"Just like that, then. Another squadron. Lost." Conrad's shoulders sagged as he sighed and muttered under his breath. Cursing the gods or himself? M'naago watched his eyes. They looked past her, past everything. What do you see? The faces of the poor bastards you ordered to East End, I'll bet. Some of our best. None had survived the ambush. The Ala Mhigan Resistance comprised countless factions, and the people of Rhalgr's Reach were but one. By its nature, it could never truly be defeated by the imperial army. Nevertheless, the loss of so many experienced soldiers, some of whom had fought for nearly twenty years, would be keenly felt. Even a bloody novice like me can see that. M'naago cleared her throat. "We don't know if the imperials found the tunnel, sir, but even if they didn't...without our men to guide them, our friends from Ul'dah are likely stranded." Out of the corner of her eye, M'naago spied Meffrid, frowning. Well, if you're not going to say it... "Sir, if I may...who are these people, and why are we risking so much to get them on the wrong side of Baelsar's bloody Wall?" The obvious question was answered with folded arms and furtive glances. After a time, Conrad spoke. "They're Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Old friends. One is the daughter of Curtis Hext." The voice of the rebellion? The man who spat in the mad king's eye? M'naago wasn't sure what answer she had expected, but this wasn't it. Bloody novice indeed... "Name's Yda," Conrad continued. "After the occupation, she fled to Sharlayan. Learned a lot there, I'm told, but she never forgot about us. Yda's been assisting us for years now, as a Scion." M'naago had heard about the Scions. The "Saviors of Eorzea," some had called them. But they had become embroiled in the political machinations of Ul'dah's elite, and now people were saying that they had assassinated the sultana. It seemed that Yda and her companion had reached out to the Resistance seeking a means to escape justice. The East End squadron was their last hope... Or so M'naago thought. "Nothing for it but to go and get them ourselves," Conrad said.

The leaves twisted and twirled as they tumbled to the ground, traced by two pairs of eyes in the brush. "All this for two people. It's not like him." M'naago knelt, an arrow notched in her bow, trying desperately to ignore her own heartbeat. Gods, I hate the waiting. "Trust in the old bear. He wouldn't take the risk if it wasn't worth it." Meffrid, who had been tasked with training M'naago, was ever the voice of reason. He had told her before of how the Scions were instrumental in the Eorzean Alliance's campaign against the XIVth Legion─of how their forces had led an assault on Castrum Meridianum during Operation Archon, in which Gaius van Baelsar was killed. Such powerful allies would be invaluable in enlisting the support of the Alliance, without whom they could not hope to liberate Ala Mhigo. M'naago scowled. "If you say so..."

Meffrid glanced at her sidelong, then sighed. "Just between us, I reckon he's got a mind to recruit her. Maybe even groom her for a leading role." "Who? Yda?" "Think about it. The daughter of a revolutionary hero, returned to fight for her homeland's freedom? Now that's a tale that'll move men's hearts. That's a banner people'll flock to." A bard's tale, aye. Some girl who's been away for twenty years. Just what we need. "Symbols have power," he continued. "Heard of the Griffin?" She nodded. Mad bastard and his Masks are preaching bloody vengeance to all and sundry. None knew his true identity, though some claimed he was a distant relative of Theodoric. Some even thought that was a good thing. Anyone's better than the Garleans, eh? Sod that. We've had enough of kings. A hawk's cry rang out. "Time to go, lass. Up, up!" The pair broke cover and ran towards the rocks. The entrance was well concealed and showed no signs of recent use. A short while later, as they crawled on their hands and knees through a narrow tunnel dug more than a decade before, M'naago recalled stories of imperial sabotage and bodies buried beneath a mountain of earth and stone. She thought of Conrad and the others. Fighting right now. Dying right now, maybe. You'd better be worth it.

The pair were in a bad way when they finally limped into the Reach. And what a pair they were. Bleeding and bickering, still fuming over some great betrayal back in Ul'dah, worried sick about their comrades, from whom they had been separated in the chaos. But a week at the Barber's did wonders for their disposition. To a point. Papalymo, the thaumaturge, invariably assumed he was the cleverest person in the room─an attitude made all the more annoying by the fact that he invariably was. Yda, on the other hand, was reckless and impulsive. Emotional. But she had a way with people─a way of making them smile and think everything was going to be all right... Both the Scions were eager to lend a hand and repay the Resistance, and it was not long before M'naago came to view them as friends and comrades-in-arms. But when she thought back to what Meffrid had said about Conrad's designs─about grooming Yda as a leader, she just couldn't see it. Not yet...

It was a day like any other. M'naago and Yda had been tasked with reconnoitering Castrum Oriens, and were preparing to return home when a high-pitched wail cut through the silence. "A woman?" hissed the scout, suddenly alert. "No...a girl!" The villages in East End had long been abandoned, and only imperial soldiers traveled the roads. No one in their right mind ought to be out here... "Let's go, M'naago!" Yda was already running. Godsdammit. M'naago tried to keep up, then settled for trying to keep her companion in sight. After running what felt like malms, they arrived at the foot of a great tree. Lying at its roots was an older man, unconscious, bleeding from countless wounds. He was wearing Resistance colors. Before him, a little girl stood sobbing. Followed the trail of blood, did you...?