The morning air in the frontier town was filled with noise—orders barked by voices that should have lost their authority long ago. Moss recognized the tone immediately: former officers, still pretending they had rank. They strutted between wagons, barking at civilians to move crates or set tents straight.
Dole snorted. "You'd think the empire was still watching them. Look at 'em—acting like kings without a crown."
Moss adjusted his cloak, gaze following one officer yelling at a craftsman twice his size. "They're settlers now. Same as the rest of us."
"Tell that to them," Dole muttered. "They're drunk on the idea of being important. No empire to slap their hands this time."
The crowd thickened near the town square where someone was speaking. Dozens had gathered—soldiers, tradesmen, mages, and wanderers alike. The air buzzed with debate, voices raised over the promise of survival, order, and what shape this new world should take.
Near the center stood a woman draped in light robes, her white mantle almost glowing in the dawn. Rosa. Her presence drew attention even before she spoke. Moss hadn't seen her since the Ivalice campaign, and she looked unchanged—radiant, composed, and every bit the white mage who'd once walked through battlefields healing men like him without flinching.
"…we can't build a future by breaking what's left of each other!" Rosa's voice carried above the noise, clear and firm. "The laborers, the smiths, the farmers—they're the ones who'll make this land livable. Not the ones swinging swords out of habit."
Her words drew mixed reactions. Some cheered. Others jeered. A few men in tattered armor started shouting back, claiming soldiers kept the peace, that strength was what held the frontier together.
Tension crackled like static. A shove. Then another. Someone's hand went to a blade.
Before it could explode further, a sharp crack split the air—the butt of a spear striking stone. The sound echoed through the square.
A tall man in dark armor stood at the edge of the crowd, his presence heavy, the sun catching the polished head of his lance. His helm was off, revealing a scarred face and eyes that burned with command. Kain.
"Enough," he said, voice carrying with the authority of a commander. "If you want to fight, do it outside the walls. Otherwise, keep your mouths shut."
Silence fell.
Rosa watched him for a moment, then turned back to her audience with a faint smile. "That's one way to quiet a crowd."
Laughter rippled through a few of the braver settlers.
Kain gave no reply—just glared once, then turned and walked off, boots clanging against the stone. The crowd hesitated, unsure whether to continue the argument.
Rosa raised her hands again, her tone softer. "Listen, I'm not asking anyone to abandon what they are. I'm asking you to remember why we fought—to protect, not to rule. We'll need walls, guards, order—but we also need compassion. We build together, or not at all."
Murmurs followed. Some heads nodded. Others turned away.
Moss felt Dole glance at him. "Looks like she's got her own following," Dole said quietly. "You think she's serious?"
"She always was," Moss replied, watching Rosa step down from the crate she'd used as a platform.
As she passed through the dispersing crowd, her gaze found his. For a heartbeat, recognition lit her face. She smiled—then gave him a quick wink before turning back to finish speaking to a group of laborers still hanging on her words.
Dole chuckled under his breath. "Guess she remembers you."
Moss didn't answer. He just felt that small thud of life in his chest again, faint but real.
As they moved away from the crowd, Dole leaned closer. "You hear what they're saying? Rosa's forming a faction—one that wants to protect the tradesmen and keep the soldiers from running this place like another fortress. Meanwhile, that Kain fellow's pulling together the hardliners. Wants discipline, chain of command, everything the empire used to have."
"Two sides of the same coin," Moss murmured.
"Maybe. But we'll need to pick one before long."
Moss didn't reply. His gaze drifted to the horizon—the wilderness that stretched beyond the frontier town's palisades. Somewhere out there were the Warden, the rumored natives of this untamed land. People who claimed the Eidolons protected them, that they lived in balance with the aether itself.
He wondered what they'd think of all this chaos—humans carving up their home before even understanding it.
And as Rosa's voice carried faintly in the distance, Moss realized he wasn't sure which side he stood on. But for the first time, he wanted to choose for himself.