Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X or X-2 (sadly). Square Enix does (darn it!).
The midnight tapestry glittered brightly in the night sky, lit up by the many diamonds and the diva, the crystal in the center. Waves lapped lazily upon the white sandy beaches of Besaid, dark blue in the evening darkness with a translucent and ethereal quality. The village, just a little further down the shore, was quiet. A tranquil lull had fallen over the small island. The only sound of life that could be heard was a barely audible song.
Feet dangling precariously from a cliff edge, a young girl, appearing about seventeen, was softly singing in time to the strumming of an erhu. Her gentle melodious voice seemed to fit in with the picturesque scene perfectly. Shoulder length brown hair blew gently around her, framing a delicate looking face. Her white skin glimmered in the moonlight, appearing translucent. Her mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, gazed serenely with an undertone of sadness, out to the sea. She was wearing a white furisode with a dark bluish-purplish skirt, which was adorned with white hibiscuses near the edge. Her hanging sleeves blushed a delicate pink near the edge and a feather ornament, braided into a lock of hair, blew carelessly around her face.
Sighing gently as the song gradually subsided, the young girl just sat there for a while, reveling in the taste of salt from the ocean, the gentle wind blowing upon her cheeks like a whisper, and the exotic mix of a mix of the perfumes and sea salt.
A lone tear, shining like a diamond as the moon's silvery rays hit it, trickled down her smooth cheek.
The waves continued to crash against the cliff sides as the wind began an eerie dirge of lament. For what, who knew? The language of the elements had already long been forgotten.
Except to one.
On the other side of Spira…
Zanarkand. The city of dreams. The city that never slept. Lit from day to night with bright posters and billboards blaring out the newest trends and must-buys. The city where the immoral was considered moral and the little joys and innocence of life had long been discarded and forgotten. The city of Blitzball, the joy of Spira.
The city of Sin.
A young youth, appearing about seventeen, leaned back onto the cold and slightly damp floor. Half of his body was submerged in water. He could hear the faint cheers and screaming of fans from above. His spiky blond hair, once brown like his father's but now bleached a stunning golden color from long exposure to sun, hung in his face. He could hear everything, from the strong beating of his heart to the faint ripples in the machina-cleaned water around her.
Then, suddenly, his eyes opened, revealing a set of brilliant blue eyes, the color of the oceans. Getting up, he headed out into the stadium. The famous Zanarkand Blitzball stadium, the pride and joy of its city and indeed, all of Spira.
The crowd erupted. Feeling the edges of his lips go up in a smirk, the young teen reveled in the sound of the cheering crowd. He loved this.
He knew not of life's little pleasures. Never had he bothered to feel the wind against him or the stared into a clear, untainted sky. He knew nothing of those things.
For him, this was his world.
He had long discarded and forgotten how to hear the calls of nature.