Final Fantasy XIV

Summary

The Warrior of Light contemplates preservation and Preservation. (Spoilers for the Dawntrail MSQ.)

No one knew that the Warrior of Light was a data junkie.

It started out of necessity, when she first began adventuring. Accepting and carrying out those first few quests had been simple. But as her reputation grew and the quests became more complicated, she needed notes - especially when investigating for one quest by talking to people would naturally lead to yet another person asking for help. There was no way she could keep it all straight in her brain, and so she began keeping a journal.

But for a long time, it was, simply, functional. A dry listing of where she’d been, who she had talked to, the results of those conversations, an itemization of the physical rewards received. She didn’t need more than that. Because the goal of the journal was not to preserve precious memories, but simply a means to an end.

Things changed when she was reborn.

She walked a different path now. In the past, all her questing had been done in desire for validation from others. Now, she was questing for herself. But what did that mean? What did that look like? How was she to feel and wonder when before she had been matter-of-fact, get-the-job-done?

She didn’t know. But maybe she could find out through her journal.

The first entry didn’t come easy. She sat there, her journal open before her, the blank page mocking her as she struggled to describe this latest turn of events. Slowly, she began to write, quantifying the experience:

Tataru has just dropped me off on my new private island. I’m sitting on the beach. I can smell the salt of the water and the warmth of the sand beneath me.

It was a start.

She stood at the ship’s prow, tapping a foot to the jaunty tune playing in her head, smiling as the seat salt sprayed at her face. That time on her island had been good to her. With no pressing demands from other people—she didn’t count the mamments—she had been allowed to do what SHE wanted, when she wanted. At first, it had been weird, living for herself, but with each passing day, she found that she arose more eager than the previous one.

Her journal began to be less perfunctory, too. As the waves crested around her, she began to compose the entry in her head:

We’re heading to Tural - a place I haven’t been before. I’m excited to see it! I wonder if it will be as lush as my island? Or even more? What kind of beasts live there, what kind of fauna? What tastes will I experience?

“Enjoying yourself, for a change?” Erenville asked, his own smile gentle.

She nodded. There were times when she’d feel a startle, a voice asking, what are you doing, following your own desires? But she’d learn to tamp that voice down, and it was becoming quieter as she experienced more, and relished more experiences.

Her journal had grown to several volumes now, carefully hidden. She hadn’t given any thought to sharing it, for fear of falling back into her former ways. But now here she was, in Alexandria, writing another entry:

“Preservation”, they call it. An organization with the goal of creating Endless—people who live on in stored memories after the body’s death. This feels WRONG, but I’m not sure I understand why yet. Is it so wrong to preserve memories? After all, isn’t that what I’m doing here, in this journal?

But it IS different, she thought, not writing this down. She sat with her pen paused, thinking it over.

She thought of those who she had walked with, who no longer could walk her path. Moenbryda, and Haurchefant, and Papalymo. Yes, she missed them dearly. It HURT that she couldn’t tell them about her rebirth, about this new path she was walking.

But hurting makes the memories sweeter. And death is a chance for growth. Who wouldn’t know that better than her, who had died and been reborn?

How could the Endless grow and change, if they never truly knew death?

THIS was what had sickened her, about Preservation. She, who had come to better contentment and joy after dying, who had grown, could not fathom wanting to remain stagnant.

She again considered the question of sharing her journal. Not now, while she still walked. But after, when she was no longer here. It’s like the Yok Huy’s monuments. My journal is my monument.

Yes, she would bequeath her journals to someone, so they would have her monument.

But who?

Y’shtola or Urianger? They would delight in the knowledge inside, studying it to learn more… They might be a good choice.

Thancred? No. As much as she adored Thancred, she didn’t think he’d take it nearly as seriously as she felt it should be.

G’raha? He’d certainly be thrilled to know more about her inner thoughts, being as close as they were.

Estinien? The dragoon had come a long way to understanding emotions. He might enjoy reading of her own journey into this fragile territory.

Tataru? No, she was too business-like. Maybe she’d like those early records from before, though?

The twins? She couldn’t bear the thought of bearing Alisaie more pain, and Alphinaud… well, he would find some way to use it politically, she reckoned. No.

Krile? Now there was a thought. Hadn’t Krile been through her own rebirth? She had transformed herself from a scholar into a fighter. She’d come to terms with the revelation of being not from the Source. No, it hadn’t been easy for Krile, but that was exactly why the Warrior felt she could trust her words to her. Krile would simply… understand. And isn’t that what she really wanted now, to be known and understood for the way she now walked her path?

True, Krile would likely treat her journal as a precious relic to be preserved. But because Krile would understand, the Warrior felt that to be preserved in such a way would not be all that bad.

Certainly, it’d be much better than becoming an Endless. She had no desire to live her life in stasis. Not after all she had been through.

She couldn’t even stomach the thought of being static in death. Monuments get weathered. Books reveal new insights each time the reader peruses them. What Preservation offered with the Endless was the routine. Unending, unchanging. There was no growth to be had there. Not hers, and not anybody else’s.

“Preservation”, they called it. What a farce.

Notes

Written for the FFXIV Write 2026 Day 5 prompt - PRESERVATION.