By Lyra Zwahn
Content Warning: Action, Death, Suspense, Violence
Flames crawled up the walls in a deafening roar. They roiled against the ceiling while orange light filled the room. An unbearable heat curled wallpaper and blackened paintings, and wood crackled loudly all around. Glowing cinders swirled through black smoke. The ceiling began to collapse.
“Please…”
Talia Ethos woke up covered in cold sweat. It was that dream again – the fire, the heat, the voice. She slid from bed and rubbed her dry eyes. Today was the international Mahjong tournament’s final day, and the stress was obviously getting to her. Being the only Au Ra and only woman in the tournament didn’t make things easier, either. Still, it was time to get moving; it was going to be another long day.
On the street, citizens of Ishgard and The Pillars smiled and buzzed about their usual business. Women wearing elaborate dresses of pinks and blues lilted past; they spun parasols with glee. The gentlemen of the houses eyed them and wore their best suits with hats of a variety of styles. It was spring day, and all the trees and flowers were in full bloom. To Talia, the mid-morning brightness was a bit too much.
It was almost too hot.
“Good morning, madam!” a carriage driver barked and tipped his bowler hat. A pair of black chocobos scratched at the stone street behind him.
“Oh! Good morning to you, sir,” Talia replied, still standing at the door of the inn to get her bearings. She checked herself again before closing the door.
“Off to the tournament?” he asked with a large grin. “Will be a fine day for Mahjong!”
“I am!” she smiled in reply, “It certainly shall be.”
The Mahjong hall was lively. Visitors chattered in a steady din and drank spirits from crystal glasses; pungent cigar smoke choked the air. Talia coughed as she looked for her seat at the table. The chair’s golden embellishments caught the light of the interior lanterns with elaborate designs, the cushions overly plush yet coarse. Talia felt as if she sank into them too deeply to be comfortable. The matches proved intense, and melds hadn’t formed as she hoped. “Maybe next round,” she thought, but by then, the room had grown uncomfortably warm.
“Come back to us, Talia.”
Talia was jolted from her daze. She looked around to meet eyes with a gray-haired Miqo’te sitting on her right. He gestured impatiently to the table. “Are you with us, Talia?” he asked, frustrated.
“Oh! Yes, yes! I’m sorry!” Talia exclaimed as she eyed her hand of tiles – Seven Pairs was likely her only chance at success. She drew a tile, but somehow it was … black.
She stared into the inky black tile for a bit and cautiously placed it at the end of her hand. Strangely, no one seemed to notice. “How could this be?” she wondered. The game proceeded, but Talia couldn’t focus. Was it an attempt to disqualify her? Or, was it a rare defect? Maybe a piece of another set? She fanned herself as the warmth caused her to sweat. Had the boilers had been turned on too soon? How could it be so hot in Ishgard of all places? It made no sense.
“Hot … in Ishgard?” she wondered.
Talia’s eyes were locked on the black tile. No one acknowledged its existence, turn after turn. Just as the Rogedyn man to her left placed his discarded tile back on the table, she realized what it was. It was a second black tile!
“Pon!” Talia shouted and lunged for the black tile.
“No, you don’t!” the man to her left shouted. He grabbed Talia’s arm, and the man to her right grabbed the other side of her tunic. The dealer, an Elezen man in a white cloak, his eyes as black as the tile – something Talia hadn’t noticed until now – towered over them.
“The game will continue,” he rasped with a voice like a roaring flame.
Talia wrangled free and frantically clawed at the tiles, somehow knowing she must get it. She had to put the pair together! Through the struggle and chaos, she grabbed it but tumbled backward, upending the table and sending tiles flying across the room – a room that was now fully engulfed in flames. She scrambled across the floor, reaching for the second black tile while everything burned.
“Talia, please!”
She struggled against the pull of the fiends under the choking smoke of a raging inferno. She fought them with all her might as the cloaked man raised a twisted staff adorned with a goat skull. Talia screamed and touched the black tile in her hand with its twin on the floor, placing them side-by-side. Everything went black, and the world felt like it was spun.
Dizzy, Talia raised her head. It was dark, but she could see the bodies of fellow black mages scattered around the burning hall. A sole Hyur woman screamed for Talia’s help as she cast an icy blast between herself and an imposing figure on the other side of a flaming torrent. The Elezen in the white robe, the man with the black eyes stood there, holding his goat skull staff high.
“How!? How did you escape!?” he growled like thunder at the sight of Talia awake.
Talia stood from that floor with staff in hand, ready to fight, ready to protect the people she loved from a repulsive menace. She summoned the depths of her strength to fight on.
#
Zwahn Tales 