Even the Waking Sands, built mostly underground, couldn’t escape the sweltering heat that permeated across Eorzea. If the Antecedent hadn’t said that she would soon need her help, the Warrior of Light would have been in the Shroud, finding a cool river to sit in for the day.

Alas, there was more work to do, and so, here she was, lounging in one of the alcoves of the stone building, having given up on fanning herself. It was too warm to move.

Urianger walked into the room, a book open in one hand, and yet more scrolls tucked under his arm. She had no idea how he could stand to still be in that hooded robe, even if he was wearing sandals. This heat was just…oppressive. Almost unnaturally so.

“Was Ifrit summoned without us noticing?”

There was the barest hint of a smile in his words, “Alas, if only it were that simple. The weather yet remains a beast unable to be fought or tamed, I fear we will forever be at her mercy.”

Iscara grunted, slipping down the alcove slightly. Give her a blizzard any day, she could handle the deepest chills of winter without batting an eyelid.

“Did someone ask for mercy?” A cheerful voice called through the room, causing the warrior to turn her head towards their high-spirited receptionist, and then sit up as she heard the chinking of ice and spotted the tray held in her hands.

“Tataru, you legend.”

The lalafell smiled up at her as she took one of the tall glass of orange juice, complete with many, many ice cubes, and had to stop herself from draining it all in one go, instead slurping up a couple of the ice cubes, letting them melt across her tongue. Urianger chuckled as he also helped himself to a glass.

“Good?”

She nodded, hand flicking out in a short sign, heavenly.

Tataru beamed, “I’ve got orange slices and more juice for later, and I’ve managed to get some ice crystals from the Thaumaturges guild, so we’re in good supply. I’m not going to let a little heat wave get in our way, you just leave it to me!”