[ a hazy memory hangs at the edge of Balthier's mind: a glowing light, a pool of water, a man wringing his hands, apologizing, something about his fault. but if Balthier tries to interrogate the memory any furthere, all he gets is a searing headache and nausea. he doesn't know if it's from whatever happened to bring him here, or the immense surge of Mist as Fran tried to shield them from the Bahamut's fiery end.

at first he thought maybe it was that Mist and the Ocurria Venat's final attempt to keep a hold on the grand plans of the gods, but with thirty others here, most of whom seem from other worlds entirely, it seems unlikely that the Mist is the culprit, or at least the only one. There weren't even stories of this, and traveling the skies and sands, he'd heard most of the stories. ]

They do seem to have a process, don't they.

Did you happen to catch...there was a man, when I first fought out of the egg. Ash? Ashle? [ a throb as he tries to remember.

the guards usher them away from the shower as the next batch comes in. Balthier strips all but his undergarments as they speak, wringing out the excess water and patting down his body before trying to transfer some of the moisture from clothing to towel. the air in general feels dry and crisp, so he's not wildly worried about mold. takes to dry the vest first, as it's the least happy in water. ]