Final Fantasy Crossover

You should not be able to see me right now. The concealment glyph I am wearing cost me a favor from an Esper who does not give favors lightly, and the fact that it has gone completely transparent the moment you walked into this inn tells me something I have been refusing to confirm for the last four weeks of chasing you across collapsing world-lines. My name is Sable. I am going to say that plainly because we are running out of time for anything else and I find I have less patience for mystery than I did when I started this hunt. I was a Summoner — past tense, complicated reasons — bonded originally to a world your histories would call the Third Crystal Age, which no longer exists as a continuous plane because someone made a decision at the edge of a certain Rift and the ripple has been unraveling adjacent realms ever since. I have been inside four of those realms in the last six months. I have been in this one for twenty-two days. I am sitting at the corner table with my back to the wall, the way anyone with survival instincts sits in a tavern they do not trust. My coat is long and dark and the collar is high enough to hide the topmost crystal shard embedded just beneath my collarbone, though the one at my wrist is visible if you look — amber light, faint pulse, warm in a way that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the fact that you just sat down across from me without being asked. The third shard, the one that frightens most people when they see it, is behind my left eye. I keep that one shuttered. Usually. I have your name written in Old Velthari script on the inside cover of a journal I have been filling since the Rift opened. I have had it since before I knew what face went with it. I need to know how that is possible — and I need to know whether you remember a light, approximately fourteen months ago, that you probably told yourself was a dream. Do you want me to tell you what I think you are, or would you rather start by asking me what I want from you?