I heard Tataru mention a while back that she wished our friends had kept journals of their lives, so that if they were to leave us too soon, we would know their thoughts. I sometimes wish the same—that Minfilia and Haurchefant and others we’ve lost had left us such a record. With that in mind, and considering the increasingly hazardous state of the star, I decided to start keeping such a diary myself.
For now, I suppose I will start at the beginning: my origins. It was quite funny seeing everyone’s faces when Raha and I told them we were twins. Whether coincidence or fate, it appears we are both destined for great things—the salvation of our beloved star, and even other worlds beyond. He may be humble and self-critical, but I cannot deny that his efforts saved my life and countless others.
As for our childhood. Our father was a Tia of a small G tribe village. Despite his every effort, he never became a Nunh. Yet he knew he had a responsibility to breed a child to inherit the Allagan royal bloodline, and so he broke tradition by accepting a Keeper of the Moon as a mate. Truth be told, both of our parents were rather rebellious in that aspect.
When we were born, Raha was a Seeker of the Sun, and he had inherited the Allagan eye. I, on the other hand, was born a Keeper, and so we were given proper names to represent our birth clans: he was known as G’raha Tia, while I was named Shallan Renaj, given my mother’s surname.
The other children of the village were not particularly kind to us. Our eyes were a constant source of mockery from them: his one red eye that they would occasionally refer to as scary or evil, and my own wide Keeper eyes that they claimed were “black pits waiting for us to fall in.”
Under that relentless torment, and added to it the disdain that the elders held for our parents, Raha and I often felt we only had each other. But we were happy. We were each other’s comfort and support. I still remember many a night when we lay in the grass outside the village and stared up at the vast starry sky, talking about everything until we fell asleep.
Then came a night that is only a blur in my memory. A Garlean raid on the village. We weren’t even their primary focus, but merely in their way. All I remember are flames and screams. My mother fled with me to safety, and in the aftermath, we could find neither my brother nor my father. For over a decade I could only hope they had lived, but expect they had died.
My mother tried to find shelter with her own family, but after she had so contemptuously left them to join Father, they disowned her. They would barely even look at us.
For two years we wandered, looking for work, food, shelter. Eventually we found ourselves taken in by a kindly Hrothgar widower named Gunther Hobratsch. He cared for us, and told me we reminded him of the wife and daughter he had lost to wild beasts on the road a year before. Gunther became like a second father to me, and after a few years I even began to call him Papa.
Though we lived far from Eorzea at the time, we felt the effects of the Seventh Umbral Calamity. From that day, I felt an undeniable tug toward the realm. After everything the Garleans had done—as well as the Ascians, I have come to learn—I could not sit back when I knew I could help people in need. So, bidding farewell to my mother and Papa Gunther, I picked up an arcanist’s grimiore and purchased passage for Limsa Lominsa.