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Life had been difficult since Haurchefant’s death. It had been difficult in all of the ways loss usually was, fraught with anguish, sorrow, and grief. He wasn’t the first person she had lost, and, as unpleasant as the feelings were, they were not entirely unfamiliar to her. It had also, however, been difficult in entirely new ways. In the aftermath, she had contended not only with sadness and regret, but anger. White-hot anger that seared through her chest and up into her throat. Swelling, uncontainable anger that made her want to scream until her voice gave out, or smash something with every onze of force she could muster – anything to get the anger out of her, even if she knew it would just make room for more. It was simultaneously primordial and completely alien, and it scared her.
She had experienced pain and grief before becoming the Warrior of Light, but the causes were always nebulous, a confluence of personal choices and random circumstance that fermented into a tragedy. Sometimes, terrible things just happened, for no real reason, even to good people, and it was no one’s fault, really. There was no one person to blame, no villain to rage against. Just the inexorable chaos of the universe.
Haurchefant’s death, though, was different. It had not only been someone’s fault, it had been intentional. There was a person, then an institution, on which to focus all of those swirling negative emotions, crystallizing them into rage. All of the heart-wrenching agony had a target. Someone that needed to be punished.
The anger, however, did not die with Ser Zephirin, or Thordan, or the rest of the Heavensward. Even as their glittering aether dissipated into the air, the fury raged on. The evildoers were vanquished, and could do no more harm. Yet she was still so angry! But who was left to blame? Aymeric? Herself? No. In truth, there was no one. There was nowhere to direct such anger, and yet it festered in her chest, screaming to be released.
She had tried to swallow those feelings, to press them down so far into her chest that they would never see the light of day. Even if she couldn’t hide them from herself, she could certainly shield others from them. How could she tell her friends, or anybody, about them, after all? Everyone believed she was a hero, that she was a good person. But surely a hero – surely a good person – couldn’t possibly have such ugliness buried inside them. What would they think of her if they could see the anger smoldering within her, like crackling embers awaiting a sudden updraft?
It had taken her own reflection to teach her that that wasn’t sustainable. Shoving that anger down would only burn her alive from the inside. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but seeing her own face before her as she might see another person’s, the face of someone who was lost and hurting, had driven it home like a nail through her heart. It hadn’t been easy – it still wasn’t easy – but she was learning to be kind to herself. She had to give herself the grace she would show another girl, just like her, were the situation different. She at least had to try, anyway. This realization had helped to temper the rage, not by forcing it into submission but by acknowledging it, and recognizing it for what it was: pain. She now let such feelings wash over her, through her, without getting stuck in her heart or her throat where they might once again take root. It no longer built up inside of her, no longer needed to be vented to prevent her from exploding. She still felt it, of course, but it never made her ache for violent, bloody vengeance.
That was what she told herself, at least. Which had been all well and good right up until she saw Ignasse. Until she saw that blue and white armor.
She hadn’t even known Ignasse. He had been but one face among the many that had been absorbed into Thordan’s primal. Yet even still, it was like someone had pulled a lever inside of her that opened all of the floodgates. The hounds that had been sleeping quietly within were once again baying for blood. She lunged before she even realized what she was doing, fury singing through her veins once more.
By the grace of the Twelve and Sid’s own quick reflexes, her friend was able to grab her before she had made it more than a few steps. Realizing upon doing so that she fully intended to fight for her freedom, he wrapped both arms around her in a more serious attempt to restrain her. Still, she thrashed about wildly in his grip, and he struggled to keep hold of her despite his great size advantage.
“Let go of me, Sid!” She almost screamed, instead spitting out the words to keep them at a more reasonable volume. Sid didn’t comply with her orders, but made a sound of aggravation as she continued striving to free herself. She hadn’t even grabbed her sword; she was going to kill him with her bare hands if she could.
“What in the name of the Fury-“ he hissed, voice strained. He readjusted his grip on her, and she tried to slam her foot down onto his despite the fact that they were both wearing metal sabatons. “Rhiki! Stop it! Hey!” She elbowed him in her attempts to escape.
“What in the hells?! So when you want to kill someone it’s fine but when I want to suddenly it’s-“
“Rhiki, please calm down!” Rielle had also leapt into action when she saw the alarming fluctuation in Z’rhiki’s behavior. She had dashed in front of the grappling pair, placing herself between Rhiki and the conjured man consoling his bereaved cousin, hoping to further hamper her efforts. Luckily, they had been watching the scene unfold from such a distance that the pair, with their backs mostly turned, didn’t seem to notice the small scuffle that had broken out.
“Stay out of it! Both of you!” She growled, though with her voice’s high pitch and lilt it sounded less than threatening. “How dare that little shit use my aether to bring back a fucking Knight of the fucking Heavens’ Ward!”
Earlier, she had been happy to help the boy, Myste, fulfill his strange purpose, despite the theft of her aether. He was a bit odd, to be sure, but she had felt that his heart was in the right place. This, though? This was too far.
She renewed her struggle, and Sid had to almost lift her off the ground to keep her from pulling herself out of his grasp. “Not. Happening.” He grunted through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated.
“Rhiki please!” Rielle begged again. “Myste is just trying to help! I’m sure of it! We don’t even know what’s really going on! If you’ll just calm down we can sort everything out, I know we can!”
Though the words themselves did little to stem the tide of Rhiki’s anger, the pleading tone of her voice seemed to reach her, and her writhing subsided, if only a little, allowing Sid to grab a firmer hold of her. “Look!” He said, keeping his voice low, “It looks like they’re finishing up! At least let him get out of sight of his grieving relation. Then you can kill him.”
This sounded to her like a much more reasonable proposal, and she stilled in his arms. “Fine,” she relented, voice still frayed from the exertion. “Now will you let go of me already?”
This time Sid did release her, but kept his hands on her shoulders should she decide to make another dash for the man. She took a few deep breaths, but still seethed.
“That boy has some explaining to do.”