Kiril felt his own bitterness set itself in his throat like small stones, grey eyes filling with sunset and emotional weightlessness that he considered apathy. He sat on the Kilika dock with his mother, an unattractive woman with a great amount of scars on her cheeks and a mass of greying hair covering a portion of her face to hide a missing left eye. They folded paper birds in silence, Kiril occasionally mentioning how petal folds were always challenging. Turning his head, he watched as the other villagers exited and entered the huts while two children kicked around a blitzball. He sighed.

"You look unhappy," she commented.

"I wish I could save the world."

No response. Kiril combed a hand through his brown hair, gazing out into the ocean. "I'm horrified at the thought of dying an ordinary person. It's kind of odd. Outside of you and the local kids, I couldn't care less about anyone, but, I want to save the world. I feel obligated to do something, because, I need to satisfy only mself. Do you get what I'm saying, mother?"

The woman nodded.

"If only becoming a summoner was easy." His tone was biting. "I could always mosey to the temple and pray for the great, magical blessings of Lord Ohalland."

Standing up, Kiril smiled. "I will leave this place, mother. I'm not particularly uncomfortable with how content I am, but... I find existing like this a little painful."

Love did not drive him.