one said it.

[Entry 231 – The Sky Cracks Open]
We were riding northeast when it happened.A low sound—like thunder chewing stone. The wind shifted. Reise stopped dead on the trail.I looked up.Dalamud was no longer a star.It was a wound.Red. Splintered. Glowing.And then it split.Light rained down, not warm, but wrong. Echoes. Screams. Flame on the horizon. Birds scattering. The air itself recoiling.I don’t remember dismounting. Just the feel of my hand clutching Reise’s reins.My voice, too small to stop anything, whispering:“Not yet. Not now.”But the sky didn’t listen.And the world began to end.

[Entry 232 – The Fire That Rained Like Judgment]
I don’t know how long I rode.The sky was screaming. It cracked like bone, and fire poured from it—not heat, but light. Like rage from a god that never learned mercy.Reise carried me through smoke and falling ash. I couldn’t see the road. I just followed the sound of people screaming.I found a small caravan overturned in the canyons. A family of seven. Two children trapped beneath a cart.I don’t remember dismounting.Only the heat on my skin as I lifted the wood. The crack of my shoulder. The feel of Reise nudging the children toward the shade.We moved until the light dimmed.Not because it ended.But because there was too much smoke to see the sun.

[Entry 233 – I Thought the Ground Would Never Stop Shaking]
I made it to a camp outside Camp Drybone. Wounded. Burned. Desperate.There were no tents. Just people.Bodies lined the edges. Some breathing. Some not.No one cried.They were past crying.I handed out water. Tore my cloak for bandages. Gave a child my entire pouch of salted meat.I haven’t eaten since.

[Entry 234 – Papa’s Letter Was in My Saddlebag]
Found it this morning. Ash-streaked. Crushed, but sealed.“If you are reading this, it means the sky has broken. I hope to the Twelve it hasn’t. But I’ve lived long enough to know when a storm is coming.”“You are my granddaughter. My legacy. My breath when I’m gone. You will survive this. Because you’ve already survived so much worse.”“And remember: if you can’t save them all… save just one.”I wept.Then I found a child hiding under a cart, and I saved her.

[Entry 235 – Mari Didn’t Answer Right Away]
I found her four days after the sky cracked.She’d been helping in Ul’dah—healing, guiding families. We reunited outside a burned watchpost. She was blood-soaked. Hands shaking. Still smiling.We held each other for hours.Didn’t speak.Didn’t need to.Her laughter’s a little quieter now.But her fire’s still there.Thank the gods.

[Entry 236 – Thalin Carried Bodies Until His Legs Gave Out]
He helped dig graves. Dozens.When I found him, his palms were raw. Nails cracked. Dirt in every crease of his clothes.He didn’t cry until I hugged him.Then he collapsed.He doesn’t speak much now. Just works. Day after day.But when he sees me, he smiles.That’s enough.

[Entry 237 – Mama Sheltered Eight Children in Our Home]
Some from the streets. Some from the broken remains of their families. All of them scared.She fed them. Held them. Sang lullabies every night until her voice gave out.She never asked for thanks.She just said, “They needed someone. That’s all.”Mama’s hands have always built homes.Even in the wreckage.

[Entry 238 – Papa Still Trains]
His beard is singed. His boots cracked. But every morning, he takes his axe out and trains.Not for glory.For the ones who come asking for protection.For the ones who look at an old man and see a wall that hasn’t fallen.I watched him fight off three raiders trying to rob the refugee camp.He didn’t miss a single step.He didn’t need my help.

[Entry 239 – Erynn Hasn’t Come Home Yet]
She sent a letter.“I’m safe. Still handling trade routes. Our name still carries weight.”That’s all.No greeting. No warmth.But it was something.Maybe she’s mourning in her own way.Maybe one day she’ll let me help her carry it.

[Entry 240 – The Earth Smells Different Now]
It’s been a month.The ash is still in the air. The rivers taste like copper. The sky doesn’t know what color it wants to be.But flowers still bloom.Small ones. Along the edges of graves. In the cracks of burned roads.I see them. And I stop.Because life doesn’t ask permission to return.It just does.

[Entry 241 – Reise Hasn’t Left My Side]
She sleeps beside me now. Watches every step. Nudges children toward food. Snorts at suspicious strangers.She’s more than a mount.She’s my heart outside my chest.And when I falter, she just is.Steady. Present. Mine.

[Entry 242 – I Still Carry the Axe]
It’s heavier now.Not because of the weight.Because of what it represents.I used to think it was a symbol of strength.Now I know—it’s a promise.To the dead. To the living. To the frightened. To the ones still watching the sky and wondering if it will do it again.I don’t know what comes next.But I know I’ll face it.Because I survived the day the world ended.And I’m still here.

[Entry 243 – A Place Where No One Has to Run]
There were over twenty people crammed into a two-room home when I arrived in Eastern Thanalan.All refugees. Most with nothing but bruises, burns, and stories they couldn’t finish telling.One child asked me where her safe place was. Said her parents used to talk about one, but they never made it there.I didn’t have an answer.But that night, as I helped cook what little we had, I started thinking:What if we made one?Not a fort. Not a camp. Just… a place. With clean water. Real beds. People who stay.It doesn’t exist.But maybe it could.

[Entry 244 – I Told Papa My Idea]
We were walking the new property—the one Papa’s investing in with the company’s profits. Land outside the city. Old mine roads. Quiet valleys.I told him what I saw. The question the child asked. The way it’s haunted me.“I want to build something. One day. Not for war. Just for rest.”He looked at the hills.Then at me.Then nodded.“We can help you buy the land. When you’re ready.”No judgment. No questions. Just support.That’s Papa.

[Entry 245 – Mama’s Eyes Softened When I Spoke]
She was ladling stew into bowls when I told her.She didn’t pause. Didn’t gasp.Just kept stirring.“Good,” she said. “The world will need somewhere like that. Especially if they don’t even know they need it yet.”She kissed my forehead like I was still her little girl.Then said, “Make sure there’s a garden. The kind that never runs out of mint.”

[Entry 246 – The Company’s Making More Than Ever]
The family business—Blackbard Salvage and Stone—has contracts across Thanalan now.Post-Calamity efforts have unearthed entire veins of forgotten ore, collapsed tunnels with ancient tools, deep salvage dives into broken cities swallowed by flame.Papa says we’ve made more in six months than we used to make in six years.Erynn’s the architect of it all. Quiet, ruthless, brilliant.She barely talks to me.But she did redirect half a crew to help rebuild a refugee housing unit I’d marked with a star.No words. Just action.It’s a start.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 26

[Entry 247 – Called Home Again]
Got a message from Papa. Simple as always.“Come home when you can. We’re ready to show you.”I thought it might be about a new forge or expansion site.I was wrong.They had me walk the new land. Soft grass underfoot. Foundation lines staked out. Markers in chalk and ash.And in Papa’s hand? A full estate blueprint.

[Entry 248 – Erynn’s Ink on the Paper]
She was already standing by the table when I arrived. Cool. Poised. A touch of ink on her sleeve.“I used your idea.”She didn’t say it like a gift.She said it like fact.The estate isn’t just a home for our family. The plans include over a dozen auxiliary cottages, a shared mess hall, a clinic, schoolhouse, barracks, and a crafting hub.“They’ll live here. Work here. Earn. Rest. Stay.”She didn’t look at me while she spoke. Just ran a finger down the edge of the model.I asked if she’d thought of it all on her own.She said no.“You lit the match. I just drew where the fire should go.”

[Entry 249 – I Offered to Stay]
I told them I wanted to help.To build. To dig. To raise the first walls with my own hands.Erynn didn’t even look up from the ledger.“You’d slow us down.”Papa chuckled. Rorik handed me a waterskin and said:“This land will still be here when you return. But the people beyond the hills? They may not last that long.”Mama squeezed my hand.“Go do what you do best. We’ll make this ready for when you’re tired.”It hurt.But it also felt like trust.

[Entry 250 – The Blackbard Name Means Something Now]
Before I left, I stopped at a supplier in Eastern Thanalan for gear.The moment I gave my name, the clerk brightened.“Oh! One of those Blackbards. We’ve worked with your family. Good folk. Fair coin. No cheating.”He gave me a discount.Said it was “respect for what you’re building.”And I realized… we are building something.Even if I’m not laying the bricks myself.

[Entry 251 – The Wounds Still Bleed Out Here]
South of Quarrymill, I found a village that hadn’t seen a single aid cart since the Calamity.Their well was cracked. Their fields poisoned with ash.They weren’t angry. Just… tired. Like the sky had stolen not just their homes, but the strength to ask for help.I spent three days. Cleared rubble. Repaired the well. Hunted fresh game.Didn’t tell them who I was.But when I left, an old man handed me a single plum and said:“You reminded us we’re still alive.”That was enough.

[Entry 252 – New Shadows in the North]
Word is spreading of strange movement near the ruins of Camp Glory.Not Garlean. Not beastkin. But something organized.I went north with a pair of survivors who wanted to pay respects to a lost friend.We saw the camp from afar—charred, broken, still smoldering in places.But something had cleared the paths. Recently.And someone had left a trail of bones arranged in a spiral around the old command tent.Whatever did this wasn’t looking for survivors.It was sending a message.

[Entry 253 – The Beast That Dug From Below]
Refugees near Drybone spoke of tremors. Thought it was aftershocks.It wasn’t.A burrower—massive, chitin-armored, glowing with residual aether—burst from the earth two nights ago.I rallied three nearby mercs and brought it down with a coordinated strike at the underjaw.When we cracked it open, the inside glowed faintly blue. Warped. Mutated by the Calamity’s residue.Papa used to say the land remembers when it’s wronged.I think the earth is still screaming.

[Entry 254 – Someone’s Hunting What’s Left]
Traders in La Noscea whispered about a new group targeting Calamity-struck beasts.Not to protect them. Not to study them.To harvest.Organs. Aether glands. Elemental-corrupted bones.I asked who was leading it.They didn’t say a name.But I saw one of the marks left behind on a fallen peiste.A brand.I’ve seen it before.Kest is still out there.Still building his empire.

[Entry 255 – I Still Carry the Thought of Home]
At night, I unroll the blueprints Erynn gave me. The ones of the estate. The cottages. The stables. The shared gardens.I trace the outlines with my finger.When the wind outside howls.
When the tents shake.
When the wounded ask if tomorrow will be better—I look at those lines.And I remember why I keep going.

[Entry 256 – Her Name Was Ijra]
Met her near the ruins of a weather station in the Black Shroud. Au Ra. Shield-bearer. Wounded but defiant.She’d been protecting a caravan of refugees for eight days straight without rest. Food ran out. Their route was cut off by floods. She refused to abandon them.I rode in with Reise. Helped reroute the group through a clearing no one had noticed.We fought together once—ambushed by bandits desperate enough to be cruel.After the last blade dropped, she looked at me and said:“I thought I was alone in this.”I told her she never was.She’s staying behind to help them rebuild.I hope we cross paths again.

[Entry 257 – The Choice I Shouldn’t Have Had to Make]
Small hamlet outside Vesper Bay. Three sick children. One healer. One supply crate stolen by deserters.I found the crate.But the deserters were starving. One had an infected wound. Two had children of their own.I didn’t have enough for everyone.So I gave the medicine to the children who couldn’t walk.And I told the deserters where they could find clean water and shelter if they kept moving east.One spat at my feet.The other just said, “Thank you.”I’ll never know if it was the right choice.But it was the only one I could live with.

[Entry 258 – Steel in the Wrong Hands]
A former Brass Blade unit tried to set themselves up as “protectors” in the ruins of a former outpost.What they actually did was tax every refugee who passed through. Food. Coin. Bodies.I confronted them. Alone.They laughed—until I split their leader’s spear with one swing and dared the rest to step forward.They didn’t.I gave the supplies back to the people.Some call me reckless.But I’ve learned something: sometimes, being feared is the only way to protect the powerless.

[Entry 259 – The Woman Who Tried to Buy Me]
She wore perfume worth more than a soldier’s year wage. Said she ran “redistribution routes” out of Limsa.Offered me a full contract. Steady coin. “Light work,” she said.All I had to do was look away when certain crates changed hands.I asked what was in the crates.She said, “Does it matter?”I said no.Then I walked away.Because I know how much a life costs.And it’s not my soul.

[Entry 260 – I Am Still Her]
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve become someone else.Less warmth. More armor. Fewer smiles. More broken ribs.But then a boy handed me a sprig of lavender today. Said I smelled like safety.And I remembered the girl I used to be—the one who gave food to a thief, and shelter to a stranger.She’s still here.She’s always here.Just tempered.Just stronger.Just me.

[Entry 261 – When the Wind Settles]
There was no battle today.No fire. No crying. Just wind through broken rafters and the smell of dust from an old well I helped patch.I sat beside Reise, leaning against her side, and just watched the sky turn gold.A child drew my armor in the dirt nearby. Said it looked like a castle.I told her it’s just steel.But she said, “No. It’s strong like a home.”And for the first time in a long while, I believed her.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 27

[Entry 262 – The Soft One Stays Behind]
The chocobo we rescued—Raya, I’ve started calling her—nipped my sleeve this morning when I saddled Reise.She’s grown strong. Feathers golden, not dull. That haunted look in her eyes is nearly gone.The Marauders did good by her. Gentle hands. Patient work.But I’m leaving her with Papa now.He’s always had a way with animals, and his land is safe.He smiled when I asked.“She’s got sharp eyes. Like someone I know.”I kissed her beak. Whispered thanks.Then I rode out with Reise.And didn’t look back.

[Entry 263 – Quarrymill Still Breathes]
The trees are greener than I expected.The earth’s still torn in places—scars where the fires ran wild during the Calamity—but the people here have dug in.Children laugh again. The woodworkers sing as they rebuild. Someone painted the side of the grain house with bright yellow flowers.An old conjurer recognized me.“You’re the axe-woman who wouldn’t stop bandaging people.”She gave me tea.Said nothing else.It was enough.

[Entry 264 – Camp Drybone’s Edges Are Softer Now]
I expected ash and anger.But the tents are newer. The guards are less suspicious. A row of planters now grows outside the main supply tent—herbs, mostly. Someone’s trying to heal here.A little girl brought me a bowl of soup and whispered, “You saved my uncle.”I didn’t ask which one.I just knelt and thanked her.

[Entry 265 – The Ruins Near South Shroud]
The shrine I once fought beside is gone. Swallowed by mud and time.But someone rebuilt it—smaller, humbler. A stone circle with a single candle always burning.When I asked who kept it lit, the elder shrugged.“We don’t know. But every time it goes out, someone’s already come and relit it.”I lit it myself before I left.And I felt something ease in my chest.

[Entry 266 – He Was Just a Boy Then]
I stopped in a reclaimed outpost on the edge of the Sagolii.Halfway through sharpening my axe, a young man approached. Scar on his jaw. Soldier’s poise. Carried himself like he’d survived fire.He asked if I remembered a collapsed bridge and a flooded ravine. A boy trapped under debris. Barely breathing.I did.He said, “That was me.”And then he saluted.Said he’s a field medic now. Helps escort refugee camps through sandstorms.“I learned from someone who didn’t leave.”I didn’t cry.But I almost did.

[Entry 267 – The Banner Was a Drawing of Me]
In a village near the ruins of Camp Tranquil, there’s a wall of cloth scraps—stitched by children, elders, and anyone passing through.Painted on one of them is a crude drawing of a woman with a giant axe and pink feathers trailing behind her.I asked about it.One of the tailors smiled.“We tell the children about her. How she fought monsters and helped build roofs and carried old folks who couldn’t walk. She’s not real, of course.”I didn’t correct her.Just left a better spool of thread and moved on.

[Entry 268 – They Built Their Town on What I Left Behind]
A hamlet north of Camp Bluefog recognized me the moment I entered.They named a small square after the "Stonepaw Warrior." Said she was the one who chased out slavers, rerouted the trade route, and left a crate of food when no one was watching.That crate?It was from two years ago.They used the wood to build the first house. Used the nails to mend boots. Used the name to remind themselves what survival looked like.I stayed one night.I didn’t sleep.Too much gratitude in the air. It ached in a way that wasn’t pain.

[Entry 269 – The Town That Shouldn’t Be This Whole]
East of the crater wall in central Thanalan, I found a village I'd never heard of: Uldridge.Too new to be on maps. Too intact to make sense.Clean roads. Functioning water. Stocked granaries. Uniforms. Smiling faces.They welcomed me like they knew me. Called me “Stonepaw.” Offered me lodging. Meals. Respect.But something felt wrong.The guard patrols were too regular. The leadership too polished. And the way the merchant caravans came and went without stopping…I stayed three days. Watched. Listened.And then I saw the sigil on the back of a ledger in the grain office.Burnt into the leather.
Same mark I’ve seen before.Kest’s old network.
Still breathing.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 28

[Entry 270 – I Confronted the Steward]
Her name is Talaney. She runs the village.Sharp mind. Calm voice. Former salvager. Nothing in her records says criminal.I asked where the funding came from. She didn’t lie.“We made deals to survive. The people who helped us aren’t good. But the people here are.”She said if the coin was clean enough to buy bread and no one was bleeding for it anymore, what right did she have to turn it away?I asked if she ever knew who owned the mark.She nodded.“I know who gave us our chance. I also know what he’s done.”“But I won’t burn a village of innocent people to spite the devil who planted the seed.”I didn’t have an answer.

[Entry 271 – I Stayed]
I told myself I’d leave after one more night.That was six nights ago.Every day, I help someone patch a roof. Haul water. Train a guard. I eat with them. I know their names now.And I keep asking myself:If the foundation is dirty, does that rot everything above it?But the children here aren’t rotten.
The mothers aren’t criminals.
The old man who fixes shoes with no fingers isn’t a monster.And if I tear this down…What happens to them?

[Entry 272 – He Arrived in Broad Daylight]
No cloak. No mask. No entourage.He just walked in through the southern gate with dust on his boots and a satchel of books under his arm.They call him Jonan Delis now.Once? He was logistics for Kest’s trafficking operation. A handler. A coordinator.Now?He’s the benefactor of Uldridge.They welcomed him like a returning son. Hugs. Smiles. Laughter.I didn’t draw my weapon.But he saw the way I stood.And he said:“Let’s talk.”

[Entry 273 – The Man Who Walked Away from Fire]
We spoke for hours.He didn’t run. Didn’t justify. He acknowledged it—the cages, the chains, the things he helped move in silence.Said the Calamity burned everything he built. That he should’ve died. But he didn’t. And when he crawled out of the wreckage, he found no one waiting for him—only wreckage, and the bones of things he'd helped destroy.He said he’d done good since. Real good. Refugees housed. Supplies rerouted. Lives saved.Not to erase the past.
Just to balance the scale before it tips forever.He looked at me and said something that stuck:“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you not to kill what I’ve saved.”I left him standing in the square.The villagers smiled as I passed.And I still don’t know if he’s telling the truth.But gods help me…Part of me wants to believe him.

[Entry 274 – The Ranch at the Edge of Things]
He invited me to his home.I expected something sharp. Hidden. Guarded.But it was simple.Stables built by hand. Fences weathered by storms. A small barn where he keeps injured wildlife—broken-legged antelope, feather-torn hawks, a one-eyed marmot who’s claimed a blanket as his throne.His wife met me with a tired smile. His daughter braided my bracer cords without asking. There was soup. Laughter. Warmth.No pretense.No performance.Just… life.He didn’t speak of atonement. Didn’t say he deserved anything.He just showed me what he’d built.And I realized…Some people don’t redeem themselves with grand gestures.They do it one feeding dish at a time.

[Entry 275 – What I Left Behind Without Knowing]
I was ready to leave. My saddle packed. Reise waiting.Jonan stopped me at the gate.No grand speech. Just a hug—tight, grateful, shaking. He didn’t say thank you.He didn’t have to.His wife found me moments later. Walked with me a ways down the road.She said she knew who I was before I introduced myself. That Jonan had spoken of me—long before he knew I’d return.Said he used to mock me. That “Stonepaw” was a name he spat. A bleeding-heart myth.Until he saw me lift a collapsed fence off a dying coeurl cub and walk three miles barefoot to find its mother.“That day,” she whispered, “he stopped mocking you.”“That day, he started becoming someone I could love.”I didn’t look back when I rode off.But I carried her words like a gift wrapped in honesty.And I’ll keep it close.

[Entry 276 – Her Name Was Sabine]
We met in a tavern in Aleport.She wore confidence like perfume—too much, but alluring. Played cards with one hand and slipped coin purses with the other.I caught her in the act. She winked.Then bought me a drink.We spent four days wrapped in tension and stolen kisses. She never told me everything. I didn’t ask.She fought like I do. Helped a village one night. Smuggled a beast pelt the next.Said she liked doing good when it didn’t feel like obedience.I didn’t stay.But when she kissed my knuckles and whispered, “You’re too honest for this world,” I almost wished I could.

[Entry 277 – The Griffin Cub With the Limp]
Found her caught in old wreckage near Camp Crooked Fork.Left leg twisted. Feathers molting. She hissed and fought when I got close—but collapsed as soon as she realized I wasn’t leaving.I carried her two miles to a camp healer. Paid out of pocket.They wanted to put her down.I refused.Stayed three days to help set her splint, feed her, earn her trust.She watched me like I was a storm. Not feared—just… studied.When she finally leaned into my hand, I realized something:Maybe the creatures no one fights for are the ones who need me most.

[Entry 278 – The Estate Has Grown]
Home again.Stone walls up. Two cottages fully finished. Children already laughing in the shared courtyard. Papa’s started planting fig trees.Mama showed me the community oven. Said three women who lost their homes run it together now.Thalin’s helping dig new irrigation lines. Erynn has her own office. Looks sharp as glass. Didn’t say much—but I caught her glancing out the window when I walked away.I don’t need them to say it.I feel it.This is becoming something.

[Entry 279 – The Kitten That Wouldn’t Leave]
Found her mewling near the burnt edge of an old storage barn.No collar. One eye clouded. Fur a mix of soot and stubbornness.She followed me for two hours, despite my best attempts to pretend I didn’t have room for another stray in my life.Then she curled up in my boot during lunch and started purring like she’d been born there.I named her Ashcap.She rides in my satchel now, sleeps under my cloak, and bites anyone who gets too close to my food.Maybe I’m not the only one looking for somewhere to belong.

[Entry 280 – Thalin, Covered in Mud]
I came home to check the perimeter fence and found my little brother ankle-deep in irrigation muck.Robes half-soaked. Hair a mess. Face like someone had just told him he'd have to run a marathon.Papa was laughing so hard he nearly dropped the shovel.Thalin saw me and grumbled:“This is why I stick to spellwork.”I told him it builds character.He told me to go step on a rake.I’ve missed this.

[Entry 281 – I Thought About Writing to Sabine]
A part of me wanted to.Just a note. Just to say I still think about the way she tucked my braid behind my ear and called me dangerous in all the best ways.But I didn’t.Because we were a fire meant to burn quick.And I’ve got enough smoke in my life already.Still…I hope she’s out there.And that she’s safe.

[Entry 282 – Mama’s Garden is Growing Too Fast]
The mint has overtaken two beds. The fig trees are ahead of schedule. The green onions have gone to war with the beets.Mama says it’s a blessing.Papa says it’s a problem.Thalin tried to cast a soil balancing ward and accidentally summoned a mole.We named him General Diggles.He now rules the east side of the garden.

[Entry 283 – I Hear the World Calling Again]
I’ve stayed longer than I planned.But the road is pulling at me again—softly, like wind over tall grass.There’s still so much to fix. So many people to help. So many creatures hiding just out of reach, waiting for someone to see them.The estate will keep growing.The family is strong.But I know now, more than ever—I was made for the wild edges. For the cracked stones. For the forgotten lives.And I’ll keep going.Until the world no longer needs someone like me.

Lerrissa’s Journal – Age 29

[Entry 284 – The Trees are Uneasy in the South Shroud]
Something’s wrong near the edge of Rootslake.The conjurers say the aether is heavy—dense enough to drag. Small creatures avoid it. Even the elementals have grown quiet.I took a few scouts out with me. We found trees twisted in shape, bark split as if burned from within.At the center was a clearing, and a shape that watched us from the mist.Too large to be natural. Too still to be safe.But it didn’t charge.
Didn’t flee.
Just… stared.We left it alone.I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

[Entry 285 – The Animal With Eyes Like Mine]
I went back alone.Found it again.Not a bear. Not a coeurl. Something in between. Long limbs. Mottled fur. Glowing veins pulsing along its flanks. Clearly corrupted by leftover Calamity aether.It should’ve been hostile.But it wasn’t.It growled once—low, hoarse, confused. Then limped away, dragging a back leg that hadn’t healed right.I tracked it for hours.It never attacked.At one point, it collapsed by a stream and drank.I approached. Quiet. Cautious.It lifted its head, met my eyes…And looked tired.Just like I’ve felt.
Too many times.

[Entry 286 – I Left Food Behind]
Some cooked fish. A satchel of dried roots. Nothing spoiled. Nothing strong enough to attract predators.I set it down near the clearing where it slept last.Didn’t stay.Didn’t look back.I just wanted to offer something gentle.Because I don’t think it remembers what that feels like.

Text[Entry 287 – The Petition to Hunt It Down]
Gridania posted a notice this week.“Aetherwild predator sighted near Rootslake. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Termination approved.”The description matches my creature.Locals are nervous. Livestock vanished. A traveler claimed it looked into her tent.They want it dead.I asked if it hurt anyone.They shrugged.“Not yet.”That was enough for them.But not for me.

[Entry 288 – The Hunter’s Arrow Missed by Inches]
His name was Quayen. Mercenary from the east.He caught my trail while I was tracking the creature again. Thought I was after the bounty too.We heard it cry—deep, guttural, aching.Quayen notched his arrow.I knocked it aside.He cursed me. Said if I didn’t kill it, someone else would. Said there’s no saving things that twist.But I’ve seen it drink water slowly. I’ve watched it avoid smaller creatures when it moves.It’s not wild.
It’s wounded.And I will not let them make it bleed just to feel safe.

[Entry 289 – It Found Me Instead]
Two nights later, I was at a campsite alone. No fire. Reading maps. Sharpening my axe.I felt eyes on me.Turned slowly.It stood there—emaciated, limping, ribs visible under mottled fur and soft aether light. Its eyes were wide. Still not human, but knowing.It approached.No growl. No fangs. Just slow steps. Then it curled near the log I’d leaned against and… slept.Right there.As if I was the only place it could stop running.I didn’t sleep.But I didn’t move either.

[Entry 291 – The Slow Walk Through the Hollow]
I’d found a path. Quiet, shielded. Leads to a half-forgotten grove once used for druidic rites.The creature followed me, slowly—every step a struggle. It limped with resolve, not fear. Trusted me.We moved under moonlight. No words. Just breath, leaf crunch, and the occasional rasp of claws on stone.Then the torchlight appeared.Voices. Too many.And they saw us.

[Entry 292 – They Said I Was Protecting a Monster]
Three hunters. Four Twin Adder scouts. A crowd of locals.They all had weapons drawn.The creature backed against a tree, low growl rising from its throat.One Adder stepped forward. Asked me to step aside.I didn’t.Told them it hadn’t hurt anyone. That it was injured, scared, and deserved a chance.They called me reckless. Said they had orders.I drew my axe.Didn’t swing. Just showed it.And said:“You’ll go through me first.”

[Entry 293 – The Standoff Lasted Minutes, But Felt Like Hours]
They hesitated.Not because of the creature.Because of me.I’ve made a name. Enough to make them pause.One of the hunters cursed and lowered his bow. Another muttered something about “bloody Stonepaw and her bleeding heart.”But no one stepped forward.Eventually, a conjurer came from the rear—an elder. Calm. Curious.He looked at the creature. Then at me.Then said:“If she believes it can be moved… let her try.”The others didn’t agree.But they didn’t stop me either.

[Entry 294 – They Don’t See Me the Same Anymore]
The townsfolk don’t wave anymore.Some won’t meet my eyes. Others do—but it’s different now. Tight-lipped. Distrustful.I heard someone call me “Beast’s Bride” behind my back.A merchant who once gave me free dried fruit wouldn’t sell to me yesterday. Said he “didn’t deal with sympathizers.”They’re afraid.Not just of the creature.Of what I chose.

[Entry 295 – A Letter from the Adders]
Official. Clean seal. Cold words.“Your interference in a sanctioned extermination disrupted coordination and placed lives at risk.”They didn’t fine me.Didn’t threaten arrest.Just said they were watching.Funny. I used to be someone they trusted.Now I’m just someone they tolerate.

[Entry 296 – We Reached the Grove]
It took days.The creature limped the whole way. Ate little. Slept fitfully.I spoke to it sometimes. Not words it understood. But tone. Rhythm. Calm.When we reached the grove—old, overgrown, with standing stones and a spring-fed pool—it stopped.Sniffed the air. Let out a low, shuddering sound that felt like relief.Then it laid down beside the water and… changed.Not in shape.
In posture.It stood taller. Looked less hollow. Its breathing slowed. Eyes clearer. Like something in it unlocked.I didn’t move.Didn’t speak.Just watched it return to something closer to whole.

[Entry 297 – I Gave Him a Name Today]
He approached me in the grove’s morning stillness.No growl. No caution. Just slow, deliberate steps.The corruption hasn’t vanished—but it’s settled. His eyes are no longer wild. His movements hold intention now. Dignity.He pressed his forehead lightly to mine.No threat. No sound.Just recognition.And I whispered the name I’d been carrying since the second night I watched him sleep:“Oskarn.”
Strength. Survivor. Ember in the ash.He blinked, slow and solemn, as if he accepted it.No beast.
No monster.
Just a creature who needed someone to see him.And I realized—I didn’t save him.He saved something in me.That certainty I’d been bleeding out for years. That quiet faith I could still choose right, even when the world said no.

[Entry 298 – The Grove is Stillness, and Stillness is Good]
It’s been nearly three weeks.No visitors. No patrols. Just trees, wind, my notes, and Oskarn’s slow, thoughtful movements.He’s healing. Not just the limp—his spirit. There’s calm in him now. He watches birds. Nudges low branches aside instead of snapping them. Once, I saw him guide a wounded hare away from a collapsed burrow.I’ve started documenting everything—gait patterns, sleep positions, diet. My sketches are getting better. I think he likes the attention. He poses, sometimes. Or maybe I’m imagining that.Reise gets along with him, strangely. She’ll rest beside him in the moss like they’ve known each other for years.I know we’re being watched. I’ve seen Twin Adder scouts in the trees. They don’t interfere. Just observe.And maybe that’s all right.Maybe they see what I’m starting to see.That this isn’t a monster.And maybe I’m not just a fighter anymore.