The alley behind the sandstone markets was quiet now, save for the faint hum of aether flowing through half-mended regulators and crystal shards scattered across Nibelo's stall. The turquoise glow of the moogle's pom-pom pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat no one else could see.
Nibelo stood with arms crossed, wings twitching nervously. His ears drooped low, his voice defensive.
"Kupo… you talk like a Judge, cloaked in mystery and fate. I've lived my life fixing scraps and tinkering with junk. Don't think you can just swoop in and say I'm meant for something greater."
Sirius didn't flinch. He knelt slightly, setting a dull fragment of a shattered trinket on the wooden counter between them.
"Then prove it," he said softly. "Show me what your hands can do."
Nibelo blinked, scoffed, then grumbled under his breath. "Tch… fine. But only because I hate leaving things broken, kupo."
With quick, practiced motions, the moogle tinkered. His tiny hands threaded wire through crystal veins, his pom-pom glowing brighter as he hummed softly to himself. Sparks of raw aether danced in the air. Minutes later, he set it down with a huff.
"There. The lines are stable again. Not perfect, but better than most humes could dream."
Sirius tilted his head. "How did you know where to mend?"
Nibelo hesitated, ears flicking. Then, almost sheepishly, he muttered, "When I mend veins, kupo… it's like following a song only I can hear. Every spark has its rhythm, every line its melody. Most folks just see cracks. I see where it wants to flow."
Sirius studied him closely. That… was not ordinary craftsmanship.
He lifted the shard, and with a breath, channeled quiet power into it. Instantly, the fragment blazed to life, projecting a soft ripple of light across the alley, painting the walls with shifting patterns of fate itself.
Nibelo froze, his jaw falling open. "Kupo… I just mended the veins. That shouldn't be possible. Unless… unless you—"
"You see the flows," Sirius said gently. "And I can give them shape. Together, we could do what neither of us can alone."
Nibelo's pride told him to resist, but his heart thumped with wonder. For once, someone hadn't mocked his obsession or dismissed his gift. This cloaked stranger understood.
Sirius did not command. He extended his hand, palm open.
"I do not ask you to follow me blindly. I ask you to walk beside me, as a craftsman. Your hands will shape weapons and tools that save lives. That is all."
Nibelo stared at the hand for a long moment, his pom-pom trembling faintly. Finally, he gave a low chuckle.
"Nyo-kup… you're a strange one. Maybe I'll walk a little way with you. But don't think you own me, kupo."
He lifted his tiny paw and pressed it into Sirius's hand, sealing the unspoken pact. His eyes gleamed with both caution and excitement.
"My name's Nibelo, kupo. Remember it. 'Cause you'll be seeing it on every masterpiece I build."
Sirius inclined his head, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Then welcome, Nibelo. The threads of fate just grew stronger."
For a moment, Sirius lowered his gaze. In this tiny craftsman's hands, he glimpsed the forge that could one day arm a thousand destinies. Yet he said nothing. Better the moogle discover that truth himself.
And in the dim backstreet of Rabanastre, a bond was forged—not of destiny forced, but of choice freely made.
Sirius straightened, cloak rippling faintly as he turned toward the deeper shadows of the alley.
"Then come," he said, his tone neither commanding nor pleading. Simply certain. "Walk with me, Nibelo."
The moogle blinked, wings fluttering. "K-Kupo? Where are we going?"
"To a place only a few will ever see."
Nibelo grumbled, ears twitching nervously, but his little feet carried him after Sirius all the same. The cloaked figure led him through narrow streets, past the sandstone walls of Rabanastre, until they came to a quiet clearing beneath the stars. Sirius raised one hand, his voice calm and resonant.
"Veil us."
The air shimmered. For an instant, the world itself bent away, cloaking them in silence. Sirius's next words carried like a ritual.
"Aether—lift us."
The ground fell away. The night wind howled in Nibelo's ears as his tiny body shot upward, carried in a pillar of shimmering light. His pom-pom flared so brightly it nearly blinded him. "KUPOOOOOO! We're flying?!" His wings beat frantically, as though he could steady himself, but the veil bore him effortlessly.
The pillar opened, and they stepped onto crystalline flooring that gleamed with soft starlight. Before them stretched a vast chamber of glass and light, its walls alive with veins of aether. Nibelo staggered forward, paws pressed to his mouth, eyes wide as saucers.
Sirius led him deeper, until a set of wide double-doors parted on their own. Beyond them, the forge awaited.
Nibelo gasped.
The room pulsed with raw power. Anvils of crystal and steel floated in aetheric suspension. Racks of unfinished blades shimmered faintly, each humming with dormant potential. The central furnace glowed not with fire, but with molten aether itself, shifting through hues of gold, violet, and blue.
"This," Sirius said, his voice steady, "will be your station—for now."
Nibelo's paws trembled as he stepped closer, the reflection of the forge dancing in his eyes. "K-Kupo… what kind of ship is this?"
A new voice answered him, smooth and resonant, like a chorus made gentle.
"I am Aether."
Nibelo spun, wings flaring. "Kupo—who said that?!"
"I am the heart of this vessel, little one. The Aetherveil breathes through me. And now, you as well."
Nibelo swallowed hard, pom-pom quivering. "The forge… it's alive?"
Aether's voice warmed, carrying echoes of reverence.
"Alive, and storied. Here, artisans of worlds long forgotten once stood. Men and women, moogles and dwarves, all guided by threads of destiny. Their hands shaped relics that outlasted empires—blades that sang with lightning, armor that turned aside gods, staves that drew stars from the sky. Their names linger in the memory of this forge, their craft immortal."
Nibelo's paws curled tighter against his chest, his eyes shimmering as if reflecting every word. "Kupo… legendary craftsmans… here, in this very place?"
"Yes," Aether said. "And now, you."
The moogle's breath hitched. For the first time, no scrap, no tinkered regulator, no alley-stall felt worthy of him. This forge—this ship—saw him not as a junk-mender, but as heir to a lineage of artisans. His pom-pom pulsed with a light brighter than ever before.
Sirius rested a hand briefly on his small shoulder.
"Nibelo. Your hands will write the next chapter of this forge. Not of war alone, but of life preserved."
Nibelo trembled, but a grin tugged at his muzzle. "Then let's get to work, kupo. Show me what this forge can really do."
And with that, the Starborn Moogle took his first step into a legacy greater than he had ever dared to dream.