Chapter Text
Yuna jolts, disoriented at first in the absence of light before panic sets in and she gasps. ‘What time is it—?’
She whips the blanket aside and stumbles to the window, almost tripping over her Nirvana staff before flinging the curtains apart.
Darkness. A muted skyline not yet broken by dawnlight as distant stars twinkle behind the dim atmosphere of electric lights. At least she can still find the Nightberry in Bevelle skies, and she sighs, slumping to her knees, shivering from cold sweat; chilled by the harrowing memory of that phantom woman, the Unsent Summoner of Imperial Bevelle.
Nightberry, Blitz Star… The Eye of Anri… There lies so many names for the brightest star; in Besaid, Dream Zanarkand, in a Spira long forgotten. Here in Bevelle, they call it the Holy Flame— at least according to Kurgum. Lost in the ever changing landscape of Macalania’s forest past twilight, he proceeded to read the stars in the evening sky to guide them back on the main road, leading with lighter feet and even brighter spirits. When Wakka yelled at him to slow down, Kurgum spun around to grin, his cheeks rosy from breathless excitement.
“My apologies. It’s been so long… I can’t wait to be home—.”
Home. Where on Spira can she call home now? Once in Bevelle, she knew of a brief happiness in the cradle of her parents’ embrace until they were each torn away by Sin, her earliest memories of childhood frayed by time and loneliness. Besaid might have felt like home once, but now… without him, she feels hollow, lost at sea in her own malaise.
Wakka remains fast asleep in his own bed, somehow undisturbed by the echo of her loud, clattering movements, and Yuna sighs in relief, assuming the position of prayer in case he ends up waking and questioning her. Placing Nirvana perpendicular on her lap, she closes her eyes and begins the summon, drawing forth from what scant amount of mana she managed to recover overnight, the diminished power of her mythical staff, sensing it thrum like a cancerous heartbeat. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, recollecting the yearlong, scattered memory and struggling to focus in the presence of her extreme exhaustion and scarce sleep.
Last night, Yuna pushed herself to stay awake long past midnight, enduring the ancient spell so that Tidus could enjoy himself alongside other blitzball players of the hometown team— until they all crashed at her place and she finally felt safe enough to embrace unconsciousness. Yet she knew she couldn’t truly rest, not when some of those blitzballers moonlight as Warrior Monks during the day and she must wake up at the crack of dawn before anyone else could notice or question his disappearance.
Yuna sighs, weary. Marphie… Of all the dozens of friends Tidus made since his return to Spira, why did that woman annoy her the most?
Tidus met Marphie at Luca while she met up with Rikku and Paine to explore the abandoned Iutycyr Tower, becoming fast friends after an intense series of blitzball exhibition matches. She played for the Bevelle Bells and claimed that they were trying to build a stellar comeback after a decade of inactivity, the remainder of their loyal sponsorships bled dry. And then Tidus proceeded to gab about some new coach taking up the lofty mantle, a Kilikan man in his mid-thirties who reformed The Bells using martial arts discipline to whip the team into shape.
Yuna stopped paying attention at some point when it became obvious he wouldn’t stop gushing about Marphie, the golden underdog team, and their “awesome” new coach throughout their entire trek across the Mi’ihen Highroad. It frustrated her to think that Tidus seemed to enjoy himself just fine without her while she wanted to come back the second she boarded the Celsius. She missed him. She felt anxious to be apart for too long, for any amount of time, especially when she had no idea how their connection would fare in the distance. Two factors that continued to exhaust her the longer she tried to balance them. And Rikku’s constant ribbing of her “boring” lifestyle didn’t help matters, either, only festering the ugly, dark bruise.
In the three months since she parted with the Gullwings, Rikku kept herself busy while Paine wandered Spira alone, gripped by wanderlust, reconnecting with all their friends across the globe. Rikku had no end to the stories she told— helping out Clasko at his Chocobo ranch while babysitting the Kinderguardians; ocean-diving into uncharted ruins for Shinra while complaining about the money-grubbing Rin; complaining even more about Uncle Cid making bank at Gagazet’s hot springs while forcing Brother to help out the new family business; and gossiping about LeBlanc’s latest master plan to move her entire syndicate on Ronso territory.
As for Paine, she reconnected with her boys from the Crimson Squad days. Whatever feelings she still clung to surrounding Nooj’s betrayal flowed like water under the rebuilt bridge, because she spoke with such quiet affection for her old captain that Yuna wanted to tease her about it (but she refrained, knowing how much she hated it when Rikku did the same). While Nooj succeeded in disbanding the Youth League in less than one month after Vegnagun, Baralai struggled to do the same with New Yevon three months later. Paine said Nooj and Gippal were helping him in his endeavor to “appease the old folk,” and Yuna sometimes wondered how things had progressed on that front...
However, she hadn’t spoken to Paine since, and that had been ten months ago. By the time Yuna returned from her “couple’s pilgrimage” with Tidus, Baralai won his chancellorship campaign and transformed his faction into The Spiran Council.
It’s good that Rikku and Paine found themselves. She honestly felt happy for them, she really did, despite the presence of her neglected letter spheres, catching old news from the Lucan shore. She admired them for keeping busy and keeping touch with all their family and friends. That’s nice and all, but…
She yearned to stay home with Tidus, cooking meals, swimming at the beach, taking walks in the Waterfall Path— cherishing every single moment down to the small, humble joys. Life in Besaid felt simpler and comforting, far from the politics of Bevelle and Spira as a whole. She didn’t have to think about anything, just them and their swinging arms and the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers. Their laughter chimed in the summer air as Tidus looked back to smile at her, his face disappearing into the light of the afternoon sun—
“Yuna?”
She gasps, opening her eyes.
“We should, you know…” Wakka trailed off, concerned by the stricken expression on her ashen face. “What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing.” Quick to wipe her unshed tears from her dry, bloodshot eyes, Yuna clears her throat and attempts to compose herself. Struggling to stand on numb legs, she plants the butt of her staff hard against the ground and pulls herself up, smoothing down her wrinkled black skirt. “It’s nothing…”
If Lulu were here instead of Wakka, she never would have left the matter alone. She would’ve seen through her depressive airs in an instant, especially once they landed in Lucan waters and were forced to travel on foot. Her young escorts, however, chafed at her diminished patience, particularly Chuami and her contemptuous, silent, cutting looks. Kurgum reminded her so much of her old, self-righteous, and naive self that it sometimes burned to look at him. When they finally parted ways, she could finally breathe again. If it’s only Wakka… she can manage.
Yuna drags her feet to sit before the bureau dresser, taking a moment to splash her stiff, crusted face, to brush the nauseating film from her teeth, before straightening in place, grimacing at her reflection in the vanity mirror, the obvious pallor in her forlorn expression. At least when it comes to women and their cosmetics, Wakka never questions it, and so she sighs, considering the bottles and creams scattered in front of her. She massages the creases in her brow before dabbing foundation over the dark circles around her eyes. Once she applies powdered rouge to color in her pale cheeks, she lowers the brush, satisfied.
“...I’m done. Let’s go.”
Wakka does not move even after she rises to brush past him, and Yuna halts to turn around, watching him shuffle on his feet, one hand on his hip while the other rubs his head. She knows what he wants to say even before he opens his mouth and sighs. How tedious. She braces herself for his simpering concern, eager to put this whole ordeal behind her.
“Hey… It’s not too late. If you don’t wanna be here, we can always turn back. I’ll find us a ship—.”
“It’s… fine.” She suppresses her sigh this time. Just a little longer, she needs to hold up for a little while longer…
Squaring her shoulders, she purses her lips in a grim line, reinforcing her stance with what little strength she can manage to scrounge. “We’ll see what the Council wants and then we’ll leave. I don’t plan on staying long anyway.” She turns away, heading out the door, shielding her eyes from the burst of sunlight that breaks through the crack.
‘I came here to see him, after all, so… nothing else matters.’
Tidus wakes up in a cluttered room full of slumbering, snoring people. Not a grassy ger full of Besaidian spices and handwoven fabrics, or a tent pitched off the beaten path, or even the stuffy, sleepy temple compound, but an apartment smack-dab in the heart of Bevelle. He forces himself to sit upright, fixing bleary eyes on a muted telesphere screen.
A fancy, festival procession seems to be happening live in the suburbs near the Vermillion province. Warrior Monks dressed in ceremonial crimson and goldenrod garb march down the stone-paved path as Senders and kaguya dancers alike trail behind them in their embellished blue cloaks and billowing long robes. He stares, mesmerized by the painted patterns of their twirling bamboo fans and oiled paper umbrellas amidst the heavy pink shower of cherry blossoms. A large, majestic matsuri float rolls into view next, pulled by half a dozen Ronso dressed in fine leather regalia and jade jewelry while muscled men bound in black scaled haori and twisted red rope pounded the massive taiko drums above.
Tidus wonders what holiday Bevelle’s celebrating this time and yawns, rubbing his crusted eyes. Once his vision comes back into focus, he sees a young woman hunched over her bronze vanity mirror, running oiled fingers through her shoulder-length black locks. Her hoop earrings clink in the quiet amidst the echo of sputtering snores and rustling movement, and he squints.
“...Yuna?” His throat feels cotton-dry, and he swallows, licking chapped lips.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” She tilts her head to smile over her shoulder, and he stares, the fog slow to dispel. That's… not Yuna.
“...Marphie?”
“Hey, where'd you go?”
“Huh?” Tidus gapes, dumbstruck by the nonchalant question as she faces forward, rubbing lotion on her bare arms.
“When I woke up earlier, you were gone. Were you out for a jog or something? What dedication.” Marphie grins wider at his angled reflection, teasing him.
He scratches his head. “Uh, yeah… I guess so.”
For some reason, he couldn't remember. He must have been on autopilot or… something. How long did he end up sleeping anyway? He still feels tired… more tired than when he passed out last night. Honestly, he finds himself struggling to remember a lot of things these days. “...wait, aren't you supposed to be at the barracks or something?”
It's starting to come back to him. The exhibition match. The afterparty. Everybody crashing at Marphie’s place. Now, more than half the crew are gone. Like Marphie, most of these promising, upstart athletes are in fact moonlighting Bevellian soldiers eager for their debut. They all pitched in to purchase the duplex before converting the training yard and zen garden into a sphere pool. It’s honestly no different from the condominium reserved for the Zanarkand Abes, except this place had once been a distinguished dojo before the master’s family sold it for high equity. Apparently, the Eternal Calm ended up diminishing the property value for lots of business connected to the Church. Who knew?
“It's Sinfall Memorial Day, silly. You know I can't afford to take days off until the tourney. I was lucky to even get approval for my weeklong request. The waitlist was suuuper long…”
Her voice anchors him back from his distracted thoughts, and Tidus quirks an eyebrow. ‘Sinfall Memorial Day?’
Marphie does not elaborate, too focused on smoothing facial cream over her cheeks before massaging the bags under her tired, bloodshot eyes. “Anyway, once I make it big, I can kiss my grueling military life behind. It pays the bills, but… it's seriously soul-sucking. Ugh…" She makes a face, a humorous expression of dramatic agony captured in her spotty mirror, and he cracks a smile, amused. “I don't know how the Big Boss does it... Anyway, what about you? Got any plans with your girlfriend, the High Summoner?” She teases, emphasizing her lofty title.
“Me? Uh…” Truth be told… He hadn't thought about it much.
Ever since he arrived in Bevelle by Yuna's grudging behest, he had been going through the motions. As much as he enjoyed the quiet life in Besaid, could imagine himself retiring there, growing old with Yuna… That’s just it. Besaid’s full of retired old folks and children while those closest to his age are already married and expecting their firstborn (or second, or third). Everybody's too busy working overseas, hunting game, foraging, fishing, preparing preservatives to last them the next three tropical storms, contributing everyday to put food on their rustic tables, eking out a humble living with back-breaking work.
For Tidus, a boy raised in the city, it’s too much work to fulfill on a daily quota with zero prior knowledge. He misses the convenience of store-bought food, of walking down a dozen blocks to hit up the grocery store, of showing up to a friend’s place unannounced and eating their leftovers. Coming to Spira felt like a culture shock he couldn’t truly shake, waking up as a borrowed cat in a stranger’s house.
Although Wakka always helped out with the daily hunts (much to Lulu’s chagrin), Tidus hated preparing the fiend carcasses. He had enough of it during the pilgrimage, stripping the furs off the skin, deboning the bloody raw meats, plucking the neck-broken birds, boiling the slimy flan to kill all impurities— He hated it. Tidus understood that they couldn’t always afford to eat indoors, but still… at least the grueling work had always been divided. Everyone had their preferences and specialties, and Wakka and Rikku would sometimes take pity on him. Now, it’s just him and Yuna stuck on Besaid, and he tires of the same old cuisine, day in and day out. He admired the kind of people who could do that every single day without complaint, but…
It’s not for him. It’s a respectable way of life, for sure, but… Outside of work, there’s nothing to do there. He wanted… more.
Tidus wanted to visit his friends who live across the world. He wanted to buy his own boat and sail to a lively Kilika during festival time or a quiet Luca during off-season any time he wanted, staying for multiple days every other week, no plan and no strict schedule, just him and Yuna riding the tidal waves, basking in the lustrous sight of the sun cresting over the oceanic horizon.
If they lived on the mainland, they wouldn’t have to worry about breaking their backs or dirtying their hands in the endless daily grind. They could enjoy Luca’s blitzball stadium, the sphere theater, the pleasure piers, the restaurants, the shopping stores. He wants to walk the boardwalks and boulevards with Yuna hand-in-hand, wearing the latest street fashion and enjoying actual street food. They could be a normal couple living a normal life.
Luca may not be Zanarkand, but he can honestly see himself carving out a nice, comfortable life there. He feels confident that he earns enough money from his contracts and freelance work to coast by, and he also wants to start building an egg nest for them to fall back on, ignoring Yuna’s unreliable “income” as the High Priestess. Sure, she may receive donations for The Yevoner Movement, but it’s money she always felt too reluctant to cash in. He hates that she runs an organization that feels more like a retirement home for those mean old hags who bemoan the old way of life.
It’s her life! Her Eternal Calm. Yuna shouldn’t have to bend over backwards to make everybody happy after she already saved the world twice. No matter how many times Tidus tried to convince her, Yuna wouldn’t listen, and so he vowed to take her away from all that— the guilt tripping and the priestess duties, the bullshit of it all. Yet whenever Tidus broached the topic of moving, leading in with a gentle proposal to rent an apartment out in Luca, hoping to ease her into it, he never expected her to outright reject it every time with vague, repetitive excuses.
“Believe it or not, I enjoy what I do. There’s no shame in it…” — “I’m sorry. I can’t go. People expect things from me…”
“Living in Luca? Oh… It’s expensive, isn’t it…? Why do we need to make so much money when we don’t have to spend much here?” — "I’d rather be here, where I know everyone…”
The more he brought it up, hoping she would change her mind, the more frustrated they both became, until finally she shot him down with— “The next tournament is going to be held in Bevelle, right? Why don’t you go on without me? I’ll be fine here.” In the end, he tried, but he didn’t want to force her. That’s why Tidus came to Bevelle alone, so that he could wait out the stormy waters.
However, the nosiest reporters have already started picking up on the scent of a “rough patch,” because Yuna declined every request for an interview about the Yevoners. Until the recent lynching in Bevelle, that is, which forced her to release a brief statement in the form of a prerecorded sphere. “It’s unfortunate, an unnecessary tragedy…” She proceeded to pass it onto Shelinda’s public news outlet only after the ex-acolyte had made the trip herself, crossing the sea to one-up her competition by cashing in on their personal history. And Tidus refused to comment every time the reporters and fans hounded him, leaving the status of their relationship ambiguous in the weeks and months that continued to stretch between them, because honestly— what can he say in light of Yuna’s silence?
The morning Tidus departed, he had been too scared to voice his deep-seated doubt. ‘What happened to us? It’s like… I don’t even know you anymore.’
“I hope she comes, but… I don't know.” He shrugs, exhausted by the renegade train of his spiraling, aimless thoughts. “Yuna… never liked Bevelle. I mean, neither did I at first, but… Coming back here after one year… it's kinda nice. It reminds me of Zanarkand, a little bit.”
“Oh yeah?”
Bevelle… It reminds him of the feeling of being in the big city, being swept up in the bustling crowd, the cheering fans… yet whenever Tidus tried to draw upon a personal memory of when before Jecht spirited him away as Sin, he can't seem to remember— well, anything. Like who his friends were or his teammates in the west block, the kids he went to school with growing up. Only Auron, and his mom being gone, and how much he hated his old man. Is this the price he had to pay for coming back to Spira? To live a new life, he must leave the old one behind?
‘What am I?’ He often stopped to think ever since he returned, because the Fayth told him he would disappear with Dream Zanarkand. And he did, yet Yuna told him Bahamut brought him back. For her, two years later. Why? Why did they wait that long? If the Fayth always had the power to resurrect him, to make him real… then what was the point of saying goodbye?
“...yoo-hoo? Anyone home in there?”
Tidus jolts, startled by the sharp cut of her fingernails flicking his forehead. Annoyed, he rubs the sore, red spot with a scowl. “Hey! What was that for?”
“I've been calling and calling, but you wouldn't respond. It's like you were stuck in your head. I was worried.”
Confused by her nonchalant confession, he forces himself to focus. “What? Why?”
“I don't know.” She shrugs, returning to her perch in front of the mirror, fussing over the lace trim of her dark blue halter top. When did she change into that one? Did she actually strip in front of him and he didn't notice? She looks cute… Damn. He must really be out of it. “You just looked so sad. Is… everything okay?”
“Everything’s… fine.” He falters on the last syllable, sighing.
She hums, doubtful, but drops the subject, discouraged by his morose silence and avoidant gaze. “If you say so~ Anyway, I'm famished. Let's grab some breakfast for everybody. You wanna come with?”
“Sure.”
Unlike Zanarkand where everyone lives for the night life, Bevelle comes alive at dawn.
As Tidus waits for her to lock the iron-wrought gate, he takes a moment to breathe in the crisp, morning air— of baked bread, and steeped matcha tea, and roasted sugar cane mingling to create the most mouthwatering aroma. Although chocobo carriages often pass through this road, there are road sweepers dedicated to keeping the pavement pristine every hour, mostly retired folk and widowers who outlived their families.
Marphie leads him to The Mecca five minutes down the street, eager to survey the imported goods and local catch of the day. As they come upon the stone archway of Wall Chi'ryu, Tidus looks up to admire its majestic architecture. Hailed as one of the few surviving relics of Imperial Bevelle, this ancient wall witnessed the city's decimation following Sin’s first assault. Although its relentless devastation would go on to raze the entire continent to the ground in less than three days, this wall remained intact as a testament to its fortification, weathered by time and the elements until its eventual repair during Gandof’s Calm.
Tidus knows all this only because of the popular folk song everybody and their mothers and honorable ancestors love to sing. Whenever he joins Marphie and the Bevelle Bells for karaoke night, there’s always this one person who votes to sing “Sin Never Sleeps” and everybody else joins in, wailing in off-key harmony to the point he could feel his ears bleed.
Tidus surveys the stalls once they emerge from the threshold, skipping the fruits and vegetables where Marphie stopped to check them out, drawn to the scent of sugar. Mochi donuts! He fell in love with these the first time he visited with Yuna months ago. Wandering over to the neighboring vendors now, he wolfs down his breakfast, admiring the wide array of snacks and almost gagging from the sight of buckets filled to the brim with glazed silkworms. Gross.
“What’d’ya think? Feeling like some barbecue today?” Marphie grins, dragging him by the arm towards the butchers’ lane. “I'm thinking Behemoth chops! And Ceourl filet! I wouldn't mind some Chocobo feet, either. Have you ever had those? They’re suuuper spicy~ You know, it's popular with the ladies. Full of collagen, the stuff that's good for your skin—.”
He dares to sample the Behemoth grilled ear offered to him as the elder man wraps up their purchase, nodding along to Marphie’s bottomless knowledge of beauty tips as he surveys his surroundings, reading the tags scrawled with various numbers. For a market, it's pretty wild. There are fresh octopus and seasoned snacks like nuts and ginger, chips shaped like insects, and what looks to be knock-off designer clothes inspired by the ethnic groups of the nearby islands and Calmlandic nomads. There's even little shops full of clocks, and conical hats, and paintings penned by local artists. He finds a landscape picture that looks like Besaid seen from on top of the promontory, and his chest aches.
He eventually follows Marphie to the Calmlandic and imported Moonflow grains, watching her linger and grumble about the prices before she tears herself away, buying a bushel of apples and peaches that she proceeds to drop into his unsuspecting, open arms. She pacifies his initial complaint by promising to serve him the first round of barbecued meat.
“Now all that's left is the beer and sake! Woohoo! Let's go~.”
“Whoa, there. We already had a lot to drink yesterday.” Tidus shoulders the bags of fruit, rushing to keep pace with her.
“Yeah~” Marphie rolls her eyes, twirling on the balls of her feet to throw him a cute, cheeky smile. “But today's a new day, and all of Bevelle’s celebrating! We gotta toast to the Eternal Calm, and Sinfall, and to the miracle that we're alive!” She dances and whoops for joy, tickling him to smile and laugh, warmed by her cheerful energy.
Giant, golden bells toll at the seventh hour atop magenta pagoda towers. As they approach the same gateway they entered through, he sees a growing crowd gathered at the front, blocking the road, all heads peering at the large telesphere screen hung over the gabled rooftop. He braces himself to jostle through— until he bumps into Marphie, surprised that she chose to stop. Like everybody else, she watches in rapt silence, and Tidus follows her gaze.
He recognizes the Council-sponsored BVL5 News logo on the top right corner, the young Chancellor in all his colorful regalia striding into view. His platinum hair, emerald vestment, indigo scarf, and orange stole flutters in the oceanic breeze as he crosses the dais, ascending the white stairway to stand atop the highest step. Baralai faces the reverent, hushed crowd now, dwarfed by the newly erected monument behind him and the Mausoleum Palace built at the city's edge, its belvedere overlooking the calm sea.
“We stand before you all in memory of those whose lives perished from The Fall of Sin.”
“The Fall of Sin…?” Tidus crosses his arms and cocks his head, confused. “Hey, uh, wasn’t the anniversary a month ago—?”
“Shh. Keep watching!” She cuts him off, annoyed.
“Sorry, sorry! My bad…”
“Today marks the first month after the third-year anniversary of the Eternal Calm ushered in by High Summoner Yuna and her Legendary Guardians.”
Tidus watches as he raises his arm to present the circle of grand stone sculptures behind him, of him and his friends locked in heroic combat while Yuna stands at the center, surrounding the much larger scaled statue of Sin’s scale-ridden body and Cid’s iconic airship, the Fahrenheit. It feels weird to see his likeness vilified in a regal statue… and now Tidus feels bad for teasing Yuna over her own horned statue near the summit of Gagazet when she felt honored by the Ronso’s tribute.
“While you were fighting Sin," Marphie speaks up, breaking her vigil to fill in the blanks, "its body crashed right on top of Bevelle, destroying so many homes and ending so many lives. It took over a year before the residents decided to repopulate the province— and today it's finally restored to what it was before.” She cocks her head to peer up at him. “Don’t you remember?”
‘I wasn't there. I disappeared—.’ Tidus experiences a dull, throbbing pain in his head, feels the cold weight of guilt drop into the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone hitting ocean bottom, and takes a deep, shuddering breath, wanting to vomit. He drops the bag of food to lean over his knees, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to center himself.
“Hey… Are you okay?”
He feels Marphie’s hand on his back and tenses, brushing her arm away. “I’m good. I just… need a moment.”
Baralai’s soft-spoken, staticky voice continues to echo throughout the mural-decorated rampart, from the radios to the sphereboards located across every corner, reverberating above the impossible clamor of The Mecca—
“Thanks to the efforts of everyone involved— the Al Bhed and the Warrior Monks, the citizens of Bevelle and people from all across Spira— we have finally succeeded in the complete restoration of the Vermillion Province. Hundreds of people have lost their lives in this very place, caught beneath the weight of Sin’s crashing descent. Three years have passed, and we still find it difficult to leave our sorrow behind. Our hearts are still grieving, slow to heal in the cruel passage of time…”
—until calm washes over him, and he inhales, startled to feel his headache begin to fade. He rises on his feet now, shaking the nausea, looking up at the sphereboard zoomed in on his face. He stares, transfixed by the fierce light glowing in his bright, brown eyes until an invisible string tugs him forward. He staggers on the first step, catching himself. ‘I don’t know why, but… I have to be there— I want to see you— ’
Impatience bursts from his toes all the way to his fingertips, and Tidus jogs in place, eager to dispel the nervous energy stewing inside his body. “You know what, I-I gotta go! Let’s, uh, do a raincheck on that barbeque, yeah? Yeah!” He stumbles over the bags of food he forgot about before breaking out into a sprint, “Hey! Where’re you going?” brushing off Marphie’s vocal consternation in his mad dash for the thoroughfares.
“...yet life and death have coexisted as a natural cycle since time immemorial. We must not fear death, or seek death in the reflection of a long life deemed hollow. We all meet our end someday in the hope and belief that we shall find peace in the Farplane, reunited with our loved ones. Do not mourn the inevitable. Embrace the life that still lies ahead of you. Our actions shape the future—”
“If I die, my mother will grieve, but she will Send. If my family and friends die, I will grieve, but I will Send. We all struggle with loss, with letting go… However, if any one of you finds yourself without the strength to move forward, allow me to take that first step for you. I vow to carry all of your burden. This Beckoning Pandemic may not resolve in two years time, or ten years or even twenty, but rest assured I shall be there every step of the way. I swear it.”
Tidus somehow managed to arrive just in time to catch the tail end of his long-winded, evocative speech, and now everyone claps and cheers, tossing white rice and flower petals into the air. He teeters on his tiptoes, trying to peer over the heads of hundreds and thousands gathered for the service. Practically everybody spills onto the trimmed grass, hanging out of every shop window, balcony railing, and veranda that overlook the cherry blossom and maple tree paved grove, even spilling onto the gabled rooftops atop the upper city levels, waving their paper pinwheels and painted paddles.
Baralai descends the platform to settle into place beside his Head Coordinator, whom proceeds to wrap her arms around the crook of his elbow. Leaning in close, they exchange whispered words and knowing, warm smiles before straightening in place, facing forward as the perfect picture of regal solidarity.
Tidus recognizes Isaaru and Lucil at least, the only familiar friendly faces among all his dozen of ministers in attendance— until he spots Paine handling a sphere camcorder beside a tall, bespectacled man with two prosthetics for limbs. He almost didn’t recognize the warrior without her usual leather threads, and guesses that she must have settled in the capital city at some point, wearing a sleek qipao dress that cuts sharper than her broadsword. Now the crowd begins to move forward, forming two lines that split into opposite sides, receiving yellow lilies and white stargazers from Council staff to lay them across the platform steps. He follows the shuffling crowd, feeling uneasy.
It’s their fault that Sin crashed on top of their city. Tidus didn’t know— didn’t think at the time how many people were standing in line of its colossal descent before it became too late to run. It took them three years to rebuild it all, from the aqueducts to the roads, the many homes and livelihoods destroyed in the impact and resulting blast. When it comes his turn to receive a flower from the jovial, heavyset man dressed in fancy, pollen-dusted robes, he clutches the yellow lily close to his chest, shuffling along with the solemn crowd until Tidus stoops down to lay it on top of the growing pile, closing his eyes in prayer. ‘For what it’s worth… I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for people to die when we defeated Sin.’
The weight of his guilt moves him to his knees, and he hangs his head, hiding his hot tears in the cover of his bangs. Overcome by emotion, his whirling anxiety, his feet cave into the pressure, yet a warm hand falls on his shoulder, holding him steady. He turns his head, seeing a green robe flutter in his periphery, before someone stoops to his eye level, laying a stargazer lily beside his own.
His breath hitches in his throat. It’s the Chancellor. ‘I gotta say something. Anything—.’
“Sorry… I didn’t think— I didn’t know that it would— I’m sorry…” He chokes in his clumsy apology, fighting back the tears.
“Do not blame yourself. You needed the voice of the people to sing the Hymn of the Fayth. ‘Tis only a natural consequence of our actions, however cruel and unfortunate the truth.” He says with a solemn frown, fixing his gaze forward. “I was here that day. I sang the Hymn of the Fayth. I prayed with all my soul, and you vanquished Sin.” He rises to his feet, peering down at him with a radiant smile. “Why grieve over a destroyed house when you can always rebuild?”
Tidus stares, frozen in shock and relief, and clasps the hand he holds out to him, allowing him to pull him straight on his feet.
“Um, thanks…” He lets go, embarrassed that he held onto his hand for too long, pulling back to rub the back of his head. “I know we kinda know each other, but… I’m Tidus!” He bumps his fist against his chest, scrounging the energy to grin. “Oh, and you don’t have to call me ‘Lord’ or whatever. Just Tidus is fine.”
Tidus extends his hand for Baralai to shake, growing nervous when the man simply stands there staring at it. Oh, right. Handshakes are an uncommon custom in Spira. Before he can retract his hand and laugh it off, Baralai steps forward to grasp it in both hands, holding it there as he dispels his discomfort with an amiable smile.
“I am honored to finally meet you in person.”
“Uh, yeah… Same.” Whoa, super friendly, if not a polite stiff.
“I am Baralai.” He finally lets go and steps back, smiling with his hands clasped. “Although my parents hail from the Southern Isles, I was born and raised here in the capital.” Well, that would explain his dark complexion. He must resemble his father, if his mother, the buxom, slender beauty of Bevelle, looks as fair-skinned as Lulu. “Are handshakes a common greeting where you are from? Zanarkand?”
Tidus looks around him. Is he actually trying to start a conversation here, in the middle of a solemn service? He can already feel the hundreds of curious, disapproving eyes boring holes into his back. Especially that mean-looking, tall Guado in the background, whittling him down to size by the razor sharp edge of his unblinking glare. Any second now, Tidus fully expects him to stomp over and rip them apart— like that mean grandma in Besaid shrieking at him to “stay away from the Summoner!” Her voice haunts him even in his dreams. Brr.
“...Yeah. Uh, you believe I actually came from Zanarkand?”
“Yes. I would believe anything you told me. Do you have any reason to deceive me?”
Embarrassed by his earnest gaze, Tidus averts his eyes, scuffing the sole of his sneaker. “N-No. Just… surprised, that’s all…”
“Now that I take a good look at you…” Baralai trails off, peering at his face. “You do not look like him at all.”
“Huh?” Tidus blushes, unnerved by his intense look.
“Your eyes are gentler, for one.” Baralai steps closer, scrutinizing him some more before reaching out to touch his spiky bangs. “And your hair is parted differently…”
Tidus slaps his hand away, spooked by his intensity. “Hey! Hands off the merchandise.”
“Oh.” Baralai blinks, and then he laughs out loud, snapped out of whatever trance that seized him. “My apologies! I do not normally overstep my boundaries, but― How do I put this?” He pauses to hum in thought. “...well, you are real. Alive and well, I should say. I never should have suffered a doubt.”
“Come again?”
“You bear… an uncanny resemblance to the Unsent who possessed me. A soldier from Zanarkand during the Machina War. His name was Shuyin. Lady Yuna told you as much, did she not?”
Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s why Shuyin sounded so familiar. “Uh, no… She told me about him, yeah, but not about the fact he…” Tidus lifts his hand to rub his head. Uh-oh. Awkward. Did she intend to keep that part a secret? Baralai doesn’t seem very thrilled about the subject, either, despite his every effort to exude a pleasant tone.
He turns to face the monument now, his expression unreadable. “I see… I apologize if I touched upon a sensitive subject.”
“Nah." He waves his hand, brushing off his melancholic airs. "I’m sure it’s more sensitive for you. I mean, I wasn’t the one possessed.”
“I would very much like to say I have moved past that, however… sometimes I find myself wavering.”
“What’s there for you to worry about? You look like the most confident guy around!”
“If I told you, you would not believe me.”
“Try me. I’m all ears.” Baralai glances his way, mirth glowing in his warm gaze as he turns to face him. Before he can question the mischievous light brimming in his eyes, he steps closer to snatch his head, tickling him behind the ears— Tidus bristles, batting his arms away. “Ay! What’d you think you're doing?”
“You said you were all ears.” He laughs, withdrawing his hands.
“That’s not what I meant!” Tidus blushes, flustered, spellbound by his unrestrained, joyous expression, his brown eyes that twinkle brighter than his sunlit beads, and blames his pretty looks for confusing his poor heart.
“A gloomy face does not become you, Lord Tidus. Perhaps that story can wait—”
“Chancellor, need I remind you that this is a solemn event and not the place for juvenile levity?”
“My apologies, Vice-Chancellor.” Baralai straightens his stance at once and bows his head, resting a hand over his heart, humbling himself in time to greet the Guado's brisk approach. “I merely intended to lighten the burden that weighs heavily over his heart. I meant no disrespect.”
“As he ought to feel.” The willowy Guado narrows his cutting gaze, and Tidus bristles. What’s this guy’s deal? He clears his throat behind a ring-decorated fist, before planting the butt of his cane firm on the mosaic stone. ‘Uh-oh. This can't be good…’ Something tells him he ought to brace himself— “Your High Summoner has been suspiciously silent on the matter of her pilgrimage and your victory over Sin. Instead of illuminating us as to why she called for the impromptu dissolution of the Yevon Church, she left us floundering in the dark of our prolonged ignorance, of which only she can dispel. Does she intend to hold us in further contempt for the sins committed by our forebears?”
Tidus scowls, angered by his condescending tone. ‘Is he trying to pick a fight? That prick. I’d like to see you fight Sin—.’
“Mind yourself, Vice-Chancellor.” Baralai regards him with a stern frown, reprimanding him in place of Tidus’s fuming frustration. “Lady Yuna and her Guardians vanquished Sin when no other had survived to tell the tale. What more can we ask for? Lady Yuna has every right to enjoy her life in peace and privacy.”
Tidus smirks, puffing his chest out. “That’s right! Who’s Calm do you think this is, man? Show some respect!”
This must have struck a nerve, because the Guado tightens his jaw in seething silence, thrumming his fingers over the bejeweled tip of his cane. “She could at least have the common decency to answer our letter spheres. Three years, the world continues to turn, and the High Summoner has yet to grant us an official audience.”
“Regardless, High Summoner Yuna must never feel beholden to anyone, least of all the Spiran Council.” Baralai crosses his arms, reinforcing his stance. “In all actuality, I hold myself to the utmost belief that we as the people of Spira owe her a great debt— one that can never be truly repaid for future generations.” He pauses to smile, matching his scathing contempt with prim admonishment. “Yet I suppose there will always be certain individuals who forget themselves in their arrogance.”
Tidus crosses his arms, nodding in smug pride at every beat while suppressing the impulse to shadowbox the uppity Guado in his stupid, long face. 'Hell, yeah! This guy may be a kiss-ass, but at least he gets it. For an ex-priest, he’s alright— one of the good ones.’
The Guado man harrumphs, countering his severe rebuke with a stiff upper lip. “You have the gall to call me arrogant when it is the High Summoner who has forgotten her place—.” Before he can say more, someone dares to sidle up to his rigid side, looping their delicate, lace-sleeved arm around his arm.
“Now, now, dear. Smooth that lovely furrowed brow of yours and be cordial.” Ilyria matches Scisero’s stubborn scowl with a demure, sultry smile of her own. “Do not stamp on their fledgling friendship before it has the chance to take flight. Let them commiserate.”
“Hello, Mother.” Baralai kisses the hand she holds out to him, cradling her knuckles. “Will you be departing for the temple?”
“Why, yes.” Her eyes glint with feline mischief, amused by his silent, desperate plight as she retracts her hand to rest it on the crook of his elbow. “My feet have grown awfully tired and I wish to retire for a spell. Is that alright, love?” Despite standing tall enough to match her adult son on five-inch stiletto heels, Ilyria still must crane her neck to peer up at her statuesque companion. “I believe Baralai can handle the rest here. Let us return to the temple and begin the preparations for our Guadosalam itinerary.”
“Yes… Sound idea, My Lady.” Scisero murmurs his agreement, easing his stance. Now he lifts a brambled hand to caress her cheek, smiling for a fleeting moment her unspoken cry for attention in the weight of her expectant gaze— ‘yeesh, get a room’— before the man remembers himself, clearing his throat. “I shall bid you farewell here. I expect you to join us in the discussions at a later point. Hopefully before the lunch bell.”
“Once I have finished all other items on my agenda, I shall request your audience.”
“Good.” He nods with crisp satisfaction. “I pray you conduct yourself with the utmost of decorum, Lord Chancellor.”
“Naturally. Good day to you, Lord Scisero.”
“And I you.”
Tidus witnesses them trade parting words like a live blitzball match suspended in overtime until finally Scisero Guado pivots on his heel, leading his ladylove by the arm. He does not stride through the dense throng of solemn, praying onlookers as he expected, but instead lifts his lacquered cane to ignite the bejeweled tip, conjuring a flurry of intricate, white light to spill on the ground. Once the pair steps foot inside the magical circle, they vanish into thin air, and Tidus gapes. Whoa! Teleportation magic! He’s never seen that before outside a crystal sphere…
“I apologize for any undue discomfort that my Vice-Chancellor has caused...” Baralai frowns, chastened by the previous exchange, and that makes Tidus feel a little better. ‘Is it just me or are all Guado men destined to be weird, creepy assholes?’
“Aren’t you the Chancellor? You’re his boss! Don’t let him talk down to you like that.”
“I appreciate your frustration on my behalf.” Baralai smiles, rueful, clasping his wrist. “However, he is my father. I expect him to act twice as insufferable in the boardroom than how he conducts himself at home.”
“Oh man, that’s rough. Er, I mean…” Tidus rubs his head, embarrassed. He knows how that feels, living in your father’s shadow. “Thanks for that! I’m sure you feel frustrated, too, about Yuna and the Yevoners and stuff…”
“Regardless of my feelings, I spoke the truth.” Silence falls between them for lack of better things to say, and Tidus watches Baralai twine his fingers in front of him now, his eyes downcast. Somehow it reminds him of Yuna and how she tends to withdraw inside herself, hesitant to voice her innermost thoughts. “...How is Lady Yuna? Well, I trust?”
‘I can’t say. I haven’t seen her in three months.’ Tidus suppresses the urge to shrug, worried that it would make him sound apathetic.
When he stops to think about it… Yuna never talks about him. He doesn’t understand why when he seems nice, the nicest guy around. Maybe once in passing, the night he returned, but that’s still far less than anybody else she talks about, and she talks about everybody. He knows of Gippal and his flamingo stance and how he enjoys messing with people, teasing Rikku most of all. He knows of Nooj and his radicalism and blunt way of speaking, determined to tear down the walls of Yevon and tradition while reinforcing the walls within himself.
He knows of this LeBlanc woman who stole her identity to host a concert, raced her all over Spira snagging spheres and mooning over "Noojie-Woojie," until they buried the hatchet when she and her goons helped the Gullwings destroy Vegnagun. He even knows of this Beclem asshole who liked to trash-talk Summoners, terrorized the Aurochs with his impossible training regiments, and tried to burn down Besaid Temple when fiends came pouring out— only for Yuna to relent in the end “he's not so bad after all," because he used to be a war buddy of Chappu, Wakka's brother.
But nothing about Baralai.
Tidus wonders if maybe she doesn't like him because of Yevon, because of— Shuyin embraced him, and he gasped, because he felt alive and real. He couldn’t fight the illusion that paralyzed him, spellbound by the pyreflies that surrounded them, illuminating the darkness. Tidus gasps, shaken by the vision, his need for air. ‘What was that?’ He sees Baralai’s face now, confused by the sight of his intense worry and concern.
“Are you alright?”
He steps closer, touching his shoulder, and Tidus flinches, feeling nauseous and repulsed— ‘Don’t… touch me…’
Seymour stood before him, pinching his naked shoulders in his clammy palms, and he held his breath, peering into his cold, violet eyes, his wicked smile, his looming, dark face until he craned his neck to receive his kiss, forced to endure his deathly embrace. He clenched his hands, suffocated by his sickening, sweet perfumes, the floral scent of the Farplane, until finally Shuyin pulled back to gaze into his eyes, caressing his frozen, stiff face—
‘Whose feelings are these?’
“Lord Tidu—?”
“D-Don’t touch me!”
And reality comes crashing back, shattering the memory like mosaic glass stabbing his brain.
Tidus surveys his surroundings, feeling nauseous, fighting against the vertigo that grips him. He sees Baralai reaching out for him, but he turns away. 'I want to get out of here, I hate this place—' overwhelmed by all these emotions flooding in. He stumbles forward, desperate to flee— only to halt in his tracks, catching the strange sight of a lone figure lounging on top of an ancient pagoda clock. He stood out to him even in the distance, cloaked in black clothes unfamiliar to Spira. Tidus squints, growing wary when that mysterious man proceeds to rise, stepping off the spire, disrupting the astrolabes of elemental mandalas, Yevon numerals, and celestial symbols in his floating descent.
Disappearing into the unsuspecting crowd, he emerges a second later slinking through the sea of bodies both knelt and bowed in prayer, startling them to break concentration as pyreflies seep from his phantom body, rippling the wintry, sunlit morning air until he stops before them in full view, his beguiling smile peeking behind the shadow of his transparent hood.
“Hey, don’t I get a flower? I died at Sinfall, too, you know. Just like you.”
Now he reaches out, willing the pyreflies to coalesce into the space of his palm until an Islandic lily forms, cradled between his gloved fingertips. Tidus stares at the phantasmal flower made real, and then him, dread pooling into the pit of his stomach. “Who… are you?” An image cuts across his vision, the memory of an arachnid fiend brimming with unbridled magical power, the white strokes of the Yevonic alpha letter painted on its bloated, black body, startling him to cry out in pain. He presses a palm to his forehead, overwhelmed by the throbbing migraine.
“Don’t you know? Unless you don’t remember—.”
“You know something! Tell me!”
Snowfall roared in the tense silence. Tidus saw himself shrouded in white darkness, standing so far away while surrounded by their other Guardians. He hung his head, unable to meet his eyes. ‘Wait, mine? Who am I looking at?’ Tidus heard Yuna’s voice once more, echoing closer and louder still, his frostbitten ears ringing from anger and confusion. He dashed forward, peering up into his own guilty expression.
“Tell me!”
“Sin’s… my old man.”
His voice sounded so... distorted, muffled by emotion, of betrayal and shock, anger and confusion, disgust—
“My old man became Sin! I don’t know how or why he did it. But I felt him, inside— and when I did, I knew it was true.” Tidus looked up towards the cloudy sky, his voice sounding more solemn and distant by the second, as if he had accepted this cold, bitter truth a long time ago and had made peace with it— ‘without me.’
“My old man is Spira’s suffering." He ducked his head after a long moment of silence, remorseful. “Sorry.”
“Even… knowing that Sin is your father… Still, you know, I must…” He would never understand his hatred for his own father, or his willingness to fight him—
“I know. Let’s get him.” Tidus pumped his fist, reinforcing his stance. “I think my old man would want that.”
A seagull’s cry echoed as clear as day, a heavy horn blared from the shipyard—
“Hey, you! Don’t just stand there!” and Tidus rounded on Auron, fisting his hands into the black cowl of his red haori. “All of this is your fault! Gettin’ swallowed by Sin! Ending up in Spira! Not being able to go back to Zanarkand— everything, everything!” He stopped to catch his breath, sensing his voice crack, his eyes mist over, but he somehow managed to bottle it up. “I'm telling you, it's all your fault!"
In the tense silence that followed, Auron’s voice rumbled with laughter.
‘I… don’t remember that…’
Everything becomes distorted, Bevelle, Sinfall Memorial, the mysterious stranger, his morning with Marphie, his last morning with Yuna before leaving Besaid, melting away behind the backdrop of the foreign memory. The fog that Tidus had been struggling to dispel for the past year finally disperses, and the weight in his chest dissolves, and he feels light-headed and free, breaking through the surface to breathe—
“Who are you anyway?”
—only to plunge back into the murky waters, pulled within the whirlpool of memories.
“But you know… When it is all over… we will wake, and our dream will end. Our dream will vanish.”
“Yeah. You've been dreaming a long time, haven't you?”
“I'm sorry.”
In the Chamber of the Fayth, the child spirit of Bahamut floated above his glowing statue, his human body mummified in stone, and for the first time since Tidus became aware of his existence, Bahamut actually sounded like a child. He couldn’t stay mad at him, not when he knew he and all the other Fayth had been suffering, trapped in Spira’s cycle of death just like everybody else, and so he strove to absolve him of his guilt, “I'm grateful!” waving goodbye as Bahamut faded away.
“About… what?” Her voice faltered— and Tidus turned to smile in false reassurance. “Oh, nothing!”
It’s not his voice that spoke in promise. It's not Yuna he found when he turned to look at the person standing beside him. ‘It’s me.’ Tidus saw her tiny, faint silhouette in the reflection of his blue irises, and the confusion and anxiety clenched his heartstrings tight. “Hey, don't make that face! Come on! We're going to beat Sin! Let's see some cheer, okay?”
“You're hiding something.” He peered into his eyes unflinching, and he looked away.
“I'm not!”
He watched himself walk away, dismissing his unease with a wave of his hand, disappearing into the shadow of the threshold. The Chamber disappeared into the backdrop of an indigo, starry sky, and his distant back rippled like a rainbow after an evening spring shower. Pretty, and fleeting. He felt tears streak his crestfallen face, followed by the echo of her wistful voice.
“You’re a bad liar— I love you.”
“Don’t you remember? Tidus— You died.”
“I… I-I did not die…" He gasps, hyperventilating, startled that he spoke his name. "I… disappeared…”
He drops his gaze to his hands, his ephemeral, empty hands, holding an old blitzball, a blackened, scorched mass of putrid flesh, blinded by an explosion of searing, white heat—
“True. You are a dream destined to fade away.” His solemn voice anchors him back to the present, and Tidus jolts, gasping for breath, fisting his ashen hands over his anxious heart, feeling light-headed and weightless. 'What did I see...?' Now the Unsent begins to walk forward, and he takes an involuntary step back. “But I can make you real. Just like this pretty little flower. How about it?” He raises the lily close to his shrouded face now, his azure eyes glowing in the pearlescent light of the pulsating pyreflies, and Tidus stares, watching the petals spin round and round in the twist of his fingertips, watching Yuna spin round and round, swinging her staff, spinning the pyreflies belonging to every Crusader and Al Bhed corpse littering the blood-soaked Djose beach—
"Why is it... everything in Spira seems to revolve around people dying?"
"Ahh, the spiral of death." Auron sighed, leaning against the iron bars of their hanging prison. "Summoners challenge the bringer of death, Sin, and die doing so. Guardians give their lives to protect their Summoner—"
Flickering static, an iron prison, "If she was your girl, what would you do?!" and a blonde man who looked a lot like him bled onto the faded, black screen, his beautiful blue eyes burning with rage. "How can you blame me... It was the only way I could save the Summoner! What would you do if you were me—?!"
"Spira is full of death. Only Sin is reborn, and then only to bring more death. It is a cycle of death, spiraling endlessly."
"—A thousand years have passed and they can't leave the hatred behind." Tidus stood frozen in tense silence and abject disappointment as he stared long into the Farplane abyss— 'it's not him'— frightened by his doppelgänger's approach, his bittersweet, ancient woe echoing ever closer one step at a time. "This world continues to fail us, and what's worse, I failed to protect you. Vegnagun will make that all go away. And we'll fade again, together—"
Thousands of voices sang the Hymn of the Fayth in the cityscape below. A dozen Aeons began to fade, ascending into the aether. Yuna danced atop the zenith of a twilit sky darkening to black. Tidus watched her with forlorn eyes as her vision blurred behind every heavy swing of her lotus-pointed staff. Yuna ran through open arms to embrace cold empty air, Tidus ran on spectral feet to fall through golden clouds, and the pulsating pyrefly finally coalesced, reaching out for his father's outstretched hand.
Tidus screams, holding his head. “Who are you?! What do you want? Get out of my head!”
“That is enough.”
Tidus jolts, lifting his face.
A sea of green emblazoned with the phoenix crest steps into his field of vision, followed by double bows of flowing crimson, the blinding glint of twin razor rings, and his steady hand. Baralai withdraws his folded staff from the back of his waist where his leather holster rests, assembling it in one-two quick snaps of the wrist, before brandishing it in one hand, falling into a resolute stance. “Do not listen to the ramblings of an Unsent. He seeks to confuse you. For what purpose, only the Fayth know.”
“The Fayth… That’s a great idea!” He claps his hands and giggles in glee, spreading his arms out towards the sky. “Let’s have all the Fayth join the party, and the people who died. Everybody~!”
Hundreds, if not thousands, of pyreflies start to swarm around him as he begins to twirl on the balls of his black boots, stringing together an off-key, jaunty rendition of the Hymn. They emerge from below ground, the deep depths of the cityscape, perhaps beckoned by the ancient memory, if not the collective consciousness of the living people who watch on in fear, horror, and utter bewilderment. The magical symbol that bleeds beneath his spectral feet resembles the one Yunalesca conjured in the Zanarkand stadium dome, the same one cast within the core of Sin by her very own immortal, mindless father— and the violent vortex of frenzied pyreflies shimmers bright, becoming the belly of a beast.