Yaj Yeshe laid on his opulent bed like a decaying shell of his former self. His body was no longer showing any sign of life; his breathing had ceased and the scent of death floated in the air, overriding the fragrant incense from their purpose. Yevon beheld his friend, masking the unbearable pain he carried in his heart and fighting the urge to shake him awake. Behind him, a group had gathered, either weeping quietly or chanting orisons in sorrow.

To his right stood Zopa, a man in his forties, clad in the formal golden and white robe of a minister. Zopa said a few words of prayers before addressing him, "We should not stall." His forthright manner came as no surprise to Yevon, who knew all too well of his general aversion to dwell on sentimentalities. "The people of Zanarkand must be informed," Zopa added with a hint of urgency.

"Most certainly," he agreed. "But… what are we to do with Lord Yeshe's remains?" A stream of glowing lights, known as the Pyreflies were beginning to emerge from Yeshe's body, making his question sound ever more pressing.

A woman no older than twenty years of age had approached from their left, "If I may speak?" Yevon studied her face and recognized that she was once a priestess from the remote island of Besaid, reassigned to the temple within the Dome. Yeshe had many times confided in him about his infatuation with her and everyone in the legislative body – except for Pema, Yeshe's wife, that is – knew that they were lovers in secret.

Yevon nodded and she found her words again, "Before Lord Yeshe's eyes were closed forever… he had told me in confidence that he wanted to be a Fayth. He said… it will be his way of watching over Zanarkand when he no longer walks on this earth."

Yevon's eyes trailed to the Pyreflies, glowing brightly as they encircled the chamber before disappearing altogether into the air. He turned his face away so neither Zopa nor the woman could read him. A pinching pain began to gnaw at his chest. He wished he had not contrived this method of persevering one's personification after death because then, his friend would have no other choice but to choose an eternal rest that he deserved.

"Nothing less from Lord Yeshe," Zopa remarked, the natural grimness of his face subdued with a pleasant smile. "What do you say, Lord Yevon?"

A moment went by before Yevon spoke to the woman again, "What is your name?"

"Chewa, my lord."

"Have you spoken the truth, Lady Chewa?"

"Yes, my lord. I swear it upon those Worshipped."

One look at the glint in Chewa's eyes and the lines of determination over her lips proved to Yevon enough that she had been truthful. There was no reason for him to argue otherwise.

"Very well then… we shall open the audience hall for our people to offer food until sundown on the third day."

It was at the eighth hour of the day when Zopa began overseeing the release of official statements about Yaj Yeshe's passing. A wave of grief unfurled across the city of Zanarkand, quietening its usual liveliness. People had exchanged their avant-garde clothes with ones more modest and appropriate for mourning, their sleeves and cheeks never dry from tears; poets and scholars recited poems and tales about Yeshe's greatness; at the Blitzball stadium, Yeshe's image stood timeless on banners hung in his honour; and renowned songsters crooned reminders to never forget Yeshe's deeds.

At the Dome, offerings of food from the public poured relentlessly into the audience hall. The generosity was emblematic of the people's genuine will to preserve Yeshe's body from total decay and prevent him from becoming an Unsent. His spirit would then be strong enough to become a Fayth, which could summon an Aeon to protect them beyond his grave. As dictated by Yevon, the doors to the audience hall were closed after the third day of its opening, marking the impending start of a succeeding ritual.

Yeshe's body was swiftly ordered by Yevon to be transported into the Chamber of the Fayth, a sealed location inside the temple. Lights around the city were dimmed down, giving way for torches to be ignited along the only walkway ungated from the open sea. A procession left the Dome on foot and arrived at the walkway with a huge crowd tailing behind them. A group led by a girl with hip-length brown hair separated itself from the procession and moved to the right forward side of the gathering.

"That's Lenne," Zopa said, introducing the girl to Yevon. "She's an excellent songstress. Her voice will assure the success of this Sending, if all else fails."

Yevon was hardly listening. He was all too aware of the headdress that sat on top of him, the heaviness of the brocade robe he was clad in and its hems that were decorated with sacred texts written in the ancient language belonging to those Worshipped. He walked forward, holding firmly in his hand a lengthy sceptre crowned with metals bound and fashioned into the shape of a Phoenix's wings. His manner was fitting for a man who had unearthed and taught many others, including Yeshe, to master this mystical ritual and the powers it would bring to its bearers.

He turned around, only to eye his wife, Uma and his daughter, Yunalesca who were standing among a group of High Summoners like him. Uma flashed him a slight smile and he dipped his head in return. He set his mind once again on the open sea, the gate to life hereafter. When he raised his sceptre into the air, the sound of drumming began and the choir led by Lenne began to sing:

[Ie yui

Nobo meno

Renmiri

Yoju yogo

Hasatekanae

Kuta mae]

Yevon was dancing with grace, spinning his sceptre around him with an almost hypnotic rhythm. At times, his feet would elevate, briefly detaching him from the ground below so he could glide along the surface with a certain mildness. Every movement was calculated, lest a blasphemous misstep would offend those Worshipped. His senses gradually shifted all things, except for the sound of the singing, into nothing but a haze. In his heart, he called for those Worshipped – ones who dwelled in the sun, the moon, the stars, the fire, the river and the sea, the wind, the earth, the thunder, and all else in existence – to listen. The sea began to ripple and a cascade of Pyreflies hung in the air, summoned by the prayers and the sacred dancing.

When the singing stopped, so did his dancing. All eyes were now fixed onto the sky, waiting with bated breath for the appearance of a miraculous figure known as an Aeon. A ray of light cracked the heavens open, rousing eager gasps and laughs from the crowd. Out from the sky, a beast with the head of a Coeurl and the body of a Fafnir was flying towards the earth, with its magnificent wings which glowed like those of the Achelous.

The beast landed at the spacious area where the walkway began and the crowd moved away to allow a passage for Yevon to reach it. Standing by its side, Yevon began stroking the lushness of its fur with a smile. This beast was an embodiment of Yeshe's soul that would stay in Spira and be summoned by whoever required his wisdom and protection. The thought put Yevon's heart at peace.

It was the eleventh hour of the day when Yevon decided to pay the temple's Chamber of the Fayth a visit. Uma was already inside, offering what would be her last prayers to her departed cousin. Yeshe's body had been embalmed and secured against the floor like a statue underneath a glass tablet, a circumstance that becomes possible only if the departed had accepted death and willingly became a Fayth.

"Thank you… you honoured him with the Sending," Uma murmured, ending her prayers.

"He merited nothing less."

Yevon's eyes quickly strayed to an inscription on the tablet which summarized the list of accomplishments made by Yeshe throughout his time as a sovereign. As he read them, he thought about mending it to include chronicles about Yeshe's life, beginning from his time as a novice at the temple until his death, so scholars and the wider audience would be able to appreciate him not only as an almost untouchable ruler but also a regular man who walked amongst them.

"What will… happen to Zanarkand now?" Uma's inquiring voice drew his attention again. Her honey brown eyes reflected her concern.

"A council will be called… and we'll elect a new leader to guide us."

"Will you be among the contenders?"

"If the council and our people deemed I'm worthy enough."

He sensed her deepening worry and understood it all too well. After all, she too stood alongside Yeshe as he exhaustively built their beloved city and observed how it troubled his mind and spirit until his well-being failed him.

Yevon reached out a hand and touched her face, "Don't fret. I trust that we'll be able to carry out our duties."

Uma took his hand and held it into hers, "I wish time would slow down…"

But they both knew that time waits for no one.