Ikara

Nephilim was a researcher, specialising in socio-economics and anthropology, sparked by an interest in lives and culture outside of Amaurot.
As she has no affinity for creation magicks, barely able to conjure the simplest of forms, a more scholarly role suited her well.
She was taken under Venat's wing and encouraged to travel the world as her assistant whilst she still held the seat of Azem.
When the time came for Venat to give up her title, she recommended Nephilim as her successor, a decision that was supported by Igeyorhm and Themis.

She has a very bright and sometimes naive disposition, often falling victim to Hythlodeaus and Emet-selchs teasing of her.
She has a very close relationship with the pair, viewing both as her older brothers; equally, they view her as a little sister to be both bullied and protected.

Nephilim has a close platonic relationship with Themis; she loves him dearly and they both acknowledge they would be perfect for each other however due to their titles do not pursue anything further.

Ikara is a walking contradiction. She is not a woman who demands attention, yet somehow manages to capture it. She is intelligent, resilient and quietly fierce.
Simultaneously, she is reserved but never passive, never drawing attention to herself unnecessarily and shying away from it when she receives it.
To the world, she is playful, and mischievous, often referred to as a menace by companions and loved ones alike; she beguiles those she meets with her charm, however only a few are allowed close enough to know the complicated and tormented woman beneath. To know that the face she gives the world is a mask. A front. A disguise for the deeply troubled young woman underneath.

Ikara suffered a lot of verbal abuse at an impressionable age and endured a lot of pain and loss in her short life which has shaped her into someone who guards her heart fiercely. However those that do manage to break down her barriers will all agree that you’d be hard pressed to find a more loyal or devoted friend or lover who puts her all into these relationships, loving fiercely and deeply. She will sacrifice her own happiness if it means putting a smile on a loved ones face instead and will go out of her way to ensure her loved ones are looked after.

Ikara has self-destructive tendencies but rarely lashes out at others; she internalises everything and punishes herself, often severely.However there is also a quiet fire beneath her demeanor, with an unwillingness to allow herself to be dictated or controlled. One of her biggest fears is losing this autonomy and becoming nothing more than a puppet for forces outside of her control
. She loathes her title as Warrior of Light as she feels it strips away this autonomy with each and every mission and triumph.
Due to her background where she was left never knowing if it was the Resistance forces or the Garlean army who killed her mother, Ikara is jaded when it comes to 'good and bad'. She very much doesn't operate in absolutes and sees both sides as being as bad as each other. This causes a lot of clashes with the Scions because it makes her more open to listening to what they perceive to be the enemy - Ikara views them as someone with an alternative outlook and is willing to talk and give people a chance.
She is much more likely to listen, being incredibly skilled at reading body language and hearing between the lines, and when she does speak it is with a measured wit and intelligence, not wasting words needlessly.
Prior to her separation from Zenos due to Fandaniels manipulations, Ikara was completely open with her love and allowed herself to be spoiled and didn't resist his possessive nature. However after the events of In From the Cold, she became colder, more distant and less trustful of her relationships. Moving into Dawntrail, she doesn't allow her heartbreak to define her and has allowed herself to be rebuilt stronger than she was with a refusal to allow herself to be defined by her relationships and duties and forcing people to see her. It can make her come across as a lot colder, a lot more distant. But she prioritises herself more. She will never stop loving Zenos but she will not let herself be defined by her love and heartbreak.

Ikara is a keen baker having learned from her mother at young age. It was a hobby they participated in together and Ikara kept up after her mothers passing.
Ikara is also bookworm through and through. Her apartment and workspaces generally filled and cluttered with half-read novels (usually she'd reading multiple at a time), poetry books and textbooks. Generally she prefers non-fiction, especially biographies and history books and has a very large collection of books both in her own home, her brothers home and in her reading room in Garlemald.
Her guilty pleasure however is bad romance novels; like proper bodice ripper stuff. She tends to hide these in a different book and keeps a very stoic face when reading however her flushed cheeks from particular scenes tends to raise an eyebrow and have people wonder what's so flustering about the biographies of former Doman generals.
Zenos caught her with these one day and absolutely teased her relentlessly but finds it endearing so never pushes it too far.
Ikara has almost ritualistic love for tea, often keeping her home and place she spends a lot of time fully stocked with different blends. She does however get distracted easily so oftentimes you can locate her by following the cups of half drank cold tea that have been left dotted around.
Despite her small size, she is also a big snacker. She is rarely seen without something to eat in her hand from fruit to pastries to even entire bits of ham (Her 'thinking ham' she referred to it as) and again, is prone to leaving these unfinished when she finds something else that captures her attention

Ikara grew up in the Gyr Abania region, growing up in a small village in Dimwold, The Fringes.
Her father was a weaponsmith who prior to the Garlean occupation, made use of the trading hub to sell his wares. His weapons became much sought after amongst the resistance forces after the Garleans moved in and not one to rock the boat, he reluctantly traded with them. Dayan is incredibly non-confrontational and would prefer not to be involved in others affairs even if it's for his homeland, seeking a quiet life which made him a very difficult man for most to get along with.

Ikara and her brother were just infants when the Garleans invaded, barely past their first nameday.
Their parents sheltered them from a lot of the strife going on around them with Isa, their mother, only giving vague explanations as to why so many of their friends had lost parents or were moving away.

However, this did not stop Isa from encouraging her daughters more adventurous spirit, wanting her to see the world that she never could.
Shortly after the twins turned 8, their mother fell ill which caused her difficulty with movement but did not slow her down.
Despite no longer practicing as a healer, Isa liked to always keeping a healthy supply of medicinal herbs "just incase". Whilst out gathering, resistance forces clashed with the Garlean soldiers during the construction of Baelsars Wall and, due to her illness, Isa was not able to flee fast enough and was caught in the cross-fire, killing her instantly.

The twins were heartbroken and their father never got over this, turning him more bitter and closed off than ever.
He was especially strict with Ikara, frequently expressing his disdain for her more tomboyish nature and would berate her for not committing herself to the life of a homemaker and instead choosing the path of a warrior.

Dayan eventually turned to alcohol and was a mean drunk. He frequently verbally and physically abused the twins, Ikara taking the worst of it.
The day before her 16th nameday, she left home to walk her own path. She and her father haven't exchanged more than civilities since then.
Her brother, not wanting to see the families name and reputation for weaponry be tarnished by their fathers behavior, took up smithing and moved the family business to Kugane where he eventually settled down.

Upon arriving in Eorzea, Ikara befriended another young fresh-out-the-nest adventurer, a Miqo'te Seeker named R'varah Tia. Both met in Gridania as rookies in their craft; Ikara a lancer and R'varah an archer.
The two of them were a formidable team, battling in perfect harmony without a word breathed between them. Ikara specialising in infiltration whilst R'varah took care of targets from afar.
Whilst there was a brief romantic love between the pair, they quickly realised that they worked better as colleagues/companions than as a couple. They worked completely freelance, taking missions from whoever paid the most regardless of what side they were on. Ikara blamed both the Garleans and the Resistance for what happened to her mother and it clouded how she approached things, assuming everyone to be just as bad as the other and not seeing any one singular enemy

Shortly before the Seventh Umbral Calamity, Ikara was tasked with a solo mission;infiltrating a Garlean research facility.
Her mission proceeded without issue, almost too smoothly for her liking.
As she made her final dash to escape, she was halted by the forces of Gaius van Baelser, tipped off of her breach by her closest companion.
Betrayed and heart-broken, Ikara barely escaped with her life.

Ikara spent six months recovering from her injuries; shrapnel impaling her lower abdomen and severe burns across her skin.
After she recovered, Ikara sought vengeance for her betrayal. After many months, she finally confronted R’Varaha - she has never spoken of what befell during this encounter however no trace of the Miqo’te has been seen since.

When she finally returned to Gridania, she had no intentions of getting wrapped up with the Scions and resisted Papalymo and Yda several times before her curiosity got the better of her and she relented.

Ikara’s relationship in the early days was positive. They originally met shortly before the events at Cartenau in the Quicksands. Ikara had only recently gotten on her feet after her injuries at Varah’s hands and was seeking information on the Miqo’te to hunt him down. She caught Thancreds attention; a very inquisitive Keeper stood out in a city inhabited mostly by fellow Hyur, Seekers and Lalafell. The two spent some time talking, both ulterior motives of trying to gain information from the other but ultimately parted ways uneventfully, not to see each other again for 5 years.

After Ikara joined the Scions, having completely forgotten about her initial meeting with Thancred, the two formed a friendship founded on his teasing of her forgetting him. They would share a drink, banter and in general had a positive relationship. The Bloody Banquet is where the beginning of the cracks began in their relationship. Upon his return to the Scions, Ikara and Thancred butted heads repeatedly. He had a new perspective on the world and treated her like a child; condescending her and making her feel like her opinions were insignificant when weighted against the others - she should “leave the politics to the rest of us and you do what you’re good at - fighting”.

This was further strained during the attempts to liberate Ala Mhigo when he learned that Ikara had been actively engaging with the Viceroy on her own terms. Her grief at his suicide was met with contempt and Thancred took no pity on Ikara, his words scathing.

By the time Ikara arrived on the First, their relationship was entirely professional only; communicating only when needed (excluding occasions where Thancred would throw out the occasional snide comment in Ikara’s direction). Again, he made his utter disdain apparent when he learned that she had befriended Emet-Selch and had developed a mentor/student bond with him. (Comments such as “you’re just working your way through the family tree aren’t you?” were snapped at her)

As Ikara absorbed more and more Lightwardens and her psyche began to fray, Thancred stepped back as he realised he was projecting onto her and didn’t want to lose her like he lost Minfilia. Post ShB-Early EW, their interactions were less strained as the realisation dawned on Thancred of just how much Ikara was hurting as WoL, how much support she needed and how much she was retreating away from everyone. Her emotions fragile, overwhelmed with all the knowledge forced upon her of the Ancients, Azem and the world as they knew it; she needed a support system more than ever even if she pushed and pushed away.

Returning to the Source helped mend their relationship further, slowly returning to their early days of friendship and building that trust and camaraderie again. G’raha was who Ikara turned to when she needed an escape, an adventure and some fun to take her mind off things but it was Thancred who she’d sit up until 2am with, discussing her thoughts and feelings with - thinly veiled confessions of her time in Garlemald without disclosing all the details, completely unaware he had been keeping a close eye on her the entire time to ensure her safety and wellbeing.
Thancred never let Ikara know he was aware of her relationship but was there to support her each time he knew she would be hurting. Only he and Urianger knew the true reason for her unbridled rage after her soul was swapped and body hijacked, calming her and sedating her to ensure she didn’t hurt herself; who knew the true reason why she gave chase onto the Moon; why, despite her injuries, she was crying with grief and not physical pain as she lay bloodied and bruised on the Ragnarok, gripping the only physical item she had left to remember; why she sunk into a deep depression after they returned victorious.

Post EW, their relationship is fully mended and they are incredibly close, Ikara providing him with regular updates on Ryne and vice versa. .

From the beginning, Ikara had nothing but the utmost respect for Urianger and he has always been one of the few people on Eitherys she opens up to and confides in .
He is aware that often, she is not seeking advice or for someone to try and fix things but just wishes to vent and is always willing to lend an ear, and offer insight should she request it.
Ikara’s wellbeing has always been one of Urianger’s priorities and is one of the only Scions to frequently express concern that she is being treated like a weapon with no concern for her as an individual.

Upon returning to the Source, he quickly figured out where Ikara was sneaking off to; whilst concerned, he did acknowledge the positive change in her demeanor and was ultimately supportive, keeping the knowledge to himself.
When Thancred also figured this out, it was Urianger who convinced him to also keep the knowledge privy to himself and to use his skills to ensure her safety rather than breach her trust and potentially sever the fragile ties keeping her with the Scions.
Urianger would keep Ikara grounded, often reminding her of her importance and place in the world, not as WoL but as Ikara.

A modern comparison is needed for this relationship.
They are the Eorzean Steve and Robin. If they could, they’d be wearing sailor uniforms, serving ice cream and stopping Garleans and aliens. A platonic love between two utterly devoted best friends. Comfortable, playful and genuine.

Ikara knew Raha harboured feelings for her at the start when they reunited on the First, when he was still playing the role of the elusive Exarch.
But he was always respectful, never pushed the boundary or pressured her and that’s why she loved him. Even when he realised she was never going to see him the same way he saw her, he accepted this and embraced their friendship instead. They finish each others sentences, have the same mischievous sense of humour and is always a breath of fresh air when Ikara needs the escape from her duty.

He is unaware of her relationship with Zenos; he has his suspicions but is secure enough in their friendship to know she will tell him when she is ready. .

Ikara is incredibly fond of Estinien and gets on really well with him as they actually have a lot in common with similar senses of dry humour and both being dragoons.

He taught her a lot about her class and trained one-on-one with her many times even before officially joining the Scions. .

To Ikara, they’re like younger siblings. She’s very protective of them and shelters them from a lot, always keeping in mind that whilst they are very mature and experienced for their ages, that they are still teenagers and they should have some things they remain unaware of.
Her relationship being one of those things as well as some of the darker consequences of their actions as Scions. Eg they have no idea just what kind of toll the Light actually had on Ikara’s body and made the others swear not to tell as she knew they’d both be overcome with guilt. .

Ikara is quite timid around Krile.
She has the utmost respect for her and part of that intimidation is caused by how much respect and reverie she has for the scholar.

Prior to joining the Scions, Ikara had read many of both Krile and her grandfathers writings about their research and explorations so it was almost a bit surreal for Ikara to suddenly be in a position where they were peers. .

Their first encounter was in Rhalgr’s Reach.
Y’shtola lay injured at her feet, having thrown herself in front of his blade. Ikara had never met anyone like him. Someone who didn’t need to swing to overwhelm her. He advanced with an unsettling calm, deflecting her blows without ever striking back. She fought harder, furious, breathless. And still, he only watched. Unshaken. Unbothered. Until she dared him with her eyes, standing her ground, daring him to strike her like an equal.
He did.
One precise thrust with a katana, through her shoulder. But she didn’t fall. Didn’t flinch. She met his gaze with defiance, blood running down her arm, refusing to yield. Refusing to be less.

He was intrigued by this creature. This savage. Larger and more intimidating men had kneeled before him and yielded. Yet this small, lithe beast was daring him. A smirk on her face as she bled and her ally lay dying beside her. And that got his attention. She wasn’t afraid. She was looking at him like he was an annoyance more than a conqueror.

Whenever their duties allowed it - whether between battles or invasions - he found her. No reason. No warning. Just that same quiet presence, too close, too steady. At first, she cursed him. Told him to fuck off with all the venom she could manage. But he didn’t leave. He never did. And over time, she meant the words less and less.
She told herself it was strategic. Curiosity. That his strength could be studied, mimicked, used to her advantage.
But she started waiting for him. After dark, when her comrades had retired for the night,Ikara would slip away, heart thudding, knowing he’d be there. He always was. Whether they were in the plains of Yanxia or under the cliffs of the Steppe, he was always there.
He kept coming back because she didn’t kneel. Didn’t soften. She didn’t care for his rank, his name, his heritage. She didn’t look at him like the others did - with awe or dread or obedience. She looked at him like a man. A man that was pissing her off by being her exact match. She never called him Zenos. Only Galvus. Or worse - Princeling, with all the disdain she could pack into the word.
In turn, he called her savage. Beast. Little fox. Each insult thrown like a challenge. But the edges dulled. Their jabs lost heat. The insults stayed, but they sounded more like nicknames. Familiar. Almost fond. Soon she became “his little fox”.

For a time, her walls held. He wasn’t trying to break them, only wait them out. And that was worse. Because she never saw it coming. Never noticed how he’d worked his way into the spaces she’d always guarded so fiercely. How when she needed someone to confide in, her first thought was not Urianger or Alphinaud, but Him.
He never hid his obsession. From the start, he told her it was inevitable. That one day, she would be his, and she wouldn’t fight it. Wouldn’t want to. She told him he was wrong. They both knew she didn’t believe it. He was the only one who looked at her and saw Ikara. Not the Warrior of Light, not a symbol or savior, just a girl carrying a burden that was hollowing her out piece by piece. He saw every crack, every flaw - her temper, her stubborn pride, the way her voice sharpened when she was afraid - and called it beauty. To him, none of it needed fixing. It was the reason she burned.
After the Naadam, when the others celebrated, she slipped away to breathe. She sat alone beneath the stars,chakram at her side and armoured decorations still weighing heavy on her shoulders.. He found her there. Told her she fought well, like a flame that couldn’t be touched. She snapped at him, sharp as ever. He called her Mea Bestia. My beast. He didn’t realize she spoke some Garlean until she met his smirk with a playful one of her own and answered, Non sum tuus. I am not yours.
He took her defiance as a challenge. A hurdle to overcome.
She kissed him to shut him up. That was all it was meant to be. A fleeting act. A line drawn in heat and frustration. But it lingered. In the silence after, in the way he looked at her - not triumphant, not smug, but as if something had already been decided. She told herself it hadn’t meant anything. That she was still in control. But deep down, something had shifted. Not just in him but in her.

Maybe that’s why it made her furious. To be standing in Ala Mhigo, chakram in hands, voice cracking as she begged him to stop. To let go of the madness. To choose her instead. Ikara was not a woman who pleaded or begged. But with him, she did. Deep down she knew he wouldn’t change. But some small, breaking part of her still hoped he might. For her.
And when he allowed himself to become one with the primal,, she fought him anyway. Not because she hated him but because he left her no choice. And when he lost to her, he looked at her like none of it had mattered anyway. He thanked her for her companionship. Her friendship. Words he had never said when they still had time. Not claiming her as his. But appreciative of her being there. Then he dragged his blade across his throat with a calm that shattered her.He fell into the flowers with one last reach - fingers stained red, as if stretching for her, but never making it. And all she could do was stand there, soaked in his blood. And her hand reached out but it was too late.

In the aftermath, Ikara stood in silence while the world around her erupted in cheers. Ala Mhigo had been reclaimed. The viceroy was dead. Victory was theirs. Yet she never cheered. No one questioned the haunted look in her eyes. No one asked why she didn’t speak. Wonder why she didn’t celebrate.
She buried it. All of it. The grief. The guilt.
She let them call him a monster, let them praise her for defeating him. And she smiled when they needed her to, nodded when they declared her a hero again.
But when night fell and the world was quiet, she would sit alone with the ghost of him - his voice still in her ears, still his blood still on her hands despite scrubbing them - and sob.

Ikara struggled in Norvrandt.
The Scions, once her anchor, felt more distant than ever.
Her bond with Thancred had splintered beyond repair after she finally snapped, refusing to let him speak to her like a reckless child instead of a peer.
Y’shtola, brilliant and condescending in equal measure, never stopped talking down to her. Urianger meant well, but his careful concern felt suffocating.
And the twins? They still saw only the legend. The Warrior of Light. Not the woman behind her fading title. Not the one who was coming apart at the seams.

Maybe that’s why Emet-Selch slipped past her defenses so easily.
He didn’t flatter her. Didn’t coddle or scold. He spoke to her like an equal, curious and sharp, and she gave him companionship; offering conversation, insight, the kind of relationship she didn’t realize she craved as much as she did since losing Zenos. She never realised what he was truly seeing when he looked at her. That the familiarity in his voice wasn’t affection, but recognition. That he sensed the aether of someone he once loved as a sibling.

They fell into a rhythm. Evenings in the rafters of the Crystarium, trading thoughts until the stars gave way to dawn. She’d tease him. Tell him he reminded her of his great-grandson, a comment that never failed to draw his disdain. Zenos, forming bonds? With someone like her? Laughable. Impossible. And yet she always smiled when she said it. He saw the affection she held for his deceased grandson in her eyes.
He told her stories of Amaurot. Of the Convocation. Of the world that was. And she listened, eyes wide, breath held. Completely fascinated by a world she’d only seen in the flashes of her Echo when she slept at night.
Maybe that’s why it shattered her - being the one to end him.
Another man she had come to respect, to care for, standing at the edge of reason and refusing to turn back.
Another soul she was forced to cut down with her own hands. It was Zenos all over again. Different face. Same grief. Same helplessness. Same blood on her hands. She told herself she was used to it. That heroes don’t get the luxury of mourning their enemies. But she was lying. She had one dead Galvus already clawing through her nightmares. Now she had two.
So she left the First behind. Fled from the weight of her choices like she always did. She found an abandoned castrum, a bottle of red wine, and enough Somnus to blur the edges. To numb it all. Maybe just for a night. Maybe forever. She didn’t really care which.

She chose Castrum Fluminis because it felt poetic. One more life lost there wouldn’t be unusual. And though Tsuyu’s death hadn’t been by her hand, she carried the guilt like it had.

The light sickness had faded, but its echoes remained. Her body still thrummed with it. Her mind clouded and fraying. There were days she could barely feel human. She had come so close to losing herself completely. To becoming a weapon, a thing. And some bitter part of her thought maybe it would be easier to sleep forever. To stop fighting what the world kept turning her into.

Then she heard him.
That unmistakable voice - arrogant, assured, alive. She lifted her head slowly, disbelieving.
Furious.
She screamed. He didn’t get to do this. Not after abandoning her. Not after reaching for her as he bled out in the flowers and left her with nothing but nightmares and silence. Not after months of mourning him in secret, waking with her fists clenched and his name half-choked in her throat.
He let her hit him. Let her vent all of it. every hurt, every wound, every desperate ache she hadn’t dared speak aloud. But her fists eventually slowed. Her head dropped against his chest. The rage drained and in its place came despair.
She begged him to finish it. To let her go. She was tired. Done. She didn’t want to survive just to keep bleeding.
He didn’t comfort her. He called her a coward.
And drew his blade.
Their fight was like all the others - feral, ruthless, without words.

But this time she wasn’t trying to win. She wanted to feel. Anything. Everything. And he gave her that. Blow for blow. Scar for scar.
Until they were close, too close, weapons discarded, breaths sharp, movements tangled. His hand in her hair, hers beneath his armor, and something broke.

They kissed like they fought. Violent, unrelenting, teeth and heat and desperation. It was messy. Clumsy. Brutal. Her first time where she wanted someone. His first time, ever. Nothing soft about it. Just two broken people clawing to feel something, anything, in the only way they knew how.
Afterward, they didn’t speak. Just lay there, bruised and bloodied, the cold stone biting at their skin. She told herself it was just sex. A release. A mistake. A mistake she would keep on making.
He reminded her of what he’d said all those months ago.

That they were inevitable.

And that scared her more than anything ever had.
So she ran. Back to Norvrandt, back to the lie of duty, back to pretending none of it meant anything. But he had already permeated every part of her. Invading her thoughts like a virus, the ghost of his touch and breath always on her even as she buried herself in tomes.

When Ikara returns to the First, she tells herself it's for duty. To finish what she started. To see it through.

But the truth gnaws at her from the inside out. She can't stop thinking about Zenos. His voice, the weight of his hands, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in a crumbling world worth wanting. Every quiet moment becomes a punishment. Every mission, every distraction, only stretches the distance between what she should be doing and what she wants. What her duty is and what her heart aches for.
And the longer she pretends to function, the worse it gets. Her body heals, her mind does not.

After the battle with Elidibus - another supposed enemy, another soul torn down who once wore a face of kinship, her past-selves platonic soulmate - something finally breaks in her. She doesn't cry. She doesn't speak. She just stands there in the stillness afterward, knowing she's damned herself again. She didn’t win. She survived. There's a difference.

Back in the Crystarium, the Scions are overjoyed. The First is no longer drowning in light, rebuilding has begun in Eulmore under new rule, Ryne is going to be cared for. Everyone looks at her like she’s a hero. But she can't bear to look at herself in the mirror.
One by one, the Scions return to the Source and she is tasked with re-awakening G’raha. Her best friend.
They thank her. Hug her. Tell her how proud they are. Not one of them notices the hollow in her eyes. The emptiness.
Once they're settled and off to reclaim their lives, she doesn't rest. Doesn't stay. She doesn’t even tell anyone
. She returns to Castrum Fluminis, not in grief this time, but resolve. She’s done pretending the things she wants don’t matter. Done running from the parts of her that ache too much to ignore.
She's going to find him again. She doesn't know what will happen. If he’ll even be there. But if he is, she won’t walk away this time. She’s claiming something for herself.

When she returns to Castrum Fluminis, it’s with weeks of longing and pining clinging to her chest like armour. But to Zenos, it’s only been hours. The moment she steps into that war-scarred courtyard again, she expects coldness. Maybe distance. But he’s the same as ever. Relentless, focused, hungry in a way that has nothing to do with violence and everything to do with her.
He doesn’t give her time to hesitate. Doesn’t need it. His eyes burn like they always have, a promise unspoken on his tongue. When he reaches for her, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t resist He asks once - that quiet, low, steady voice that’s been haunting her dreams - if she’s sure.
She doesn’t answer in words, instead pulling him down to kiss her.
What follows isn’t some grand romantic overture, no fireworks or declarations.
Just quiet hunger, the kind that’s been festering for too long. The kind only they understand.

Their relationship doesn’t bloom - it erupts. In dark corners, behind locked doors, in stolen nights where she slips away without a word to anyone. It feels dangerous, raw, reckless. But it also feels like breathing again. Every chance she has she’s sneaking away to see him and he does the same.
The other Scions are oblivious. Urianger notices but does not question. He trusts her judgement and she’ll confide in him when she’s ready.

But secrecy takes its toll. It’s different now. Before, they were enemies on opposite sides of a war, each encounter was a weapon. Now, they’re something else entirely. They laugh. They fight. They fuck. And the world can’t see any of it. It’s theirs. But secrecy on this scale isn’t sustainable long term.
Ikara starts to feel it first; the strain of hiding, the ache of parting every time like it might be the last. Her mask slips more often. She’s tired of lying. Tired of pretending she isn’t waiting for his voice every time she closes her eyes.
Zenos sees it. Of course he does. He always sees her. And one night, after they’re tangled together in the dark, his hand gripping her hip like it belongs there, he makes the offer.
Terncliff.
It’s quiet, out of reach. Still loyal to his name. His family owns land there, and the soldiers stationed are remnants of the Empire; both they and the townspeople are loyal to his name, not to a cause. No one would question their presence. No one would come looking.
They could stop hiding. Not from each other. Not from the world. Even for a little while.

She says yes. Not with hesitation, not with doubt. Yes, like she’s been waiting to say it all her life. It’s the easiest thing she’s ever done, choosing him. But as much as she wants to vanish into that quiet place they might call home, she still owes the world a sliver of closure.
So she tells him she needs a few days. There are things to be done - loose ends to tie. She has to go back to Shirogane, pack, and say a quiet goodbye to the life she’s leaving behind. Then to Mor Dhona. Not to explain herself, never that. But just to leave a note. To the one person who would understand enough to know not to follow. Not to search. Someone who might even forgive her for leaving.
That person could only be Urianger.

She returns to Shirogane first, the apartment quiet and too pristine, untouched. It's strange to pack without armour. To fold soft clothes instead of plating. No bandages, no potions. She packs like someone preparing to live, not survive. Something about that unsettles her more than it should. It’s unfamiliar.
When she steps into the waking hush of Mor Dhona, it’s late. She doesn't expect to find anyone awake, let alone him.
But there he is - kindhearted and reliable Urianger, sitting by candlelight, thumbing through a book with the kind of quiet patience that only ever made her feel safe. He doesn’t look up right away. Doesn’t have to. He simply asks if she’s going away with him.
Ikara freezes in the doorway. Her first instinct is to deny it, out of habit more than anything. But there’s no accusation in his voice. No judgment. Just familial concern.
She admits it. Carefully. Half-expecting him to tell her she’s making a mistake.
But Urianger only smiles, faint and knowing. He tells her he’s known for some time. That she’s not as guarded as she thinks, at least not to him. He’s seen the change in her. The way her shoulders have unknotted, the way the shadows under her eyes no longer drag her gaze down. For the first time in what feels like years, she glows, even if she doesn't realize it.
She asks if he’ll keep her secret. He promises he will, but on one condition - she must write to him. Regularly. Just to say she’s alive, that she’s safe. That she hasn’t vanished into the shadows for good.
She agrees without hesitation. She hugs him tighter than she expects to. Says goodbye without saying it. And then she leaves, her steps sure and silent as she disappears into the night.

Terncliff greets them with sea mist and stillness, the estate nestled against the cliffs like something lost in time. It’s grand in the way only old Garlean architecture can be - stone spires and carved balconies, the halls grande but bare, no one has graced them in some time. No guards. No staff. No prying eyes. Just them. Just the stillness they need.
Ikara is in awe, walking in slow circles through each room, pausing to admire the intricate crown moulded ceilings and running her fingers along cold marble banisters.
She makes jokes about how she half expects the ghost of some forgotten Galvus to wander the halls at night, Zenos simply looks at her because he wouldn’t put it past his family, especially not his great-grandsire, to be stubborn enough to still linger.

It’s clear this was a summer home, some generational afterthought of the royal family. There are faded portraits on the walls - Ikara particularly amused by one of Solus in his elder years, a far cry from the younger version she came to know and befriend. A library with the shelves filled to the brim but lined with dust from lack of housekeeping, linen closets stuffed with embroidered cloth untouched for decades and appropriate seasonal tableware for special occassions. But it’s not sterile. It’s lived-in enough to feel real. Not a palace. A home. Unusual for the family who own it.

Ikara makes a show of sighing, pointing out that since there’s no staff, there’s no one to to meal prep for “his royal princeling” and that he’ll have to get used to her baking skills as sustenance, accept that bread makes you fat so he’s gonna need to accept carbs in his life as pastries and breads are all she’s good at.
Zenos simply raises an eyebrow, amused and slowly purrs at her that he cooks. Ikara freezes. She wasn’t expecting that.
Yet, it turns out Zenos yae Galvus knows his way around a kitchen very well. He tells her it was the only thing he was ever allowed to do in the palace that wasn’t for war, strategy, or show. Something done in solitude, for no one but himself. No one dared question or challenge him on it, simply left him to it. She asks what his father thought. He tells her that he didn’t dare comment as he was too fearful Zenos would replace seasonings with poisons.
Their first week in Terncliffe feels surreal, like it shouldn’t have happened. A week of learning each other properly, away from duty, titles and responsibilities. When they’re not tangled up in sheets, throwing each other against every door frame and wall, they’re curled up on sofas and lounges, reading quietly and enjoying each other's company. She sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the kitchen island whilst he moves between counters like he was born to do this. She steals food constantly as he preps, grabbing pieces of chopped vegetables from the cutting board or putting spoons in sauces. Adding more garlic and spices when his back is turned. He pretends to scold her but it never deters her.
Zenos learns she’s a grazer, that despite being half his size and weighing less than 100lbs, she never stops eating. He’s found himself awestruck as mid conversation she’ll pull a pastry out of nowhere and start snacking, wandering the markets eating entire baguettes as she goes.
She learns he has a sweet tooth and cannot be left alone with candy of any form. He discovers she can’t peel a vegetable without slicing her hands. They bicker over flour ratios, usually resulting in flour fights in the kitchen. They argue over how much extras to add to recipes with Zenos preferring to stick to his own known methods and Ikara insisting there is no such thing as too much garlic or chilli. They kiss between chopping vegetables and cooking pasta.
He learns how she takes her tea, that she has to stir it precisely three times clockwise or it ‘tastes funny’. She learns he twirls his hair when he’s thinking. He discovers to the detriment of his legs that she kicks when she sleeps and is the opposite of grace with limbs flailing and usually ending up tangled. She discovers he can play the piano when she sits down at an old dusty one in one of the estates’ many parlors, bashes a few keys and he sits her down to teach her.
They’re just themselves.
Two people who were never meant to be allowed this peace, embracing it whilst they can.
Terncliffe isn’t about survival for them, it’s about discovery. They’re not the prince and the warrior, the war criminal and the god slayer.
They’re just Zenos and Ikara.

Their days in Terncliff blurred into one another, soft and peaceful; a farcry from the lives both were fated to live. There were no missions, no titles, no expectations - just warmth, sea breeze, and the quiet rhythm of two people figuring out how to simply exist together. They were happy. Genuinely. For possibly the first time in both their lives.

The town gave them space. The people were used to the occasional imperial presence, and Zenos’s name still held enough weight to keep questions at bay. No one dared cross him, and Ikara - though unrecognised as the Warrior of Light - quickly became a favourite sight around town. She was bright, teasing, always eager to help. She took interest in things, always asking curiously at the local market about baking techniques, where flowers had been grown and what types they were, just curious about their lives in general . She smiled more than she had in years, and the townsfolk smiled with her.

But peace never holds forever. Not for them. Rumours started, as they always do. Whispers carried on trade ships and courier birds. The Crown Prince of Garlemald, grieving his father and reclusive, hiding away in a coastal town with a mysterious lover. A woman no one could name, but who laughed like she belonged there. The story grew with every retelling. And eventually, it reached the wrong ears.

Thancred had already been investigating. Estinien had told the Scions everything - the death of Varis, how Gaius had been allowed to take the fall as noone would believe the Prince had committed patricide, the cracks in Garlemald’s control. It was only natural that Thancred would follow the trail of whispers, especially when it led to Zenos. He told Urianger he’d go to Terncliff himself. See if the Crown Prince was a threat. Confirm whether there was any truth to the talk of a paramour.

He didn’t question Urianger’s sudden insistence on coming along. Thought he was simply tired of dusty libraries and wanted a bit of sea air. He had no reason to think otherwise.

When they arrive, the town seems unremarkable. Sleepy. A little too quiet. Thancred starts asking around. Tavern owners, shopkeepers, the old woman who sells flowers by the fountain. They all say the same thing - yes, the prince is here. Yes, he’s with someone. A young woman, full of life and kindness. The two of them are inseparable. She’s always laughing. Always finding ways to help. People adore her. He is still aloof, distant. But relaxed around her. Not on edge, not the monster they’d been taught to fear. He watches her. Only her. Looks at her like she hung the stars themself.
And today? They’re down at the markets.

Thancred doesn’t know what he expects. But it isn’t this.
He turns a corner and sees them instantly.

Zenos - Zenos - dressed down. Casual. Relaxed. Shirt sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone. Hair pulled back in a tie. There’s no weapon at his side. No trace of the predator Thancred remembers. Just a tall man balancing a stack of books while keeping an eye on the woman beside him. She scurries from tome to tome, excitedly picking them up, smelling them, browsing them.
And that woman.
Ikara.
Black hair tied up. Bare-legged, tan from the sun, an airy blouse falling off one shoulder. She's pouring over old tomes with the kind of joy only she could conjure from dusty pages. Every time she gestures to a spine or leans toward a cover, Zenos adds it to the growing pile without hesitation. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t negotiate. Just watches her. His eyes peaceful for the first time.
And when she turns to him - eyes bright, smiling sweetly - she looks at him like she’s already home.

Thancred stops in his tracks. The blood drains from his face. His voice comes out thin, almost incredulous.
“You knew?”

Urianger doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. He just exhales slowly, watching the pair from a distance as if he’s seeing the end of something long prophesied.
“They need each other,” he says simply. “And we never gave her a reason to stay.”

Thancred doesn’t respond at first. He’s still staring. Still trying to fit the pieces together - the way Ikara’s hand brushes Zenos’s arm without fear, the easy way they move in sync without even speaking. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. This was the man she was supposed to hate. The man who carved through her shoulder in Rhalgr’s Reach. Who killed himself before her eyes.
But there’s no hatred here.

Zenos says something quiet that makes her laugh. Laugh. She swats his arm, and he - Zenos - smiles. A real one. No smirk, no calculated sneer. Just a man looking at the only thing in the world that means something to him.

Thancred turns back to Urianger, voice lower now, like saying it too loud might break whatever fragile truth they’ve stumbled into.
"How long?"
Urianger doesn't answer right away. His gaze stays on the market. On Ikara.

“A while,” he finally says. “Long enough for it to no longer be a passing indulgence. This is not coercion, nor corruption. She is not lost to us, Thancred.”

“She’s with him,” Thancred hisses, like saying Zenos’s name would sour the air. “We were supposed to save her from people like him.”
Urianger’s reply is quiet, but unyielding.
“Perhaps we should ask whether she wanted saving at all.”
Thancred looks back. Watches as Zenos offers her a chilled bottle of something and she takes it without hesitation, taking a sip before passing it back to him. Their fingers linger. Their eyes meet. It's intimate in a way that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with trust.

It's not just physical. It's real.

Thancred feels something tighten in his chest - guilt, maybe. Or regret. For the way they all praised her strength and never saw her loneliness. For the way they leaned on her, time and again, and never thought to ask what she needed.
For the first time, he realizes how little they really knew her.

“She’s going to have to come back eventually,” he says, not quite sure if he’s warning Urianger or trying to reassure himself.
Urianger gives him a look - gentle, but firm.

“She will. When she’s ready. And not before.”

Thancred doesn’t argue. Because watching her now, hair tousled by the sea breeze, cheeks sun-warmed, eyes shining as she and Zenos disappear into another stall - he understands. This isn’t a hostage. This isn’t some twisted scheme.

This is a girl who finally chose something for herself.
And this time, none of them have the right to take it away.