Reflections of Vanya Elentari
I’ve thrown my lot in with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn — though calling it that feels too grand, like I signed some fateful charter. Truth is, I simply walked through their door in Vesper Bay, weary of my own questions. Minfilia was there, waiting, bright-eyed and gentle, calling my visions the “Echo.” Said she shared it, that it let her see truths others couldn’t. A gift, she insisted, though I’m still not sure any true gift leaves you shaking in alleys.
They tested me in small ways. Had me repeat their watchwords — “The wild rose blooms in the desert” — as if speaking it might bind me to something. Maybe it has. Minfilia spoke of standing against tyranny, of freedom and choice. All lofty words that sounded more like prayers than plans.
Then Thancred took me back through Ul’dah, nose-deep in rumors of the Amalj’aa. Merchants whisper of caravans gone missing. Mothers hold their children tighter. A priest needed help to bury the latest found dead beyond the gates — no name, no family willing to claim them. I helped lower the body into the earth, feeling each shovelful of sand land like a quiet promise that I’d try to stop more graves from being dug.
So that’s how it begins. Not with blazing banners or grand pronouncements, but with poor folk afraid to sleep, with hastily carved headstones, and with me trying to decide if I’ve joined a cause worth the weight it’s already putting on my shoulders.
Thancred still teases, flashing that easy grin as if to brush off the fear. Minfilia watches with eyes that hold too many expectations. And me? I keep my sword close and my doubts closer. Because whatever comes next, I have a feeling it’ll demand far more than simple steel.
