The throne of Zanarkand had been crafted by the founders of Zanarkand nearly two hundred years before Yevon's birth. It was , by and large, merely a symbol of the power those who sat upon it. It was hand carved from a single piece of wood, which had several large and beautiful crystals set into it. The high arched wood itself had grown smooth from all the hands that had touched it over the years, and it was as much a work of art as anything else.

Yevon rubbed a hand over th armrest, idly, as he listened to a petitioner speak of an idea for converting waste product into energy. He remembered his first time seeing this throne when he was about fourteen, on a day trip from school. He'd marveled at it then, never imagining that he would one day sit upon it.

He glanced up and saw that there was indeed a small group of students in the viewing gallery this morning, and he smiled at them gently.

Each month, Yevon 'held court' and allowed the public to come and speak directly to their ruler. Sometimes it was public disputes, such as taxes, sometimes inventors, such as today, and often it was diplomatic envoys come to speak with the ruler of the great city of Zanarkand.

The diplomatic envoys had stopped coming some months back. Bevelle had begun to spread their influence past their own borders, and had begun rumors of the 'evil deeds' that had allowed Zanarkand to prosper as much as it had.

Yevon marveled at the ignorance that allowed people to believe such horrible things about people they'd been allied with for so long. City after city had found reasons why they needed to 'remain neutral'.

He'd long since decided that Zanarkand would go on as usual for as long as they could. His people needed to have something to hold on to, and familiar rituals, such as the monthly open court was one such event.

His advisors had told him many times that it was a waste of precious time, but Yevon had laughed at them and asked how he should better spend his time, serving his people, or banging his head against the walls some more?

Yevon knew that Mira was terribly worried about him. He'd seen her furtive glances at him, and knew that his long silences concerned her. He had done his best to assure her, but there was really nothing more he could do.

"...and with just these few adjustments, my lord, we could increase the power to nearly 50% more than it is currently producing." The inventor said, concluding his presentation, and looking at Yevon for some sign of approval.

Yevon raised his head and smiled softly. "That is an amazing display of ingenuity, sir. I am quite impressed with your research and diligence." He leaned forward and nodded at the man.

"Have the specifications sent to the office of industry, and we will see if it can be put into public usage." Yevon straightened up, and gestured towards the records clerk who hovered nearby.

The young inventor bowed deeply, murmuring his gratitude.

As the young man turned and walked out, Yevon saw a guard rush in through the open door, and begin a frantic conversation with one of the other guards, gesturing wildly.

Yevon frowned and leaned forward, wondering what the problem was. Along the gallery, people began murmuring amongst themselves, also noticing the concern on the young guard's face.

The upper guard said something to the younger man, quietly. The young guard nodded once, and rushed back out through the open door.

Looking decidedly unhappy, the upper guard made his way to Yevon's side and waited for Yevon to acknowledge him. Yevon gestured at him impatiently, and said, "What is it?"

"My lord, the young lieutenant reports that there are..." His face reddened slightly. "...unsent at the gates of the spheregrid."

Yevon went still. The crowd in the gallery murmured excitedly.

"Unsent." He looked at his guard. "At the gates."

The guard looked uncomfortable. "Yes, my lord." He paused, considering his words. "Asking for you."

Yevon looked flummoxed. "Has the boy gone mad? Unsent hardly retain the presence of mind, nor the inclination to knock politely at the gates and ask for an audience!"

"I know, my lord. But he insists that there is an unsent, and several fiends who are demanding to speak with you." the guard said, unhappily.

Yevon smiled, tightly. "Well, then. Who am I to deny them? Lead on."

Word spread rapidly, and by the time Yevon had approached the landing pad for the transport that would take him directly to the heavily guarded gate point, his personal guard had more than tripled. Yevon was just glad that Sambrian was busy. He had a sneaking idea that Sambrian would put a stop to these proceedings, ruler or no, if he caught word of them.

Yevon couldn't imagine what had happened to make the guard think that there were unsent at the gates. And even if it were an unsent, it was surely no threat to him; he was the High Summoner of Zanarkand. He could send a spirit to the Farplane with very little effort at all.

The transport lifted clear of the pad, and headed towards the outskirts of the city. Yevon looked out the viewport at the vista spread out below them. The sun was beginning its downward march into the sea, and the city was bathed in the warm glow of the sunset. The towers glowed like candles against the backdrop of the surging waters. A few personal water craft floated lazily in the harbor, and here and there, seagulls circled lazily, searching for tidbits left behind by the fishing boats.

Yevon's fist clenched as he thought again of the outrageous claims that Zanarkand was home to depraved and evil people. How could anyone think the peace and prosperity that his people had achieved had been through deceit and treachery?

The transport tilted a bit, descending towards the landing pad. The guards settled their armor and readied themselves. Yevon took a deep breath through his nose, and slipped into a light trance, trying to calm the rage that seemed to need less and less excuse to boil to the surface.

The door slipped open and his guard spilled out onto the pad, looking for potential threats. Although he knew it was standard procedure, Yevon thought to himself that it was unlikely they wouldn't have been informed if there had been a problem.

Satisfied that there was no threat, his primary guard nodded the all clear, and allowed Yevon to leave the transport. They walked across the pad, heading for the East Gate of the spheregrid.

The face of Mount Gagazet loomed in the near distance, cold and white. Poets had written sonnets regarding the beauty of its hights, and looking at it now, Yevon could see some of the immortal appeal.

A cluster of guards stood between him and a clear view of the gate. Yevon frowned impatiently. At a word from his primary guard, the rest of the warriors came to attention and stepped out of the way, weapons at the ready. Yevon strode forward, presenting a calm face to the guards. Whatever he faced, it would be with the grace and courage of his people.

He began to hum the chant of dissolution under his breath, falling quickly into the mind set that allowed him to sense the souls of the dead. His hands moved of their own accord into the beginning positions that he'd learned so long ago.

The creatures standing at the gates didn't seem particularly violent or enraged, as most fiends were. If anything, then seemed oblivious to the significance of his actions. He stopped, tilting his head, and considering them.

"Yevon of Zanarkand?"one of them growled.

"I am he." he replied, nonplused.

From behind the creatures clustered around the portal, a familiar voice bellowed, "About damn time! Yevon, what gives with making us wait all day?"

White faced with shock, Yevon watched as the form of his best friend pushed his way past the creatures that had so terrified the guards.