Alis Volat Propiis

She Flies With Her Own Wings

A/N: A continuation of my one-shot- Eleison. She gripped the dagger, and she changed history in one blow. Now in absolute secrecy, Ovelia is living in the wilds of Ordalia, Ivalice's neighboring kingdom with fellow fugitives Alma and Ramza until the former Queen learns unexpected news. A new page in the history of Ivalice unfolds as Ovelia learns to stand on her own two feet.

Disclaimer: I am making no profit from this story whatsoever.

Chapter 1: The Shaded Corridor of Memories

With her back against a fir and an ear open, Ovelia listened for the familiar metallic footfalls of mythril boots against loose earth. Ramza, he'd return soon, bearing supplies- victuals, medical wares, and weapons of war, and they'd pick up and continue on, always traveling never stopping. Alma, his sister, would make lighthearted conversation which would inevitably fall flat, and the three of them would continue on in a martyr's silence.

Dead men rejoice not and are only shadows roving until they fade.

She had been Ovelia, ruler of Ivalice, but that Ovelia had died nearly a month ago in a destroyed church quietly. Queen Ovelia now only lived as a faint memory of a troubled time in the pages of Ivalice's history and as an empty grave in the halls of her noble country's kings. She, the woman against the tree in leather armor with roughened hands, was the remnant, bitterly free of name and country.

A twig snapped in the distance, and her hand went for her dagger. These woods were dark and deep; her breath stilled. A brigand? A troll? Or an animal of some sort? Her eyes narrowed, and she turned ever so slightly, eyes peering past the tree into the thick fern-filled distance. A fox bounded through the thick underbrush, and she paused to breathe relief in the chill air. The northern territories of Ordalia were cold and strange; Ramza had thought it best to keep away from the more the heavily populated South lest she be recognized. Bad blood from the Fifty Year's War still ran deep for both sides. She sheathed her dagger and slumped backwards to sit. Ghosts played at the back of mind, Omdoria, who she'd barely known walked through the window of her memories. He'd been a kindly man, by all means sickly and ill fit to be king, but kindly. She exhaled, breath misting in the frigid air. Leaves crackle and rustle on the hard earth, and she turns, rising to meet Ramza and Alma at her back.

"The prices in the village," Ovelia began, "Were they fair?"

Ramza shrugged, "Fair enough, far too much for an Ordalian but still far too little for one of Ivalice. It can't be helped. The matter all lies in the accent."

All three mount their steeds in silence, after loading the beasts with their goods. Ovelia pulls her cloak low over her eyes; there are some who'd pay well for the head of even a false twin these days given the very unusual circumstances of her "death". Valendia, Ordalia, and Ivalice must be crawling with false Ovelias by now. She faces forward, shaking herself from her thoughts, and the three begin to trek through the forest never saying much. Dark ferns and high maples give way to a hilly highland.

"It smells of rain," Alma remarks lightly.

Ovelia nods in reply, gazing into the grey sky.

"Then we should make haste. I'd prefer to find shelter by midday," Ramza replies.

Almost twins, Ovelia thinks lightly following after the two blondes, always finishing each other thoughts and sentences, speaking aloud only for her benefit. She dislikes this place; static dances in the sky, and a raw anticipation, her once dormant warrior's sense, awakens. She scans the hilly country. Other high hilltops are bare, but in the gully to the south something stirs.

"Ramza," Ovelia calls pointing southward into the dark gorge.

He signals for them to stop briefly, and he dismounts to observe the moving form. A struggling little thing, they note, it climbs upwards out of the deep, narrow chasm. Too small to be a man, and too hairy to be a child, Ramza's eyes narrowed.

"A goblin," he murmurs lowly, "Alma-"

His sister is too quick for him, crouching lowly, her bowstring taut, and faster than the snap that looses it, the arrow flies. Her target is far and gaining speed, but her aim after these few years of living in wilderness with him is flawless. The goblin collapses without a scream, arrow protruding from its chest. They mount quickly, traveling faster and with more caution than before. Where there's one goblin there are always more.

Lightning splits the sky, and thunder roars overhead. They need to find shelter immediately, Ovelia thinks faintly, scanning the highlands for any semblance of cover. No such luck, there's nothing save for the rolling land they traverse. Alma stops suddenly.

"A cave," she calls over the roaring wind and thunder pointing east to a hole dug hallway into the ground. They ride towards it; Ramza enters first, dismounting, leading his chocobo by its reins inside. Ovelia and Alma follow, weapons drawn ready for battle should the cave be inhabited.

Night is frantic as all hell erupts beyond the jagged walls of the cave. Ovelia, Ramza, and Alma did what they could to fortify the cave's mouth to prevent flood in their subterranean shelter, stretching old scraps of cloth and leather for a makeshift door. Alma slept, but Ovelia and Ramza sat still awake- always two to the night's watch in alternating shifts. Both are tired, but their eyes are already too haunted to doze, and so they make for conversation instead.

"And of Agrias?" Ovelia questions softly thinking of the Holy Knight who'd acted so fiercely as her royal guard, her mentor, and friend, "Do you know what became of her?"

Ramza shrugs, his eyes dark, "We were separated, only Alma and I awoke, half-dead but together…not too far from Zeltennia. I'm sure some died…those nearest to Ajora perhaps, but as for Agrias I cannot say."

Ovelia's expression sours and she replies lowly, "Do you know of any that survived?" Ramza and Alma spoke rarely of that time- another life, another place. The duty was done, and they were the scattered, broken battalion forgotten by all of Ivalice except by very few who knew the truth of Glabados' teachings.

"A few names surfaced here and there immediately in taverns after battling…Ajora," Ramza replies, "Some were cadets who'd began the journey with me, mercenaries I'd hired along the way, and a few other companions with a similar cause…all heading for either Ivalice's dark corners, Valendia, or Ordalia," he clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with being so open after so long. Nothing remains of the idealistic boy-knight, who'd worn his beliefs and heart like medals of honor on his chest.

Ovelia places a hand on his shoulder, and he looks away. She bites her lip, and whispers almost haltingly, "I never had anyone to grieve. I attended Omdoria's funeral, but we were never close. Delita…he wasn't the type of man that I could grieve for," she sought out her words feelingly, uncomfortable speaking her mind after having had played the puppet princess for her entire life, "Your companions that may have fallen…I can grieve with you for them. I owe them a great deal. We all do," she raked a hand through her hair not too entirely sure of what she'd been offering.

Ramza remains silent for a moment, and then draws breath as if to speak before falling silent again. He raises a hand to his chin, sitting pensively, then he speaks, "Thank you, Ovelia," he pauses again, sighing, and then beginning once more, "We've been on the move, ever since the battle, Alma and I…never staying too long in one like now. Nothing changed when you joined us last month," Ramza waves his hand through the air, "Always moving, never having time to mourn who we'd lost."

"Will we ever stop this…roving?" Ovelia asks suddenly.

Ramza shrugs, nonchalant, and shifts topic, "I have a contact in a village southeast of here, an old spy employed by my father during the Fifty Year's War- neither a safe nor reliable contact, so keep your face hooded. He's the sort of man who'll sell you out for the highest bidder. You're Ovelia, and I'm a Beoulve. A few noble families may have personal quarrels with mine here, but you're a symbol of Ivalice's invaders right here in the heart of the country-"

"Why stop then, if it's so dangerous?" Ovelia looked across towards Ramza. Planning to meet this spy sounds foolish to her.

Ramza nods, "It is very dangerous, but we need information of Ivalice, of guarded mountain passes, of ways to the coasts, and perhaps of friends who may have stumbled through. In the in end, it outweighs the danger."

Ovelia nodded. In the end of things Ramza was always right. She hated the way he always made everything seem so logical no matter what the risk, even as he was now, being completely as dispassionate and every bit as embittered as she. Had he led his friends through Murond City of Death as fearlessly as he led Alma and her through the Ordalian wood and highlands and inspired the same level of loyal fanaticism in them? She rose to wake Alma; her shift in the watch had ended. It was sleeping she dreaded, behind her eyelids Delita's eyes were wide open pleading with her for his life in the reflection of her dagger against his throat. As Alma stretched and yawned, and as Ovelia made her bedroll with each blink, were his wide brown eyes, terrified and accusatory. Her breaths didn't soften with slumber, and his eyes never left her. Reliving the moment all night she killed her husband, every night, Ovelia realized she loathed serving the greater good.

With the sun blazing high in the sky at noon, the highlands gave way to a soft grassy plain dotted with starkly white lime stones. The trio stopped suddenly, and Alma dropped from her chocobo, choking up. Ramza dismounted and ran to comfort her.

"So much…like h-h-home…j-just like Mandalia P-P-Plains," Alma sobs. Ramza pats her back, and she clings to him, crying into the crook of his neck. She really is in many respects remains the young girl who'd lived in Igros for so many years playing reed flutes, full of laughter and motherly affection for her brothers; this new life ill suits her. Ovelia watches silently, unsure of what to say- what to do. She had nothing to grieve, no one to comfort, but she remembers what she vowed to Ramza the night before. Ovelia ran to Alma's side and placed a hand on her shoulder. She remains silent but is ready to listen. Alma's tears soon end flowing away on the passing wind, and after a few more hiccupping sighs, they all remount and ride on.

"I'm forgetting Ivalice…forgetting all of those pug-nosed noble children that were my friends, and she, my Ivalice is forgetting me," Ramza whispers in Ovelia's ear drawing his chocobo to a steady pace at her side.

For a moment, she is surprised by his statement. Alma was Ramza's ultimate confidante, the keeper of all of his innermost thoughts and secrets, but here he was sharing with her his fears. She suddenly felt unsteady on her chocobo; it almost made her feel dirty- unclean to hear this martyr's worries. She stole a glance at him; his eyes were trained firmly ahead, betraying nothing. The perfect shell of a man, all porcelain smooth on the outside, but it still had its fine cracks. Then, Ovelia shakes her head quickly, "No, we won't forget. We may be forgotten but we won't forget." She feels stupid for saying that. Surely there was something more comforting, something that had more meaning to it than that, but there it was: Ivalice cared nothing for their sacrifices.

A fiefdom emerges in the green, plowed fields and their farmers toiling away underneath the harsh sun. Small dirty children run through the hay, singing local folk songs and playing games. One child probably no more than ten sat on a haystack watching Ovelia and her companions curiously and then breaks into a full laugh. Ovelia strains to return the gesture underneath her hood.

"We are close to the village," Ramza murmurs. No sooner than he speaks, a village seems to rise up pass the fiefdom in the distance. Further back sits the local lord's small fortress, an opulent little structure of grey river stone and red brick. The road to the village is empty; chocobo filth, straw, and trinkets pounded into the earth pave the road. The houses are simple- functional is the word Ovelia would give them as they pass by, thatched straw and dried mud. Ramza stops at one in particular, equally nondescript as the others in its appearance, and signals for them to dismount. They secure their steeds, and for an extra seal of protection Alma charms them.

Ramza knocks at the door once, pauses then taps thrice in rapid succession. They hear a sudden frantic scurrying in the house, pots are knocked over, a glass shatters, and a faint voice whispers through the door, "Beoulve?"

"Yes," Ramza murmurs careful as to how much he should let on. For all he knows, the man could be referring to one of his house rather than one of his family members in specific.

The doors latches are quickly undone, a small bearded face with beady eyes appears behind the door, "In, in," the man mutters, waving his hand inward. Ovelia shuffles in behind Ramza and Alma; she takes in her surroundings- the house is more of a dirty hut than anything else- pans and pots line one wall, daggers on another, and old dried rolled parchments sit on a table towards the back of the house.

The man claps his hands on Ramza's shoulders, "Well, old Balbanes' boy come here to see old Caius at last. You must be Ramza…haven't seen you since I was deployed. Look at you, a grown man now; you were always your father's very image. And your companions?" Caius questions, his eyes assessing them quickly but letting on nothing of what he knows. Ovelia notes his grandfatherly tone as nothing more than a façade; there is a sharp intellect beneath that peasant's guise.

"My sister, Alma, and a mercenary and friend, Hilda," Ramza both answers and lies.

Ovelia's shoulders almost visibly relax. She doesn't trust this man in the slightest; he feigns as if he knows nothing. She's almost certain that he knows every intimate detail of Ramza's heresy. He is a snake in the grass.

"So what brings you here, my boy," Caius walks to the back of his hut, pulling a few chairs from the table and swipes his hand over it to remove a layer of dust. He signals for them to sit. Ovelia follows behind the others and sits, silent in the furthest chair from him, the serpent, she thinks labeling him. She finds his tone is disingenuous, like a wolf masquerading in wool amongst sheep.

Ramza replies, "Information. I've been away from Ivalice for quite awhile. I'd like to know what has passed since I've left."

The other man grins widely at this, mouth full of rotting blackened teeth. He lets out a bark of laughter, "Ah yes, you have been away for awhile. Heresy is a nasty business, but don't worry about me. Never been much for the teachings of Glabados myself anyhow," his eyes darken and his tone grows lower, "Ramza, I respect you being Balbanes' son and all, but information isn't cheap, and with my back being in one of foulest-"

"I understand," Ramza answers, cutting him off, and fishes out a small purse, slamming a hundred gil on the table. Ovelia almost blanches in disgust but stops herself. Alma twitches visibly, but this goes unnoticed by Caius or so he feigns; perhaps the old man just doesn't care. Nonetheless, the spy grins and pockets the coins greedily, standing suddenly to go over to a few shelves on one side of the hut. He pulls a dusty bottle from a cupboard.

"Ale?" Caius offers. Ramza shakes his head, waving his hand. The others politely decline as well. Caius shrugs, "Ah well, I'll have myself a drink then. Can't think of Ivalice how she is now without wanting a drink," he sits again at table, a mug in hand, "Information about Ivalice is scarce around these parts…especially in the isolated northern territories. Didn't hear anything at all about your father and your elder brothers after the war had ended."

Ramza shuffles uncomfortably for a moment on his chair recalling each one of their deaths as separate frames glued to the walls of his mind. He barely registers his own voice as it supplies automatically, "My father and my brothers have all passed away," he leaves off the bitter thought of- my brothers dying by my own hand.

Caius is silent for a moment and then speaks again after taking a deep drink of ale, "Can't say I'm surprised much. My contacts from Igros flittered off soon after the war's largest battles. My only contacts then were from Zeltennia…from Duke Goltana and then from other spies fleeing the country during the Lion War. Things were hectic then and still are. I can tell you, Ramza, I haven't heard anything good of Ivalice as of late."

"Just tell me," Ramza replies looking away.

"Well, young Queen Ovelia's dead…circumstances being really funny there. The King's deader than a fire beast in water as well, both set upon by brigands in an abandoned church. The noble families smelt a lot of intrigue around that affair and contested this Olan's right to rule as regent as Ovelia decreed before her death. The aristocracy care nothing about his being the son of Orlandu or his status as the Queen's confidant, as Delita left no such word, and as he is- was King they collectively voided her order," Ovelia's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edges of the table with so much force. She willed herself to calm down and continue to listen to Caius' word, "In the end, Ruvelia, though still ousted from the throne for her crimes, demanded her son Orinas be placed on the throne. Half of the Ivalice's noble families were sympathizers to her claim as she was Omdoria's wife and agreed. Now, Orinas rules as boy king while another faction instead made Olan his adviser. So, only in word does Olan rule and only while Orinas is unable to govern himself."

Ovelia then spoke up, batting her eyes away from Ramza's glaring reprimand, "But it was the Queen's order. How could they just negate it like that? Her husband was only King consort not King by his own right."

Caius laughed, "Easily that saucy chit, Ovelia, was only ever a puppet in this whole power play to begin with, nothing more, nothing less. It's always been the gossip in many circles that her blood is no nobler than your common chocobo's. Now there's this young prince Clemence that has risen up to protest both Orinas' claim and Olan's rule as regent, and though he may be a bastard, he is real royalty."

Ramza silences Ovelia with a look, turning back to Caius to speak, "Who is this Clemence?"

Ovelia stops herself from snarling in frustration; she remembers Clemence very well- a Valendian and Ivalicean prince through Omdoria's father by a different mother. His house was weak and held even less claim to the throne than Larg's sister.

Caius answers Ramza, "An illegitimate prince of Ivalice by Denamunda and a princess of Valendia. Before the war, he'd been a sickly little dog with no fight in him whatsoever. I'm surprised Larg or Goltana didn't take his life when they had the chance. It would have been easy to blame a brigand or wild beast. None would have been the wiser," but then he pauses and turns to Ovelia and regards her oddly, "Milady mercenary, you speak very well for one used to a life of fighting. Your accent strikes me as one of the Imperial Capital. Were you perhaps one of the royal guards; perhaps you have information for me?" Caius grins widely at this, and Ovelia flushes; she is certain that her exposed neck and mouth are wholly red. She shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Her palms grow sweaty; what if she's been found out, her falsehood of identity made true?

"That is neither here or now," Ramza speaks quickly, making up for Ovelia's lack of explanation.

Caius nods his head to side oddly, studying at Ovelia through his beady eyes with a new hawk-like ferocity before turning back to Ramza, mouthing lowly, "Very well. Clemence had loose claim to both the Valendian and Ivalicean thrones to begin with. He was born out of wedlock to the third youngest Valendian princess who was nowhere in line to the throne as well. However, this ambitious cur does have his wit. Having kept to Valendia for years at a time, he is basically an unknown party to the people of Ivalice known only as a name to most- a name with noble birthright. As Orinas is the son of the disgraced queen and is viewed as being imposed upon a still very disgruntled populace, Clemence suddenly surfaces as this gallant leader- a noble set apart from the main royal lines of Ivalice. He is foreign to many, but Valendia has always been close to our noble Ivalice, and the people have begun to view him as one of their own. Perhaps he is at long last the answer to the plight of horrible conditions of the peasantry, some say. Will his rule stop the crops from failing and stave off the starvation of the commoners? No, but it will settle those peasants down. Ivalice cannot survive another massive peasant uprising, and so many nobles are starting to give him their support. It's almost laughable- the aristocracy prancing over themselves in support of a hero their serfs practically worship. The social order turned on its side," the old spy lets out a bark of laughter and continues, "He gains more support with each passing day, and you know what that means," Caius finishes ominously, grinning wolfishly at the other three.

Ramza sucks in his cheeks and exhales sharply. Suddenly, he feels as if a great weight is being pressed down onto his chest. Save the world and end a civil war almost as quickly as it began, and still nothing changes. He begins to speak softly, almost as if to answer Caius, but really only hammering the thought into his own mind, "Another war. A coup," the knight feels a hand squeeze his arm, warm and reassuring, Alma.

Alma's motherly soft tone washes over the room, bathing away the cares of Ivalice and making for another topic, but Ramza doesn't miss the bitterness, "And what of our friends. Have you heard any news of our companions- Agrias, Orlandu, and…" she drones on so many other names, but Ramza finds that he cannot focus, all he sees out of the corner of his eye is Ovelia's fever red flesh: the lower half of her face, her neck, and collarbones so brilliantly red that it's almost as if they were steamy to the touch. He wants to run his hand against hers, to comfort, almost unable to fathom what she may be feeling but refrains himself, and she remains silent. Caius didn't survive nearly as long as he did as a spy of Ivalice deep in Ordalian land by being oblivious, and Ramza will alert him to nothing.

Ramza shifts his ears and eyes to the matter back at hand, listening to Caius' low hollow voice murmur on about his friends, "Ah yes, Lady Agrias," Ramza's heart nearly stops as he recalls the image of the holy knight's gloved hand straining to reach his, blonde braid whistling in the wind, falling further and further from him into the darkness. Agrias, "She is not the same woman that she was, milady. A regimen of knights on the move found her some miles from Goug the mining city. They thought her touched in the head, and brought her to Zeltennia by Olan's order. Then, I heard no more of her. And of Orlandu, I cannot say for sure. News of him as I'm sure you know is that he was executed before the Lion War ever began, but some things of resurfaced about him sightings here and there. A few ears in Valendia say he's been seen there," Caius pauses and then goes on for a bit longer about other companions. Many headed for the foreign corners of the world, Mustadio returned to Goug, Reis and Beowulf for Valendia, Rafa and Malak back to their homeland. Some of his hired mercenaries are searching for him; Ramza listens only with half interest. He was desperate to know this information, but now all he can see is Agrias, sitting on the sill of a window in a high tower, half-mad, speaking to herself. He feels as if he needs to vomit- to run outside, scream, and vomit.

They do not tarry much longer. Caius supplies them with more information about the Ordalian land- where the traveling will be easy and where not to tarry, and he gives them an updated map which he had hidden for a large sum of gil.

"Milady," The spy murmurs as Ovelia passes out of the door. She pauses, completely still, almost as if she were in a daze both from being nearly discovered and from what he has told them over the last few hours. She knows that he is still trying to figure her out. He grins, leaning lowly to kiss her knuckles. She flushes and walks quickly to match Ramza's and Alma's stride. They mount their steeds and ride silently until sunset.

Ovelia leans against the rough stone of the mountain's side, reflecting silently; she hasn't spoken since they left the village earlier on. Once more as with every night, it's only she and Ramza awake for this part of the evening's watch. She feels as if she must say something- make some move to comfort. An embrace? No, such an action is far too personal. A gentle touch of the hand or shoulder? No, that is far too impersonal. She wrings her hands in silence- ungloved, roughened, dirtied hands; she examines them as if she are interrogating them right down to the chipped uneven nails. Why, she demands of herself in her breathless internal voice, why did she sacrifice so much to gain so little? Her orders were voided, Olan's rule made ineffectual, and her noble land, her Ivalice, sat on the brink of yet another civil war. Had she made the wrong decision? No, she didn't shake her head to reaffirm the fact.

A small voice welled up, tiny amongst the others shouting for supremacy in her head- perhaps her work in Ivalice wasn't done. She glances over to Ramza, who is tangled in his own web of misery. His head slumped between his knees would make one almost believe he is sleeping, but Ovelia knows better.

"Clemence-" Ovelia begins.

"Agrias," Ramza interrupts.

Ovelia falls silent, and then leans across as if to embrace Ramza but stops halfway, her arm hanging loosely in the air falls and settles for his hand squeezing it in an odd sense of camaraderie. She thinks of Agrias for a moment, the brave and true holy knight who guarded her when she was still a princess of Ivalice. She thinks of Agrias as the fire blazing in the pit before the two of them, something brilliant, true, and untouchable; untouchable because Ovelia, herself, could never find it within her soul to be so brave. She took the coward's route out in attempting to save her kingdom by taking Delita's life; she'd seen it as her only course of action but there was another, more unthinkable route- divorce, and then she could have ruled in her own right. She shook her head; she'd meant to speak to Ramza, not to wallow in her own self-pitying musings.

Ovelia gives his hand another squeeze, "Agrias," Ovelia begins and breaks off, pausing to consider her next words, "Agrias. I do not believe her to be mad, Ramza."

He turns to look at her taken aback, "You heard Caius."

"Yes," she murmurs, "I heard him, but I do not believe it. She must have been very out of sorts when she was discovered. Imagine, a half-dead knight returned from one world to hers. Were you completely stable when you came back?"

Ramza shakes his head, "No. Not for the first month. Alma and I lived in the wilderness away from all civilization, fending for ourselves, feeling about not believing any of this world to be real…it was suddenly so full of life," he trails off, and his voice picks up again almost bearing a mournful tone, "Murond City of Death was aptly named. Many nights I'd awake screaming into the open air only to catch my breath and realize that I was safe- here in this world, my home."

"That's what I mean," Ovelia waves her free hand in the air, "Many would think her mad, but she is safe for now, in Olan's care. For how much longer, I am not certain."

"No," Ramza stammers quickly. He knows what the woman at his side is proposing, "I am done with gods, devils, and wars. I am finished with Ivalice and her people- commoners and nobles alike. There is too much," his voice dies and he pulls his hand away from hers to place it against his heart.

"Pain," Ovelia finishes knowingly, "I feel it too. To have lost so much only to gain so little," and then, she remembers something she asked him earlier, but now she knows the answer for herself. She looks away for a moment, to her feet, to Alma's bedroll where the girl is sleeping uneasily, anywhere but Ramza's haunted face, "But…I feel our roving must end soon," she sighs, "Ivalice. We are her servants."

The blonde knight is silent for awhile, and the only sounds pervading the air are the crackling flames and crickets off in the distance. Ovelia gazes skyward; through their mountain hollow, the sky is a perfect half-circle. The stars dance their distant timeless waltzes; heavenly bodies which were here long before she and will survive her death. She feels so small all of the sudden and fidgets with an imaginary crease in her hide leggings. Ramza clears his throat, finally reaching some sort of conclusion, and she turns her face earthbound to listen to him. She takes in his worn expression.

Dry lips part to make way for sound that first comes out as a low, raspy whisper, "We are her servants," Ramza reiterates her earlier statement. He takes her hand and repeats himself with more conviction, a sudden fire catching in his voice which she finds infectious, "We are her servants. Our Ivalice, ours to protect," he stands suddenly, pulling Ovelia to her feet, "After the end, I never stopped running," his voice grows low once more, and he draws so near to Ovelia's face that she can see the faint amber glow of his eyes, "It's time- time to retrace our steps back to Ivalice."