Written August 31st, 2021 9:23 PM

“Do you have the magic to bring them back?”

The question had been a rhetorical one. Both Ailith and Feyra knew full well that Ailith did not have the magic to bring Xiv back. Or anyone else for that matter. She couldn’t heal anyone, she couldn’t summon anything, she couldn’t even see in the dark.

---

She had been joking when Xiv went to bite into the now still heart they found, the one from Thatcher’s dreams.

“Don’t eat that, Xiv,” Feyra had admonished, ever practical.

“I think you should eat it,” Ailith had joked, knowing full well Xiv was just going to save it for later anyway.
“Ailith, no,” Feyra had sighed, clearly exasperated.

“It would be funny!” Ailith had insisted, laughing.

The look on Feyra’s face when she asked, “Do you have the magic to bring them back?” had gone right through Ailith. Her smile had dropped right off her face and she didn’t bother replying. They both knew the answer.

---

Ailith knew she had certain… capabilities that the others didn’t. None of them had ever punched anything to death, which was something she was proud of. But she was also painfully aware of her limitations, of the fact that she was ordinary. That she wasn’t Chosen. She didn’t need Feyra to call her shortcomings into attention, not when Ailith spent so much of her time trying to forget about them in the first place. Trying to be someone Feyra could be proud to be with, someone even marginally useful in their group of extraordinary people.

Ailith remained largely silent as they cleared room after room in the seemingly never-ending dungeon they found themselves in. She let the tension between her and Feyra fester, relishing in the fact that it felt as wretched as she did. She still redirected attacks made at Feyra, and she made sure the other woman was still standing, albeit bruised and bloody. Ailith watched Xiv and Ace hurl spells at the various assailants they found along the way, saw the sheer power Talus and Feyra poured into their attacks. All she could do was keep fighting, punching until her knuckles were bruised and broken, grateful for the pain and the way it focused her thoughts into something she could control. This is what I’m good at. This is enough. While the pain lingered, she almost believed it.