notes: a horizontal rule represents a changing of POV, location, or time frame. it should be pretty obvious as to which. italics indicate thought.

History of the World, Part 1

Chapter 1

Spheres, the forgotten shards of Spira's past, were the new currency.

Sure, the gil was still going strong, but its value was purely numerical. In the new and improved Spira (Now with Eternal CalmTM and Super-Weapon Free!), true value came in little containers of fractured light. Highly sought after and zealously coveted, Spheres were capital in the highest degree; their worth transcending all monetary stature out of pure spite.

Which meant they were valuable. Apparently.

Isaaru rubbed his heavy, aching eyes with the heel of his hand. He didn't see the allure. So they had been living a lie until now. So what? Wasn't exposing it enough? Why did everyone have to grasp at the tattered shreds of ancient Spira like a man on the brink? And so ravenously. Fights and theft were rampant throughout the groups. People who had once cowered together in fear were now at each other's throats for the sake of antiquidated baubles. Someone had even stolen Sir Auron's Sphere from its resting place in Besaid. Word had it that the entire island had quickly pulled together a very handsome reward for its return, but so far no one was biting.

He doubted anyone would. Lady Yuna's influence only went so far. It was too much to hope that one widespread moment of understanding could steady the teetering mass of insecurity and uncertainty that Spira had become without its common enemy; Sin.

Even Bevelle, for all its talk of propriety, had its hands deeply ensconced in the Sphere trade. Some of Spira's deepest, darkest history was stored in the old temple cloister and, if he so desired, an override could be provided to view its contents. He could make a night of it. Or a week. How unfortunate that he wasn't interested. He viewed the spheres Pacce shoved under his nose purely out of brotherly duty, and those were the mostly-useless ones Baralai 'traded' the Kinderguardians for their continued efforts to protect the city. Or whatever.

They were rotated regularly out of a group set aside by the Praetor. He's seen them all about eight times.

Sighing, he turned his focus back to the sheaf of paper in his hands; bottom line awaiting his signature—or more accurately, the Praetor's. He didn't begrudge the man his rest, but he couldn't stop the petty thought of hunting the leader of New Yevon down by courier; a generous packet of paperwork to deliver. Surely the man could sign his name to a few documents without upsetting the negotiations. With the leaders of the other factions. Who were all ex-Squad members.

Rest wrapped in the guise of duty. His friends would care for him. No, he did not begrudge it.

He just really hated the paperwork.

He grinned at the memory of his own misadventures in Zanarkand. The freedom of it, heady and dangerous; thumbing his nose at the muted terror that had dogged every step of the pilgrimage. Reveling in the fact that he was alive enough to do so. Maroda did not understand. None but a summoner could. The loss of the Aeons, his power, his purpose—it crippled him. Cid's proposal had been a slap in the face without malice, the blow softened by his reasons. Braska's scandal was suddenly more than just sordid gossip; it was human and real and so, so tragic.

In the face of such stark truths, he could only reply in kind. He was certain Yuna had already disclosed the details of their ill-fated battle to her uncle, and yet the Al Bhed leader had swept away the lingering shame of his betrayal with the hubris of Old Yevon.

For that had been pathetically grateful.

After the Tour Guide fiasco, they had parted amiably. When Pacce complained of being stifled by the quiet of his 'post' in Bevelle, it was Cid whom he entrusted to watch over his youngest brother and his fellow hunters. With all the salvage going on, the situation was ripe for sphere hunting and the older man was already criss-crossing the globe on this lead or that. It was an ideal arrangement. Pacce was happy, Cid was busy but amenable, and Isaaru could have the peace of mind that both his brothers were free to pursue their own paths as they saw fit.

He thought of them; one opposing, the other neither condemning nor consoling and smiled at the simple joy of sibling conflict in the shadow of an even greater foe.

It was the same placid, benevolent smile that really pissed Maroda off.

Humming to himself, he finally returned to the much-ignored missive and, finding no fault with it, signed his name on the line. As he added to one pile and subtracted from another, much larger one, there was a swift rapping at his door.

His brow creased. That was not the polite tap he had become accustomed to.

"Come."

A priest edged his way into the office, haste overriding the door's ancient mechanics. He was panting, as if he had run hard for some distance and was not used to doing so.

"-Lord Isaaru, there is a message for you at the Commsphere. We are told it is urgent, the man… the man is Al Bhed-"

He was already standing. The Commsphere was a new addition to Spira's slowly growing list of acceptable machina. Its inception was quite recent and few were privy to its existence. Most were Al Bhed. Of that race there were only three, possibly four, that might have business with him. –Two with business of an urgent nature.

The priest attempted a bow as he hurried past, but more or less just collapsed on himself. Isaaru barely noticed.

It was difficult to do anything other than glide in his heavy summoner's robes and it was not the first time he pined for the open road, where he had shed them unrepentantly. Mouth grim, he lifted the hems and nearly ran, the nearest Commsphere no less than an entire wing away. Because that was so convenient.

When he finally reached the infernal device, a little out of breath himself, he knew the priest hadn't oversimplified things. He could clearly hear Cid yelling at the attendant, the youth cringing at the harsh voice as it cursed him in Al Bhed.

"-if you don't get me that blasted summoner RIGHT NOW, so help me I'll ram this rust-bucket right up your-"

"Cid, I am here."

The tirade stopped suddenly when he stumbled into frame.

"FINALLY! I've been yelling at these idiots for an hour! Got a situation here. Four wounded. We poured every concoction we've got down their throats but nothing's working. I need a place to park this bird so I can get'em down there."

His eyes widened in surprise. When Cid had left him to his own devices in Zanarkand, he'd given him a parcel with some Al Bhed potions and other remedies. He'd been amazed at their potency. For them not to have an effect…

He motioned to the acolyte, who had surrendered his post upon his arrival. He straightened, no doubt glad to have a task that did not involve gruff, intimidating Al Bhed.

"Send word to Healer Domaas. Tell him four wounded are on their way. Critical."

The acolyte bowed and fled. Isaaru turned his attention back to the sphere.

"The High Terrace—there should be enough room to get a ramp down. It was the place of Yuna's wedding. –Can you find it again?"

"Found it the first time, didn't I? -Listen, you're gonna meet us there, right; on that big, central bridge or whatever?"

He wasn't sure why, but the innocent query sent a chill of unease down his spine.

"That was my intention. -Is there a specific reason my presence is required? You know I no longer have any healing magic."

He tried to ignore the niggling feeling in his gut. More than likely it was just Cid being sensitive to the delicate political balance they both were struggling to maintain, but-

His thoughts were interrupted by the Commsphere; the bark of its voice now strangely subdued.

"You'll want to be there. Your brother… -There was an attack-"

Whatever was said next, if anything, was said to an empty room.

Isaaru was already gone.

"-It should have been the first thing out of your mouth!"

Isaaru was pacing in one of the White Wing's many waiting rooms. He knew he shouldn't be snapping at the man whose quick response had saved precious lives—including that of his baby brother, but in his current state outrage won over logic with little-to-no contest.

The Kinderguardians had been robbed. Targeted for their spheres.

The same spheres that he'd watched over and over full of Blitz League footage, Yuna's first concert in Luca, someone's vacation in Kilika, an idiot running through the Thunder Plains on a dare and a lecture on Chocobo breeding. The same spheres that even Baralai had considered safe for their random, recent content.

For them, Pacce would be deaf on his left side for the rest of his life, his companion deaf and partially paralyzed from the neck down, and their third, who had unknowingly picked up the stun grenade to inspect it, would mercifully be dead.

The fourth injury had been the Al Bhed charged with their care. He had run to them, shouting a warning, and got caught in the blast.

He would be the only one to recover fully.

"I know. I know. But I wasn't about to waste my time talking to those peons. Trying to get them to do anything constructive is like trying to pull a needle out of a Cactuar."

He paused, looking pained.

"And… I didn't know how to tell you. Dammit, don't you think I didn't want to scream it to the first person I saw? But what the Hell would that have done? Got your head all screw on backwards like it is now? –I'm not making excuses, but you said it yourself: you don't have any healing magic. I figured getting that part out of the way first was for the best."

The ex-summoner paused as a deep, cleansing breath was drawn through clenched teeth.

"I—Forgive me. I am… agitated. Extremely. There is no blame for you to shoulder here. Your actions and those you entrusted to watch over those children are not at fault. How could you anticipate such a thing? For so long all we had to fear were fiends and Sin. We are not used to looking to ourselves for enemies."

He caught himself.

"All prejudice aside, of course."

Cid snorted. The pacing continued.

"I've been hearing rumors about sphere hunting. Of fights. Theft. They come across my desk as injury reports, damage claims, general complaints. –It's getting out of hand. I know the Praetor is still recovering from his ordeal, but something has to be done about this."

He stopped and turned to look at the older man in earnest.

"I know I didn't bring it about with my own hands, perhaps I even almost prevented it, but I refuse to let the Eternal Calm become and endless cycle of petty violence. We had more peace in a thousand years with Sin than we've had in two years without."

Cid looked back, the weight of his years in his stare.

"So?"

Isaaru was taken aback.

"I'm—Pardon me?"

"So what are we going to do about it?"

He gave the Al Bhed a skeptical look.

"I take it you're on board then?"

"Oh hell. You don't think the bastards just slithered off into the sunset, do you? The only way the could have gotten away that fast was either by skimmer or airship. And using a grenade? -That's our tech."

Isaaru frowned. "No actually. The warrior monks were known to use them too. And skimmers are pretty common on the Highroad. But an airship is telling. You think an Al Bhed did this?"

Cid grunted and folded his arms over his chest.

"Look kid, I know we've been rubbing elbows and all that, but there's a lot of stuff about us you don't know."

He unclenched and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"There's secrets we've been asked to keep. I wish I could tell you, but we don't make those kind of promises lightly. –All I can tell you is that I don't condone it. I'll help you find whoever did this and you can put them to whatever justice you deem necessary. Just don't ask me to give you a motive, because it could be a number of things; all of them complicated."

Isaaru frowned again, this time in confusion.

"I would think that the motive is pretty clear in this case."

Cid looked away.

"Yeah, well… You just go on thinking that and everything'll be just fine."

When Rin returned from his trip from the Mi'ihen Agency, he was told he had a message.

This was not uncommon. He was a successful entrepreneur who had, at any given time, a number of people either in need of his counsel or authority. That the message was from Cid was also no surprise. The man was heavily involved in several large-scale salvage operations and liked to check in from time to time. Rin was often the middleman for both Cid and Gippal, so his contact with either of them was frequent.

However, the fact that the message was sent from the Bevelle Commsphere, was not common at all.

He knew Cid had been ferrying around a young group of sphere hunters, the Kinderguardians, who hailed from Bevelle. During the abortive attempt at cultivating the steady thread of curiosity seekers at Zanarkand into something lucrative (he'd warned them not to sell it like a side-show—what a waste), Cid had become an acquaintance of the Summoner Isaaru. Actually, he had initially brought the young man in as a potential draw for customers, but they had parted on friendly terms after the idea went bust.

Summoner Isaaru's youngest brother was the leader of the Kinderguardians, so the Bevelle connection, while curious, was not so strange.

He wished he'd never viewed its contents.

"Are you alright, Mr. Rin? You're glaring out into space again. I could get you something to drink-"

Shelinda. They had him running Bevelle with Shelinda.

Why had he agreed to this again?

"No, thank you my dear. I'm just wondering how we were ever talked into this. It is the cause of my grief."

When he'd viewed the sphere, everything had been laid out like the storyline of clever joke. There had been an attack on the Kinderguardians and the young summoner had it in his head to investigate. –However, with the Praetor off in negotiations with the other Factions, someone needed to run New Yevon and who better than Rin, with his years of experience managing his sprawling empire from a distance?

All those sour-faced priests scurrying to do his bidding. Divine retribution, yes? And Shelinda to delegate the actual work. Why, New Yevon would practically run itself. Just think of it as a temporary relocation.

Whenever Isaaru tired of doing the Praetor's paperwork, Rin had a job waiting for him. Skill like that shouldn't be wasted on Bevelle.

"Well, I know I'm going to get an Exclusive interview with the Praetor about the Faction Summit, and the scoop on the attack on the Kinderguardians. –Um, I don't know what you were offered. Wasn't it fair?"

It WAS fair. His pick of the spheres stored down in the cloister with detailed instructions on their extraction. As many as he liked. And he got to play with New Yevon. –What self-respecting Al Bhed who'd survived the destruction of Home wouldn't love to cause some chaos in that group.

Yes, the offer was fair. -More than, in fact.

He was still an idiot for taking the bait.

"Fair, yes. But wise..? –I wonder, are women permitted in this area of the temple? Other than yourself, or course."

Shelinda was pretty in that she had a mild temperament, nice skin, and a well-proportioned body. However, Rin was accustomed to being in the company of famed beauties of any given race and would likely need their distraction sometime in the very near future.

"Well, yes. The only place they are strictly not allowed is in the men's dormitories. The women's quarters are on the other side of the complex. –Is there something you need that I cannot provide?"

The former Yevonite was surprisingly easy to work with and he didn't want to complicate that. –So he told a convenient truth.

"In a sense. I merely wished to know because a number of my employees are women and I may need them here from time to time. –I have multiple business ventures to watch over besides New Yevon."

Shelinda smiled in a sweet, naive way that made him feel instantly guilty.

"Of course! I'll see to it that they have access to you at all times. –Just say the word!"

Every ounce of charm he had, he put into the white flash of his teeth.

"Thank you, my dear. I am in good hands, I see."

Shelinda beamed.

Inside, he died a little.

Forget the bait. Rin was taking the whole boat down with him. Bevelle would be lucky to find it had a sphere left to its name. He stroked a finger down the list of instructions the Praetor's proxy had left. The cloister awaited his perusal. Certainly he could find a buyer for even the most mundane of spheres he found there.

Of course he could.

Shelinda was good at what she did, but Rin was better. He excused himself, note in hand. Yes, the offer was fair, but was it wise? Rin's smile was razor sharp.

Not for New Yevon.

|End|