Chapter Text
“It’s Sin—!”
One voice shrieks, and then a thousand, becoming a choir of clamoring screams that peaks into pure pandemonium.
Sinscales fall from the sky, breaking free of their cocoons once they land on solid ground to assault the frightened, fleeing citizenry. Tidus stands rooted in place, spellbound by the harrowing sight of people jumping off buildings, crawling on broken bones, racing for the city edge, plummeting to the pavement, reaching for the ocean’s cold, merciful embrace— desperate to escape death by Sin’s vaporizing blast and its feral, bloodthirsty spawn.
Paine leaps from her vigilant spot behind the spherecorder to whip out her broadsword, cleaving one Sinscale in midair before intercepting two more already hatched and inches away from mauling a collapsed man. Those clad in blue hooded embroidered robes stand paralyzed in fear, only equipped with healing staves and music instruments to defend themselves, yet Ministers and Warrior Monks alike spring into action, overwhelming the wave of Sinscale beneath automatic gunfire and gem-powered flames. Lucil and Elma lead the stampede of red Chocobo Knights with their sabers held high while combat mages cast their elemental spells from afar.
Baralai begins to spin his staff and the Ebon Unsent grins, intercepting his divine ceremony with a lazy wave of his hand. He seethes in pain, thawing the ice encasing his fist with a silent fire incantation, before shifting his weight to repeat the step. Quick-casted Barrier spells parry the swift barrage of pure plasmic energy, becoming a dance of dueling magic as they trade blows breath for breath. The Unsent cackles in glee, “This is fun!” pushing him back with each concentrated mana blast while Baralai grits his teeth, striving to maintain his ground and impede his hovering advance. Tidus squints, buffeted by the harsh backdraft of cold air and hot static, sensing his goosebumps rise in the clashing elements.
Everything's happening so fast, he can't make sense of anything—
Sinscales continue to proliferate from Sin’s pyreform armor as It moves onward, dragging Its shadow across the province. They scatter clay roof tiles, cracking the marble of his stone-faced friends, trampling all over the decorated pavement of deceased names immortalized in Yevon script, and then a trio of Sinscales skitter towards him, their glowing blue feelers open in visceral rage.
Tidus throws his hands up, catching the first set of dripping, acidic teeth against his forearm before the other two overwhelm him. He stumbles onto his back, winded by the landing, and strives to bat their monstrous faces away while droplets of hot saliva singe his face. At least these leather gloves and metal gauntlets protect him— One bursts into a cloud of pyreflies, and then another, before all three are vanquished by a skull-studded broadsword. Tidus exhales in relief, dropping his throbbing, bloody arms to find Paine towering over him.
He takes the hand she holds out to him, allowing her to pull him onto his feet, grateful for her timing.
“This isn’t the time to be gawking. Take up your sword.”
“I don’t have it on me…” He purses his lips, feeling stupid for leaving his Brotherhood behind. Although they live in an era of peace, he has experienced his fair share of fist fights with Yevoner haters and Faythless wannabes to know that the streets aren’t exactly safe for Legendary Guardians. But none of those incidents ever escalated to the point of spilling blood. 'Still, I shouldn’t let my guard down, especially in Bevelle—’
“Then use mine.”
Nooj rushes over with rifle in hand, his cane discarded, gunning down a few Sinscale that come close. He unsheathes his saber from his belt, holding it out for him to take. Auron waited for him, unafraid of the strange monsters surrounding him. His sharp eyes were veiled behind the cover of his sunglasses, reflecting the fiery plumes that rose into the night sky. Tidus grasps the handle, ‘It’s heavy… heavier than Jecht’s sword,’ lifting it high to admire its tempered steel until his arm flops down by his side, overwhelmed by its weight.
‘Why does this feel so familiar? I don't… remember Sin attacking Zanarkand...’
“That Unsent came here for you, didn’t he?” Nooj barks at him, startling him out of his reverie. “Baralai’s doing everything in his power to keep him at bay. The least you could do is guard his back.”
“Uh, right!” Tidus nods, frustrated by his tone. It’s not like he knew the guy—
“Look alive! The fiends won’t stop coming unless Sin is gone, and that Unsent is currently Beckoning It, so we must focus on holding them off until Baralai Sends him. It’s our only logical course of action.” Nooj steals a moment to reload his rifle, bashing a Sinscale’s face in with the butt of his firearm before locking his new magazine in place, liberal with the trigger as a dozen more race towards them. Some escape his line of semi-automatic gunfire, and Tidus rushes forward.
He succeeds to slash one open under a clumsy, slow swing and spins on his heel, hoping to maintain momentum, hissing in pain when he pops a joint. The Sinscale jumps out of his reach, and he clicks his tongue in frustration. At least he managed to graze its vein-riddled, flickering wing— it fires back with an infernal shot of high-velocity acid, and Tidus swears, seething, overwhelmed by the burns that seep through his dissolving shirt, scalding his exposed flesh. Yet he pushes past the pain to continue fighting, losing count of how many Sinscales fall to his blade, blinded by the clouds of pyreflies flooding his vision— and then he feels someone bump into his back, followed by the weight of their hand brushing his own.
“How are you faring?”
Tidus grasps the bottle before he ends up dropping it, lifting it to his face. 'An X-potion! Don’t mind if I do—’
“Not so bad.” His harsh breaths say otherwise, and so Tidus downs the bottle in one go, wiping his mouth and the sweat off his chin, feeling the curative effect at once. The X-potion mends his blistering, hot pain and third-degree burns, even the scars from his sutured skin. He sighs in relief. Nothing can save these dungarees, however, so he must endure the Bevellian cold shirtless. He throws a glance over his shoulder, catching pinpricks of magenta light sparkling in his periphery, indicative of a Regen spell. “You?”
“I have faced far worse.”
Ha! How humble. Tidus smirks, amused. Somehow he doubts that— and then Baralai's light, pleasant tone deepens in solemn promise “I vow to protect you—” before the weight from his back disappears, forcing him to recover his balance. “—so that you may return to Lady Yuna unscathed.”
Tidus straightens on his feet, blindsided by the echo of his confident voice, his receding footsteps. Panic and dread seizes him for some inexplicable reason, and he turns his head, catching the tail end of his emerald coat bleeding into the dusk, his fading body swallowed by the golden light of the pyreflies. He couldn't breathe, his heavy heart compounded by his sorrowful, racing thoughts, ‘Please, don't go— It was supposed to be me, I should've died, not you— Why did you have to disappear? How am I supposed to live without you? I love you I love you I love you, please don't go don’t go don’t go—’ scared to imagine a life, a future, a free new world without him—
“Wu Seiran! Isaaru! Support Baralai! Leave the fiends to us!”
Nooj shouts, anchoring him back to the present. At his harsh command, both Ministers answer at once, approaching the Unsent from opposite sides.
Silver bells chime in the chaotic air, resonating from the regal, ebony-haired woman who strides forward, the long hem of her embroidered crimson chemise fluttering around her thin ankles. Tidus stares. Wait, that's the Ministress of Cultural Affairs, the person in charge of the blitzball stadium construction and capital festivities. She boasts a proud array of elaborate silver jewelry from head to toe, her tall, delicate headpiece glittering in the sun while a large, round pendant bounces on her modest chest, displaying her family crest crafted in the symbol of an orchid.
Whipping out a decorated steel fan to cover her ruby-red lips, Seiran raises her right leg into a graceful stance, mimicking a crane, unveiling a second fan from her sash before twirling on the balls of her feet, her long white sleeves billowing like wings. Isaaru follows suit in his teal white robes and yellow blue threads, his combed hair pinned up in an elegant topknot of cascading, auburn locks. He falls into step like those kaguya dancers on telesphere, twirling in their embroidered, long sleeves and flowing, pastel kimonos.
In a single moment spliced by supersonic violence, Wu Seiran crashes into the flower wagon, caught by her heavyset companion, and Isaaru crashes into the line of parked war chocobos, causing kennel masters to rush and calm the riled birds. Baralai takes advantage of his momentary distraction to crack his rod between the snap of his wrists, drawing the symbol for infinity. His pyreform silhouette flickers, and the Unsent groans, swaying in place, floating down to his knees as the pyreflies begin to disperse, disrupted by the divine influence of his martial dance. Tidus stares, impressed by his practiced, powerful movements, how the air surrounding him explodes into gusts of wind, billowing his emerald coat and resplendent scarves.
“Remember the deceased and not the deceit, for they are illusions born of woe-begotten memory.” Baralai chants, evoking the power of the pyreflies to project his voice, his prayer ringing loud and clear amidst the echoes of combat. “Rest, oh wandering Unsent. I beseech you: Sin exists no more, only in the long-forgotten dream. Rest in peace. Awaken from the—”
Baralai cries out in visceral pain, blown off his feet, propelled by the swift forcefield of magic that parried his vengeful blade. His razor rod rips out of his hands, falling head-first into the cobblestone before his body hit the ground, tumbling, skidding to a painful halt. He… does not move. Why isn't he moving? Tidus dashes forward, bolstered by a sudden burst of frantic energy, fearing the worst.
‘No! He can’t be dead! Don’t be dead. Please, don’t die— We just met. We shared a couple laughs. He used to be Yevon, but he protected me—’
Everything slows down, overshadowed by his adrenaline and pounding heartbeat as he slides to his knees, keeling over his side to press an ear to his chest. He senses no breathing, not even a heartbeat, and pulls back, his ears ringing in panic. He checks his body just to make sure, finding no blood or mortal injury even though his frozen expression looks so pained. He picks him up in his arms, shaking his shoulders. “H-Hey, wake up! Wake up! Don’t die on me, dammit! Open your eyes—!”
He gasped, lifting his head from his shoulder to peer up at the man behind the illusion. It's not him. It's— 'Me.’ “Shuyin!” "Baralai!"
His face becomes distorted, flickering between— his head pillowed on his lap, catching his breath beneath a bright blue sky— Yuna collapsed inside the Fayth Chamber— Shuyin lying unconscious across from him— her white wedding gown trailing behind them as he carried her out— his body bleeding out from multiple gun wounds as the soldiers approached them— Jecht smiling up at him as Tidus sobbed over his vanishing body—
Vertigo grapples him, twisting him into a ball, and Tidus wants to vomit.
'What's happening to me...?' Nothing feels right. He rips his eyes away, nauseated by the visions— and gasps, bewildered by the surreal sight before him.
Feathers frozen in mid-descent. Seagulls trapped in mid-flight. Bodies suspended in free fall, their screams silenced in open expressions of pain and agony. Warrior Monks, Chocobo Knights, Sinscales, the citizens of Bevelle, Paine and Nooj, Lucil and Isaaru, everyone— suspended in time, like a painted tapestry hung in a museum. 'What... happened? What's going on?'
“Finally!” His voice reverberates in the heavy air, rippling the frozen space. “I thought that guy would never give up!” Tidus holds his breath, whipping his head to watch him rise, stretching his arms above his head like a cat floating in midair, before descending with one last lazy twirl, condensing the pyreflies to tread on solid feet. “He’s scary~ If we fought any longer, I would’ve been a goner!”
“W-Why?” His voice cracks, wary of his leisurely approach, his innocent smile. “Why are you doing all this?”
“Why? For you, of course!”
“Why me?”
“You're the boy from my dream!” He exclaims, breathless from excitement, ambling forward with his hands outstretched. Tidus flinches, standing to stumble back, and he peters to a stop, disheartened by his wariness and hostility. The Unsent recovers with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “O-Of course you don’t know who I am! I don’t even know… who I am. When I woke up, I found myself all alone. I looked for you for so long…”
His voice cracks, betraying his loneliness, and Tidus blinks, disoriented by the aura that overtakes his vision. Sunlight disappears into the abyss— Shuyin emerged from the fog, smiling in tender regard— and he grits his teeth, palming his temple, pained by the migraine. ‘What’s going on?! Why do I keep seeing things I know didn’t happen—’
“While I wandered, I realized something… I don’t recognize anybody here at all. Everybody’s still fighting over nothing, still dying like they used to— Spira’s nothing like the Zanarkand we know.” His voice fluctuates in and out of focus, rippling in the waves of memories and pyrelight. “Once I came to Bevelle, I ran into that old man— yeah, you know him— and he told me everything! About the Machina War, Zanarkand and Bevelle, Sin and Yevon—.” He juggles the names between his frenetic hands, dizzying him. A sudden burst of sharp pain erupts in his head, causing him to cry out and keel over his knees, squeezing his eyelids shut in the hopes of blocking out his swirling vision. ‘Shut up… Why won’t you shut up?! SHUT UP!’
“—and then I saw you on the sphereboard, and that’s when I knew— It had to be you! It had to be—! At least, that’s what I thought… In reality, you’re dead—” Lulu’s voice cut through the eerie, pervasive silence of the Farplane abyss, disrupting his concentration as Braska's spirit flickered in front of him, looking so happy beside his young mother. “Coming here really makes that clear.”
“W-Wait… What… did you say? That— can’t be true… I— You must’ve gotten the wrong guy! I’m not… who you think I am…”
“You’re right. You’re not. I mean, look at you! You’re not you. Sure, the Fayth were nice enough to bring you back— but for what? You didn’t even last a whole day! Without my power, you’re incomplete, barely what you’d call alive, but don’t worry.” He grins, spinning on his heels, igniting his anger and confusion, but most of all disgust as he giggles in wicked glee. “I can fix you.”
“What the hell…? What’re you saying?! I don’t understand you at all…!”
“How is that hard to believe? I mean, you know, don’t you? How you haven’t felt the same since you returned? Why is that, hm? Think about it—”
He struggles to think, to remember his homecoming, his embrace inside Yuna’s arms, talking with Lulu, Wakka, and Rikku— ‘Why does she sound so mad? What did I ever do to her?’ And Paine— ‘Who is that?’ And Briar, that creepy stranger who acted older than he looked, speaking in too many complex words and stupid riddles. He returned to shore carrying a net full of fresh-caught fish over his broad shoulder while holding a trident in the other, his dark, uncombed hair flowing thicker than seaweed in the rising winds.
“I was dispatched by New Yevon a month ago. They’re a bunch of headless chickens, if you ask me!”
“What happened when you came back?”
“I don’t… know…” He trails off, uncertain. “I don’t remember any of that…”
“How could you? She wasn’t there to see any of it.”
"I apologize for offending you. Please, don’t misunderstand. My life’s a bit too complicated to summarize in mere words. We humans try to form natural bonds, seeking connection, when in reality we invent these relationships a posteriori—”
“I hate the way you talk! Why don’t you ever say what you mean? At least talk to me in a way I can understand—”
Tidus shakes his head, banishing the foreign memory of his anger and impatience. “You’re wrong! None of that really happened! You’re just— feeding me lies! Yeah, that’s right. Rikku wouldn’t get mad at me like that. Lulu wouldn’t… say things like that…” He trails off, uncertain. ‘Wait, what did they say…?’ Chilled by his gaps in memory, he shakes his head, dispelling his anxiety. “Besides, I’ve never even met that guy!”
“It’s the truth. It might sound crazy to you, but that woman holds you prisoner in the realm of her memories.”
The Unsent raises a hand to glide his fingers over a shimmering gold, frayed cord, peering into the pulsating light. It wobbles beneath his touch, and Tidus gasps, clutching his chest, startled by the unexpected pain, this disconcerting feeling. It’s… connected to him! ‘How—? How did I not notice it before?’
“She has been molding you to her thoughts and emotions all this time, and calls it love...” He hums with a humorless laugh, anchoring him back to the present. "What a joke." And then he drops his hand, relinquishing his hold, causing Tidus to collapse on his knees. He chokes in his coughs, his desperate gasps for breath, as the Unsent continues to ramble on. “I could do it, you know. End your suffering. I really could. I could take you right now and put you back together and you’d have all your real memories— but then she would die. So I won’t, because I know you’d never forgive me."
Tidus raises his head, bewildered by the sadness in his voice as he watches him walk away. "Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I can wait.”
The landscape flashed, twisted, and distorted, becoming a violet, empty wasteland, a shadow of its former glory. Tidus gasped, horrified by the blood red mist hanging over the starry night sky. His boathouse no longer looked like home, but a rotting, bloated carcass adrift at sea, floating in the murky malaise. The young spirit of Bahamut stood at the empty docks, the same spot where he first remembered meeting him— the night Sin destroyed Zanarkand.
“We’ve been dreaming for so long… we’re tired… Would you let us rest? You— have been touched by Sin—”
“After all, she can’t summon you forever.”
“Wait—!” Tidus rushes to his feet, struggling to stand. “What do you mean—?!”
The Unsent disappears, and time returns to its original flow, restoring the bright architecture and thunderous chaos of Bevelle’s stirling capital.
"Baralai!"
Someone shoves him aside, and Tidus staggers, watching Nooj sprint to reach his side with Paine close at his heel.
He does the exact same thing Tidus did earlier, bending over to check his pulse, his tan face blanching in horror and panic. “...he’s not breathing. Something’s wrong! Healer!”
He feels himself drift further and further away, retreating from the scene as robed officers start to crowd around him, each pair of hands glowing from different manners of magic. Esuna. Thunder. The glow of a phoenix feather. 'He died... because of me.' He never felt so powerless, not since the day he learned—
"You're a dream of the Fayth."
'That's right. I don’t belong here… I never belonged anywhere. That's no worse than being dead—’
His chest aches. Everything starts to blur. Dropping his gaze to his hands, his breath hitches in his throat. ‘I’m… disappearing…?’
He feels so light-headed and boneless— felt the tears start to rise as he raised his eyes to the pyrelit dark sky. He somehow managed to rein them in, because he didn’t want their victorious night, their last memory together, to be overshadowed by sadness.
He saw Jecht waiting for him, and reached for his hand—
“Lord Tidus!”
Tidus gasps, anchored by his voice, his hands squeezing his arms.
Baralai stands before him, concern etched in his bloodshot misty eyes as he gasps for breath, looking as though he just stepped through death's door. "A-Are you hurt?"
'He's... alive?' He stumbles forward, desperate to catch him, holding him tight, already feeling him slip through his fingers. Baralai staggers, coughing from the sheer force of his embrace, but he's alive. His body feels warm and solid and alive, and Tidus shuts his eyes to staunch the disorienting memory. 'Go away! Get out of my head—!' He sniffles, hopeless to contain his tearful relief. "Y-You're alive! I thought you died—!”
Baralai pulls back, wiping his chapped lips, his dark complexion stricken and pale. “He casted temporal magic to stop my heart… however, I was resuscitated in time due to everyone’s swift action.” Recollecting himself, he touches his shoulder, distressed by the state of his ruined attire. “That Unsent... Did he do anything untoward to you?
“N—Nah.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, pushing away. “I’m good." 'Dammit, I must’ve looked so pathetic. How embarrassing.’
“Stay close to me. You may be a Legendary Guardian, but you are still a civilian. Should the Unsent return at any point to pursue you, I will keep him at bay. In the meantime, we must return to the Temple and alert Spira at once. Paine—”
She appears by his side before he even finishes his sentence, bumping his shoulder. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Baralai nods, lifting his hands to form the shape of a triangle. “It's time we deployed our Warrior Monk Motor Unit. When you find Gippal, tell him to be prepared to provide aero support. We need as many air shuttles online as possible—” Mana shifts the air, billowing their clothes and painting the complex lines of a magic symbol beneath their feet. It grows in height and diameter until all three of them stand within its circle, and Tidus blinks, disoriented by the cascade of familiar, white lights until they vanish from the Vermillion Province.
Yuna returns to the souvenir shop she visited yesterday, stalling for time.
She stands before a long and narrow display case, admiring its popular selection of trinkets and necklaces while Wakka peruses the store not too far away, looking for something that may strike Lulu’s fancy. One in particular caught her eye; a silver plated pendant fashioned in the shape of the Zanarkand Abes logo. Sir Jecht's legacy, and a mere artifice of Tidus’s necklace.
Yuna pulls back with a sigh, ignoring the starry-eyed clerk creeping up in her periphery.
Ever since she stepped foot inside the crimson bulwark of Bevelle, she could feel his presence everywhere. From the vivacious chatter of his giggling fangirls parading the streets, side-eyeing her as they pass, to the looming skeleton of a blitzball stadium facing the north. Even the sphere consoles installed near billboard stills, shuffling electric posters in a slideshow of stolen shots featuring the star blitz players of the season. She paused for a moment to behold his staticky image, craning her neck, rooted in place by her own yearning.
‘I want to see you…’
Tidus felt so far away, like another world…
They could be living on opposite sides of the world, yet she would still be able to sense him tugging at the edges of her consciousness.
Like a thin, feathery cord that keeps on stretching and stretching, the thread that binds them drains her mana, her energy, perhaps even her sanity, too, and she dares to consider the possibility that always frightened her. ‘I can’t be tired of dreaming of him. Not yet…’ Not after all this time, when she fought so hard and suffered for so long for a chance at happiness, a future where they could be together. She can't give up. She refuses to allow it to be true.
'I don’t want it all to be just a waste. I want to believe…’
Tidus smiled down at her from atop the towering spire before the sphereboard screen changed to broadcast the Sinfall Memorial. Yuna sighed, disappointed, dragging her feet once Baralai strode into view. No matter how hard she tried to block him out, she couldn’t escape him, seeing his face plastered on every screen, catching fragments of his hour-long speech from every radio and sphere device tuned in until she started tuning out the world around her. She wandered the cherry blossom boulevards in a daze now, treading the colorful shadows cast by the myriad of awnings hung in the commercial district, guided by the sight of Wakka’s broad back rocking in leisurely stride.
Just the thought of meeting Baralai again evoked her feelings of guilt, dreading the moment she must answer for her silence in front of his entire council. Yuna thought about his handwritten letters often, at first cordial, reserved in his wit and flirtation until three months later when someone must have told him about Tidus, probably Paine, reinforcing his formality, his stance as Praetor. Yet the frequency of his letters remained ever constant and kind even after his inauguration as Chancellor, transitioning into video spheres that left her feeling bashful and shy.
His resplendent clothes and platinum hair changed with the seasons as Baralai regaled her with tales about their mutual friends, personal anecdotes of his daily life in Bevelle, and the occasional disconcerting report about the world. The Beckoning Pandemic, the Yevoner lynchings, Faythless protests… and The Monastery Isle Massacre.
The Spira she loved and saved has become such a cruel and dangerous place, worse off than the Spira she knew growing up despite its oppression by the Church, that she no longer believes in a Spira capable of true peace. People are still too eager for violence, doling out hate after she brought forth the Eternal Calm, still clamoring for her "divine grace" even though she feels just as lost and afraid as they do.
She tires of it all, the politics and solicitors, her friends' constant questions and suffocating concern. She wants nothing to do with anything anymore. She just wants to live the rest of her days in Besaid in peace and silence, dreading the day she may no longer wake again. Although she has long since wore down everybody else's patience with her apathy and self-imposed isolation, Baralai still wrote to her, forcing her to remember the world outside her islandic borders and temple walls. Yuna admires his devotion to their friendship in spite of her many misgivings and wonders... Would he still be kind to her after all this time? Would he let her go once she said her piece?
'Would you forgive me?'
“…una! Yuna!!”
She gasps, reeled in by the call of her name, Wakka's strong arms pulling her forward, bewildered by the trilling echoes of heavy gunfire and explosive combat reverberating outside. “What’s going on?!”
“I don’t know, but it ain’t good, ya?”
Is it another anti-Yevon protest? A Fiend outbreak exacerbated by the Beckoned? She heard about those occurring in Djose close to the Mi’ihen Operation site. Or perhaps it’s another insurgence of Yevoner hunters—
The shop rattles to the presence of an earthquake, a feeling so familiar and foreboding that fear settles in the pit of her stomach, followed by dread, disbelief, anger, panic, a whole slew of stewing emotions that renders her burning numb, and she forgets how to breathe. The jingling bell and quivering glass echo louder and shriller still in the aftershock of another tremor, causing her ears to ring from the constant, tremulous note as devastation continues to erupt in the background, colliding debris, shattered glass, howling fiends, ricocheted steel—
Yuna rips out of his embrace to stumble onto the street, jostled by the onrush of frightened people fleeing past. She stares, frozen in terror, shocked by the looming shadow that emerges behind the steeples and spires.
Sin.
Sin came back, true to history.
It sails above buildings, blotting out the sun and blue skyline, tearing through spires and aerial transports with a slow, massive wave of its dorsal fins. Although infamous for unleashing graviton blasts powerful enough to waste entire cities when contested, Sin remains unfazed by the trilling onslaught of machine rifles and grenade launchers tickling its pyreform armor. Sinscales soon rain upon Bevelle from its gravity-bound body to wreak havoc across the pavilion, breaking free from their cocoons to invade the thoroughfares.
“This can’t be the real Sin.” She whispers. “It has to be an illusion, a Beckoning…”
Who could possibly want that abomination back? She clutches her chest with ashen, trembling hands, hyperventilating. Regardless of how it came to be, it does not erase the fact that Sin returned by the power of someone’s will.
Despite everything she did to vanquish it, casting aside her faith, the harsh foundation of her childhood; compromising her name and moral integrity to escape the criminal charges forged against her; carrying on with her pilgrimage, shouldering the memory of the Ronso’s sacrifice, her father’s resolve, and Yunalesca’s evil; sacrificing her Aeons, the very companions who resided in the recesses of her soul; losing the man she loved so that the Fayth could stop dreaming―
‘It’s all been for nothing…'
Now she wishes she had accepted the Final Aeon instead if she knew beforehand the outcome would not change. Sin returned, like it always did. She could have spared herself all the grief and insurmountable heartbreak if only she hadn't chosen to reject Lady Yunalesca. She could have been a High Summoner with Tidus as her chosen Fayth. ‘We could have been together in peace, even in death…’
But he wouldn’t want her to think like that.
If Tidus knew she had paused to consider it, throwing her life away for a hopeless cause, he would never forgive her. And so she stumbles forward, one step at a time, before she finally gathers the strength to run, fleeing the scene with Wakka in tow. She heads for the temple, willing Tidus to find her there.
‘I have to protect his existence, I must― even if I have to lie to everyone to do it.’
They waited for over an hour inside a vestibule illuminated by mosaic window panes depicting Bahamut’s image until Chuami migrated to the east balcony, stomping up a storm in her sharp heels. Kurgum shuffled behind her, admiring her restraint; now, they watch the main entrance of Bevelle Temple from atop the ivory balustrades overlooking the vacant courtroom. He sighs, growing weary of her fuming impatience, the echo of her furious, tapping toe bouncing off the walls.
'We never agreed on an actual time, did we…?’
Few people roam the bottom floor at this time of day. Scholars would be in the middle of their seminars while university students clamored to prepare for the spring semester. Bureaucrats would be in the middle of their boardroom meetings while mages and researchers alike were holed up in their ateliers. Kurgum watches as a pair of Warrior Monks walk through the double doors now, most likely returning from their patrol around the temple perimeter, catching snippets of their conversation.
“Why did we have to stay behind? I wanted to attend the Memorial, too…”
“That’s what you get for pissing off the Chancellor. Why’d’you go and mess with his houseboy for…?”
Upon recognizing the voices of the grumbling Monk and his weary companion, Kurgum crouches behind the bannister, praying to the departed Fayth that neither man notices him.
"It wasn’t the Chancellor this time, I swear! I was hitting on Miss Paine when General Nooj happened to walk by, and… you know…” Kaz shrugs, sheepish, and Beni shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Hey, it’s not my fault! How was I supposed to know the General had a thing for her? I thought she was the Chancellor’s side piece!”
"You’re an idiot. How's that any better? Haven’t you heard the stories? Chancellor Baralai’s temper is infamous!” Their voices carry quite far in the vacant courtroom, aided by the starlit space of the vaulted ceiling as they walk the winding corridor. “If you ended up pissing him off for real, you’d have been deceased. You’re lucky he didn’t cook your face up like a pork chop, or worse, ended your whole career. Nobody’s seen the last guy for years…”
"You’re not talking about the guy with the messed up hands, are you? Man, I heard about him. He used to be some real big shot— had a nice, juicy job lined up under Wen Kinoc’s belt, if ya know what I mean…” He pauses to snicker, and the other man rolls his eyes. “I can't even imagine... losing my hands…? I wouldn't want to show my face either if I couldn't date Rosy Palm..."
Their footsteps start to recede, and Kurgum dares to peek over his cover, watching them exit through the rear doors that lead into the temple gardens. He sighs in relief and straightens on his feet, folding his arms to lean over the railing, brushing off the embarrassing, raunchy nature of that gossipy exchange.
‘The Memorial… I’m supposed to be there, but I guess we just missed it.’
“At least they’re not talking about you this time.” Chuami smirks, her eyes dancing with mirth.
Mortified that she would even bring it up, Kurgum whips his hood up to hide his crimson face. ‘I want to disappear...’
Another hour would pass in tense silence where Chuami resumes her furious toe tapping, her fuming hot enough to fuel the hearth all winter long, and he sighs, wishing he knew how to cast Silence on her boot or brew an Echo Screen-based concoction to treat his headache. Baralai might teach him if he asked…
“Chuami, your shoe…”
“Humph!” She huffs, increasing the speed of her growing frustration. “What are we waiting on?”
Kurgum opts not to comment, thrumming his fingertips on the smooth cylinder of his copper prayer wheel. It had been a congratulatory gift from Baralai himself after the completion of his probationary period, and he smiles, sighing. He feels the expensive quality within its artisanal metalwork and turquoise gemstones, admiring the enameled red triangles and golden symbols. The era of religion and enlightenment may be over, but he still finds comfort in the visual reminder of the Fayth and the elements they once represented nonetheless.
Yevon. Void. Flame. Thunder. Ice. Light. Water. Darkness. Sin. The beginning, the journey, and the end. Round and round, he reads the letters in the olden path of the pilgrimage, clockwise and counterclockwise, the bell jingling to the fluttering of his anxious fingertips. Usually it calms him in moments of doubt and uncertainty, but not this time, only serving to project his inner turmoil. And the sharp, furious tapping of her heel doesn’t help, either.
“More importantly…”
“‘More importantly’?” She parrots him, her sharp tone ripping him out of his thoughts. “Is there anything more important than my question? Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”
“When I stopped the Sending, Lady Yuna looked relieved, right?”
This causes her to stop, and she curls an eyebrow in confusion, startled by his somber tone. “I guess.”
It saddens him to see that Chuami cared naught for the betrayal of Yuna’s actions, and he frowns. “I thought Lady Yuna was… a righteous person.”
Lady Yuna defied the will of the Spiran Council. She begged him to stop the Sending. She denied a family and their Beckoned peace and closure. If Kurgum reports to the Council of this transgression, she may be forced to face the consequences of her actions. He fears betraying her, but he also fears betraying the Chancellor and his sworn duty. He had been grappling with his turmoil for the past two weeks that he thought he might implode from anxiety and guilt.
“Excessive hero worship.” She rolls her eyes, resuming her furious toe tapping. “You expect too much.”
‘Do I?’
Was it wrong for him to expect more from the woman who has done so much for Spira already? She vanquished Sin and lived to tell the tale when no other High Summoner survived. She succeeded in diffusing the high tension and hostilities between two warring factions during a period of delicate peace and anarchy. Now, to ask her to join the Spiran Council and combat the Beckoning Pandemic…
Maybe she’s tired of it all, and that’s why she retired from the public eye. Their meeting in Besaid only cemented that fact.
“Maybe… you’re right.” He bows his head, hoping his hood obscured his misty eyes from view.
Sinspawn. There are Sinspawn everywhere, surrounding them from all sides of the thoroughfare. The Nirvana staff Yuna carried throughout their journey here all of a sudden felt too heavy for her hands. She loses her balance after smacking a Sinspawn square in the face, and Wakka bashes it bloody with a long shot, wrenching his Morning Star from its remains before rushing to her side.
“We gotta move! There are too many—.” Wakka cries out in pain from the spit-shower of acid splashing his back, collapsing on top of her, and Yuna forces herself to cast the Curaga spell, growing ill from the smell of steaming burnt flesh, hollowed out by her diminished mana. She fishes in her skirt for an ether bottle, only to come up empty-handed.
Warrior Monks on site are spread out too thin, clearing the crossroads for civilians to vacate the vicinity while others are securing the square, struggling to maintain control over the makeshift safe zone. A bearded officer dressed in the orange uniform of a lieutenant screams into the small microphone clipped to his lapel. “We’re attempting to secure St. Alexander Square, but there are too many fiends! I repeat, St. Alexander Square is overrun by Sinspawn! Requesting reinforcement— The High Summoner is here! I repeat, High Summoner Yuna is here!”
For every dozen Sinspawn slain by automatic gunfire, another wave flows in, emerging from the clouds of pyreflies to overwhelm the wall of armor-clad infantrymen too busy reloading their flamethrowers and machine rifles. Yuna sinks to her knees, weighted down by the reality slowly sinking in. ‘This… is it. We might die here… I don’t have the strength… to fight anymore…’ The situation becomes more dire by the second with no hope for reprieve— and then she hears Baralai's voice being broadcasted on every sphereboard and telesphere, confirming her worst fears.
“Everyone— Sin has returned. The Eternal Calm has come to an end. I repeat, Sin has returned—.”
‘That’s it, then. The Eternal Calm… is no more...’ Her eyes start to blur, and she exhales, feeling hollow and weary. 'I really thought... these peaceful days would never end... look how fragile... it turned out to be...' Everything feels so heavy... She just wants to lie down and fall asleep, hoping that the next time she wakes, it would've all just been an awful dream. Yuna drops her head to rest on Wakka's back, closing her eyes, taking comfort in his familiar scent and solid warmth. 'I'm sorry, everyone... I wasn't strong enough... Spira is beyond saving...'
“But do not be afraid. We, the Spiran Council, shall perform a mass Sending to banish Sin at all costs. Reinforcements are already on their way—.”
Yuna breathes, sensing the winds change. Dozens of aircrafts reverberate overhead, and she lifts her head to watch them fly past to various parts of the city. One breaks away from the flock to descend upon the plaza, billowing the smoke and flames beneath its pressurized pistons as the locks disengage to lower the hangar. A fierce woman clad in a sleek black qipao drives off the platform, leaping off the two-wheeled vehicle in mid-circle with broadsword in both hands to slash the Sinscale behind her. Straightening on her tall black boots, she pulls off her helmet, unveiling familiar silver hair. Yuna stares, surprised by how long it has grown, pinned up in the style of a messy bun, braided red ribbons flowing in the wind.
“...Paine?!”
“I couldn’t believe it. You’re actually here. What’re you doing here?” Blindsided by the ferocious wave of Sinspawn flooding in, Paine grits her teeth, taking a moment to vanquish them in swift, successive swings, before pushing her behind the partial cover of her parked motorbike. “Forget it. Follow me. I’ll take you to the temple. Marphie!”
“Yup!”
Yuna jolts, startled to hear her name and her voice answer in chipper regard.
She watches Paine’s face whip to the side, gesturing to Wakka keeled over, and follows the direction of her gaze, seeing Marphie for the first time in person. She appears astride a rumbling machine bike, wearing the green uniform and armored boots of a Warrior Monk, although unkempt. Her collar hangs loose over her chest, exposing her cleavage, while her skirt hangs crooked on her waistband, grogginess evident in her movements as Marphie gives her a sloppy salute. Regardless, Yuna finds it impressive how fast she managed to change into her uniform and reconvene in the temple, knowing full well she had been off-duty before the emergency broadcast.
“C’mere, you big lug. You’re with me.” Dragging him by the arm, she leads him to her parked motorbike, ignoring his groans and complaints. Once she helps him onto the leather seat, she tosses him a potion bottle and climbs on, settling down in front of him, revving the engine. “Hold on tight. We’re gonna go max speed!”
“C’mon.” Paine urges her forward, climbing on first. “Here, take my helmet. You’ll need it.”
Yuna nods, regarding its obstructive, spherical shape with doubt. ‘It’s heavy…’ She rushes to don it, intimidated by Paine’s impatient glare. Once she settles into the seat behind her, hugging her stomach, her body lurches backward, almost snapping her neck from the instantaneous shift in speed as Paine accelerates. It takes Yuna a moment to recover from near whiplash, before she succumbs to motion sickness, disoriented by the constant zigzagging between fallen debris and stray Sinscale, striving to staunch her nausea from overflowing past her stomach.
She prays for this ride to end— until eventually it does, and Yuna exhales, dazed. ‘Did I… pass out? Where’s Wakka?’ Her legs feel too numb to move, and she trembles, exhausted.
“Sorry. I should’ve eased you into it, but there’s no time.” Paine leaps off with the grace of a ceourl and turns to face her, pulling her up by the waist. Yuna yelps, startled by her strength. If Paine felt surprised by her light weight, she prays she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she waits for her to stand on her own before releasing her hands. “Go find Baralai. I’ll stay here to protect the city with Nooj and the others, so be safe.”
“Wait!” Yuna falters, reaching out for her. They haven't seen each other in close to a year, and this is how they say goodbye? No, there's so much more she wanted to tell her— “Th-That’s it? You’re not… coming with me…?”
Swayed by the desperate plea in her eyes, Paine lingers, tapping her arm. “Hey, we’ll catch up later. Don’t go dying on me, Lady High Summoner.”
Paine gives her a wry smile, before hopping back on, speeding off.
"...Let's wait outside. I need a change of scenery."
Kurgum sighs, wiping his unshed tears, and follows Chuami down the vestibule to exit through the double doors, stepping out into the cascading water courtyard. He shields his indoor eyes from the bright sun shining overhead, waiting for his eyes to adjust before approaching the edge of the platform, gazing out into the sprawling metropolis. Golden bells toll all around them, signaling the ninth hour, and he squints, confused by the trails of dark smoke billowing from the Vermillion province, the rapid echoes of black powder being ignited— until he realizes those aren’t fireworks at all, but gunfire and artillery machines.
Kurgum gapes, frozen in shock and disbelief. ‘It can’t be…’
What they witnessed at the Moonflow had not only been an omen, but a clear sign of the return. The return of what lies before their very eyes―
Sin.
Kurgum feels his body being transported in the memory, remembers that moment of sheer terror and powerlessness as Sin descended upon his idyllic water hamlet from the distance, appearing as a blot in the oceanic horizon before swallowing the sunlit sky whole in its ominous shadow. He felt just as small and frozen in fear, watching those closest to shore be swept up in the ferocious, retreating tide. Round and round, their bodies spun inside the violent vortex of broken planks and torn reeds belonging to their demolished homesteads until he soon joined them, the obstructed sky indistinguishable from the stormy sea.
Floating from the sheer force of the winds, Kurgum reached out for the leaves of a crooked palm tree only to realize that the trunk had been uprooted as well, before slamming into him and knocking him unconscious. The pain and darkness felt so visceral that he awoke in sharper pain, again and again, until he begged for death to release him―
And a warm, gentle hand cradled his own, guiding him towards the light.
Kurgum peeled his eyelids open, peering up at the face of an angel, the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on. Lady Yunalesca reborn in the flesh. She smiled down at him, before rising on heels that sparkled like starlight to dance among the orbs of weeping pyreflies. Twirling her golden staff, her silk robes billowed in the breeze of her divine ceremony as her lyrical voice echoed throughout the coquina walls of the coastal outpost, singing sacred words Kurgum knew as the Hymn, bringing to mind all the villagers who rose at the crack of dawn every day to pray— only to be swept away by Sin's storm.
Tears leaked from his unblinking, bloodshot eyes, blurring his vision, the sight of a statuesque, six-armed woman emerging from the emerald green lights. She almost seemed to pierce the high ceiling with her triad of conjoined heads, dispelling her blood-soaked, crimson blades to weave gentle, white winds from her open palms, blanketing the entire fortress in her magical, healing light. And then an acolyte rushed to his side, a boy no older than twelve, his face the color of dark bronze, his damp, sweat-soaked hair the same lustrous sheen as the beautiful, ethereal Summoner—
"Yevon bless! You’re still alive…! Don't worry. You’re in safe hands now—"
His eyebrows were pinched in furious concentration as he worked fast to unwrap the bloodied old bandages from his broken body. His hands felt no less gentle, but firm, wiping his pale face and sweaty, bruised body with a heated poultice soaked in lavender, clover, tea tree oils. He coughed, overwhelmed by the saccharine, heady concoction to the point of nausea, vomiting dark blood and acrid hot liquid. Until a soft, silken handkerchief touched his chin, startling him to look up through the painful convulsions seizing his paralyzed body. Citrus perfume wafted into his nostrils as the acolyte focused on cleaning his mouth, bringing to mind the green bergamot rinds his great-grandma used to dry in the sun, brewing them in her morning tea before forcing his sea urchin self to drink for good health and a prosperous future; dulling the cold ache her warm memory left behind.
The moment their eyes met, the beautiful boy smiled, and warmth flared in his hollow chest.
"Will you... be my Guardian...? W-When I become a Summoner..."
He stopped in his tracks, turning to face him, his body wrapped in golden streaks of dawn light and gentle, shifting shadow.
"Y-You're the strongest person I know! Will you please...? I don't... want to do this alone..."
Clinging to his arm after they finished bathing in the Macalania spring, cleansed of all cold and impurities, afraid of this moment being their last before his inevitable departure across the chaotic sea and wartorn earth. Begging him to be his first Guardian, and how Baralai smiled at him― the same bright smile that brimmed with confidence when they were children, chucking orange peels at the ocean while Sin slept unseen. Chuami had always been the skeptical one, too scared to hope lest she be heartbroken by disappointment, but Kurgum never harbored any doubt, because Baralai always spoke with such blinding, enviable faith.
"But what if Sin comes back to destroy Bevelle because you were being mean?"
“Bevelle’s protective barriers are impregnable.”
“Impregna-what now?”
“Indestructible! They haven’t fallen since Bevelle's restoration a thousand years ago. They are manned by our strongest priests, after all. And someday, I’ll be one of those warrior priests sworn to protect Bevelle. Sin would never be able to touch us, not in ten years, not in a thousand―.”
“You’ll be dead in a thousand years.”
“Not in my living memory.”
Baralai beamed, his head eclipsing the sun overhead― just like Sin does now, swallowing the skyline whole in its gargantuan girth as it floats past the temple to circle the city.
“It has to be a mistake, right, Chuami?" His voice trembles, tremulous, and he tries to swallow, his throat clogged by dread and despair. His heartbeat rages inside his ribcage louder than his pounding eardrums, threatening to burst. "It’s just some big monster…” ‘We should’ve predicted this. We should’ve seen this coming…! Sin came back, just like we always feared. What're we going to do now? What am I supposed to do―? Baralai, tell me― What would you do?'
“No… that is Sin.” Someone stops in front of them, catching their breath. “The Sin that should no longer be.”
'Lady Yuna!' Thank the Fayth, she's finally here!
“Are you saying that someone… Beckoned it to return?” Chuami says, suspending her disbelief.
Is that even possible, he wonders. Can one lone person really be capable of such a thing? Perhaps a large group of people, or the size of a population, or the entire world, united to Beckon en masse. Regardless, it frightens him to think that any of those possibilities exists, that humanity could be capable of sowing destruction just by wishing for calamity to exist, born from inconsolable madness or despair.
“Yes, very strongly." Yuna nods. "Someone strongly wished for Sin.”
“But what… what are we gonna do…?” For once, Chuami sounds afraid, so unlike her usual bold and willful self that his heart throbs. When faced with such familiar horror, an eldritch abomination of mortal sin, Kurgum cannot hope to reassure anyone, let alone himself.
“Only a Summoner and the Final Aeon can defeat Sin.”
Kurgum scrunches his eyebrows, confused. 'Wait, that… doesn’t sound right…' If that were true, then Lady Yuna wouldn't be alive, standing here in front of them. She wouldn't have needed to decry the Yevon teachings as false or Send the temple Fayth. “But Lady Yuna, without the Fayth…”
“Yuna, let’s go back to Besaid." Wakka beseeches her. "They’ll push this all on you. It doesn’t matter to people that there’s no Fayth. Sin is for Summoners, in their minds.” He points to his head, rolling his wrist in the gesture of a spiral, before dropping his arm with a shrug. “That’s just how it is. Kurgum, you coming?”
Kurgum jolts, startled that Sir Wakka gave him leave to make the decision. Such an important decision… He can't think straight, and so he defers to Lady Yuna instead. Surely she would know what to do, being the only High Summoner who vanquished Sin and survived to tell the tale. “I… will abide by Lady Yuna’s decision.” Yet his confidence in her wavers when she turns away, bewildering him with her silence.
She trudges forward as if lost in a trance, and Kurgum calls out to her. “Lady Yuna!”
“I… have to see Tidus.”
And then she bolts, disappearing through the double doors.
Kurgum gasps. She’s entered the temple! That means they can reunite with Baralai and the Council. Yes, they'd know that to do—
"Honestly! This woman..." Chuami swears under her breath, and they both chase after her.
Yuna waits for Tidus inside an empty reception room. Silence shrouds the once bustling temple, its courtroom and corridors vacated by the officers called to action and bureaucrats escorted to safety. It’s strange, though... No matter how many times she calls for him, she senses resistance from his side, as if someone pulls the cord taut. ‘Where are you?’
“Lady Yuna?”
Kurgum’s voice reels her back to the present, and she opens her eyes, confronted by his doe-eyed concern.
“Are you sure he’s coming?” Chuami chimes in, an eyebrow quirked in annoyance.
Yuna frowns, her mouth twitching in annoyance. Given the way she reacted to Chuami’s blunt, straightforward questions upon their first meeting in Besaid, no wonder the blunt, astute girl doubts her. Chuami makes her uncomfortable, the fact her sharp, intense eyes can pierce right through her distant, melancholic airs.
Yuna nods, fixing her eyes forward. "He knows where to find me."
Wakka averts his eyes, scratching the back of his head, mulling over the sensitive air. “We’ll wait for you outside, ya.”
Chuami rolls her eyes, annoyed that he spoke for the rest of them, but stomps out nonetheless. Kurgum bows, dismissing himself, reluctant to follow. Yuna sighs in relief when she hears the door click shut behind her. Now she can wait in peace and quiet, away from prying eyes. Closing her eyes, she concentrates— and sees him crystal clear, startled by the clarity. Tidus must be somewhere close, closer than she expected, most likely somewhere inside the temple, because she sees some kind of control room, an observation deck, a Sphere Oscillator, rows upon rows of tiered desks sporting large sphere consoles, and dozens of noble officers and Al Bhed technicians flurrying about in the blurry background.
‘Where are you? Come back. Come back to me.’
“...what nonsense are you spouting?!”
“Silence, Scisero. I made my decision. I must join Mother at the front lines. We need everyone capable of banishing Sin.”
“Even so… If something were to happen to you… I cannot lose you both. My old heart would not be able to handle it. How would I be able to face your father?”
“...He will understand.”
“He will be heartbroken, as will I. I implore you, please reconsider—”
Tidus stands apart from the scene, watching two noblemen in a heated argument— and Yuna frowns, biting back her annoyance. She recognizes Baralai, of course, and that unpleasant Guado from various letter spheres over the years, his haughty, brisk tone and lavender, pruned beard unmistakable.
Yuna knew that demihuman as Scisero Guado in letter spheres only, introducing himself as a noble scholar residing in Bevelle, persistent in his tireless requests for a personal account of her pilgrimage, Yevon’s corruption, and her final battle against Sin. She never felt ready to divulge those details to anyone, let alone the matrons, for years— until after she retired from sphere-hunting, resigned to accept Bahamut’s promise as wishful thinking. Yet Tidus’s unprecedented return threw all of her priorities into question. Their joyful reunion had been overshadowed by her homecoming feast, and then the tropical storm, which cast them ashore in distant, strange waters.
She shut her eyes in vain to staunch the harrowing memory: of being marooned on a phantom island eerily similar to a wartorn Besaid, devoid of human life except for its statues of forgotten Gods and zombie machines and disguised bombs, before they found themselves trapped in the mercy of that Bevellian Unsent Summoner and his Sacred Vessel—
It had been too much. She couldn’t bear to think about it.
And so Yuna never wrote back to him out of spite, too exhausted to care about appearances, least of all the delicate state of Spira's politics. Scisero Guado became a thorn in her side, sharpening his tongue with each new letter sphere that demanded her presence in Bevelle, touting his newfound authority as the arrogant Vice-Chancellor. ‘I’ll deal with him eventually, but for now…’
She reins in those thoughts to stop her feelings from bleeding through and reaches out to him. His eyes drift away, distracted by something tugging at the back of his head. All sights and sounds and surrounding conversations fade into the background, and Tidus shuffles forward, looking around him. ‘Someone’s… calling out to me… Yuna…? Is that you?’
She smiles, relieved. He can feel her. That’s reassuring. ‘Yes. It is me.’
‘Where are you?’ His confusion echoes, and she calms the waves of his wariness with soothing resonance. ‘Right here. Follow my voice.’
“I… have to see Yuna.”
“...Lord Tidus? Where are you going?”
“Sorry, I gotta go—! Hey! What’re you— Let me go!”
Yuna gasps, startled by his speed and solid strength as Baralai lunges forward to snatch his arm, wrenching him back. He stands so close that she flinches, turning away, leading Tidus to mirror her frantic motions. “Yuna’s here. I must find her—!” He rips out of his grip only to stagger back in his stubborn, swift hold.
“Wait! Did you say… Lady Yuna is here?”
“Lemme go!” He tries to pry his arm, but he remains firm.
“Wait— Wait a moment!” He halts, and she watches his eyes focus under the shifting gears of his racing thoughts. “…I will not stop you. If Lady Yuna is indeed here… Then you must take her far away. Seek safety and shelter yourselves. Wait for the chaos to settle.”
“What…? What’re you talking about?” Tidus stares, surprised, echoing her doubt and uncertainty. Yes, what does Baralai believe he can accomplish on his own? Nothing. Yuna witnessed first-hand how neither sword nor magic or machine can fell Sin for long. It must fall to her, even if she must fight Sin again and again, even if it means her last breath— “You don’t want us to fight with you? C’mon! You need us! You need all the help you can get! We beat Sin before. We can do it again!”
She sighs, weary. Yes, only they have fought Sin and survived.
Yuna knows full well she only defeated Sin because of him— their fathers’ sacrifice, and the Fayth. Their friends, her family. Everyone in Spira singing the Hymn— all the pieces naturally fell into place. Casting aside the Final Aeon and the Yevon teachings, their bond of love served as the ultimate catalyst for victory. 'Only we could’ve done it. Our meeting was destiny.’ She thought, feeling so confident then. Now, she never felt more naive in her blind faith, because Sin’s Beckoning renders everything meaningless.
Somehow, someway, whether alive by Yevon’s power or Beckoned by another’s will—
Sin is immortal.
“Precisely.”
She jolts, startled by the echo of his fierce conviction, his unwavering gaze.
“You vanquished Sin and ushered in the Eternal Calm. For that, we— as the people of Spira, and I the Chancellor— shall forever be in your debt. However, the Sin that lies before us now is merely an illusion, one empowered by the living memory and emotions of the people. The Fayth may be gone, Summoners may have lost their power, yet Bevelle possesses the manpower to spare. We have our Warrior Monks, our Senders. Allow us, the Spiran Council, to fight this time— and I intend to lead the charge.”
She gasps, eyes snapping open, losing sight of his face in her double vision. “Don’t! What if… you die? It’s pointless to try—!” His voice cracks, echoing her deep-seated worry and concern.
She would never wish death upon anyone, only her worst enemy. Although Yuna may never trust someone who once colluded with Seymour, seeking asylum from the corrupt Church, she still thinks of him as Paine’s friend. She wanted to save him from Shuyin’s possession, even when faced with the possibility she may never be able to find him waiting for her in the end, in Spira or the Farplane. Yuna sees echoes of the man she first met in his resolute stance now and remembers how Baralai spoke with such enviable confidence, professing his wish to guide those who felt lost in the winds of change. She wanted to believe in his words with all her heart, distrusting the New Yevon name. Now, Baralai vows to protect Spira in her place, filling the hole her yearlong silence left behind. Once more, the guilt festers in her chest.
“If Bevelle were to fall today, and I along with it… Then you must live on to fight another day.” In the silence of his shock— and her speechlessness— Baralai smiles, clasping his shoulder. “I do not plan to die today. Have faith. Trust in me. I will not fail you.”
His vision blurs, and she swallows, overwhelmed by emotion, her vision blurry behind the veil of unshed tears, unable to block out the image of Baralai's face, how his confident mask falls away to betray his doubt and uncertainty. He pulls him inside the circle of his fierce embrace, and Yuna gasps, feeling her heart race from his phantom warmth. She reaches for him out of instinct, only to drop her arms in disappointment when she embraces cold, empty air.
"Do not cry."
Tidus blushes, embarrassed. “I—! I-I’m not crying!”
“My apologies.” Baralai chuckles, pulling back with a soft smile, and she shuts her eyes, allowing herself this one moment of weakness, feeling her sallow cheeks flare pink. "You wore such a sorrowful expression, I merely wished to comfort you.” Peering into his downcast, misty eyes, Baralai attempts to brush the tears from his cheek only for Tidus to slap his hand away, vindicated by his concern.
“Well, I didn’t ask you!”
“Even so. Grieve for me after I am dead.”
Tidus bursts into an aching grin, laughter bubbling from his warbling throat, and Yuna retreats from the scene.
She hangs her head and hunches her shoulders, hugging herself alone.