A/N: Events of this chapter happened before the previous chapter

The woods of Macalania knew nothing of mornings – only night time existed in this place that was a world of its own. Drifting gently with the grace of waves along clear blue springs were reflections of the crescent moon; strange enchanting trees encircled these springs, appearing almost like lamp posts in the darkness with orange crystal spheres in their hollows. At their roots grew fragile white crystal stones easily blown by the wind as benign shimmering flecks that either completely vanished into thin air, or merged into walkable aurora footpaths. The stillness would, now and then, be disturbed by hostile encounters with Murussus, fiends formed out of lost souls, who had turned the woods into their nest.

A visit to the woods of Macalania would often feel like a pilgrimage to a sacred land for the people of Zanarkand such as Yevon himself. Written and illustrated in their sacred texts was the tale of an encounter between the celestial man with Juggernaut horns and the custodian of Macalania, a celestial woman who had three flowers growing on her head: a purple cosmos, a lotus and a sunflower. She had enticed him with her spellbinding singing and dancing, and taught him that serenity of the heart could be achieved through music. Following their entry into an everlasting marriage together, the celestial woman became the gatekeeper of harmony and peace for living beings created by the celestial man from sea water; she would forever play an endless symphony to keep the cosmos of life in Spira balanced. Different versions of the tale existed in other parts of Spira but the premise remained the same.

The celestial woman is the reason why singing and dancing endure as vital components of Spira's practices of worship.

Now, at the most secluded but sublime area of the woods, Yevon was observing other figures whose presence he already anticipated: Yalda, the governor of Besaid; Chayim, the governor of Kilika; and Bozho, the governor of Moonflow. Engulfed in a sense of irony, he thought of how this prearranged meeting would be on anything but peace. It was a clandestine effort to secure allies who would fight alongside him and his city in a war against an adversary. Yevon felt almost sorry to desecrate the sacred grounds of Macalania with talks of intrigues, war and destruction.

Yalda spotted him and came closer so they could speak to one another. "Thank you for inviting us all here, Lord Yevon. It couldn't come at a better time," she said with a hint of relief. The sequins dangling from her headdress clinked as she turned to look at the other two governors. Her manner was solemn as she spoke again, "Some of us… have forgotten our roots. How can we abandon the life that was given to us by those before us – our ancestors… and our creators?"

"…so we're of the same mind?"

"We all do!" Bozho piped. He had been eavesdropping and was not ashamed so as to pretend like he did not. He was built short like a regular child of not older than five years old and was agile as he moved. No one could tell what his actual face would look like, for his eyes and nose were hidden underneath a yellow long-beaked bird mask.

With arms raised in the air, Bozho spoke with apparent irritation at the predicament they were all thrown into, "Do you know what will happen to the beauty of Macalania when all the singing and dancing stop? The guardians will no longer be here and the woods would vanish. The same will happen to the greens in Moonflow." He shook his head profusely, almost toppling his entire body down onto the ground from all the shaking. "No no no no! I won't let that happen to Moonflow."

"My worries are the same for Kilika," Chayim chimed, the dark circles below his eyes further hollowed as he frowned. "We're prepared to offer you our support… be it up in arms, or in pleading our case to the guardians."

Yevon smiled slightly. Their endorsement warmed his heart but he wished it was not over a matter where their lives and those of their people were hanging on a thread.

A sudden chilly gust of wind fell, rocking the trees and stirring the spring with violent ripples. Against the dark sky, the aurora pathways grew far luminous than they formerly were, intensifying the iridescent hue of Macalania. Birds came in droves, perching on tree trunks to croon songs that travelled into the ears and mind like a comforting mist. As Yevon pulled his cloak tighter to his frame, he caught the subtle smell of white lilies, florals found only at the Island City of Besaid, drifting in the air.

The scent gradually amplified, quickly drawing his attention and those of others to another presence in the vicinity: a woman quietly ambling along the pathway in between lines of trees, clad in a white hooded cape printed with fiery red prayer symbols of the old language on its hems. In one of her hands, she held a long golden crozier with a tip that swirled into a small carving of a woman with her palms up and open, holding a floating blue crystal. The carving was reminiscent of the tale about a human woman chosen by those Worshipped from the sky and gifted with a sacred crystal that granted her the ability to heal. Only a select few were allowed to pray in her temples and inherit her abilities, and Yevon knew that there could only be one person from Besaid.

"Lady Gilal… is it not?" he asked, and continued when she darted her eyes to him, "Thank you… for all you'd done for Uma and for tonight."

"No need to thank me. I do what's best for us all," Gilal said, with a voice so low that it was almost inaudible. She bowed her head briefly to Yalda, who nodded with a gracious smile, then made her way to the spring. "Have I summoned all that you required, Lord Yevon?"

"Yes… yes, you did."

"Very well then…"

With her arm, Gilal lifted the crozier above her head and started singing a melody that Yevon was hearing for the first time in his life. It was a hymn which contained no lyrics but rhythmically tweaked through Gilal's control of the pulses behind her pitches. The birds sang along with her, and in time, the spring glowed into a bright blue colour, as though gaining vitality from the sound of her singing. The hymn had also seemingly revealed what was previously shrouded from plain sight – a group of butterflies were already gathered among the trees and bushes, never once leaving Yevon and those with him on their own disposals, and possibly keeping an eye on them the entire time. Most had decided to disappear again, leaving only three blue ones fluttering to the spring and in front of Gilal.

Rays of soft gleaming light girdled the butterflies before they took on different forms of existence – a bird with a harp attached around one of its wings; a blue frog with a drum strapped onto its abdomen; and a mouse carrying three brass instruments, two on its back and one in its hands.

The bird spoke first with apparent exasperation, who could have dared to summon us, ones who're never meant to be summoned?

Returning the bird's question was the frog, who was more amiable than its companions, it is none other than a reverent White Mage, child of the Healer, one who would not blithely offend those of us. There is reason to believe that a pressing affair awaits our listening ears.

The mouse narrowed its eyes, and stared sharply at Gilal, the words that the mouth speaks of better be worthy of our listening ears.

"It is not I who'll be appealing to you, great Guardians," Gilal corrected them. "It is those behind me."

The bird shook its head with disappointment, not only did they dare to summon us, now they're asking us to speak with mere humans?

The mouse cussed, looking away as if repulsed by the sight of Gilal, insolent, all of them!

If none of you would listen, then I will, said the frog. Its eyes moved to Yevon before its wide and thin lips bent into a smile as it addressed him, come hither, human child. Speak of what is bothering you.

Gilal stepped aside, allowing Yevon to come forward and face the guardians closer. Having seen them in their actual forms for the first time, the marvel robbed him off his speech for quite a while, until the bird who had lost its patience knocked some senses into him, well, speak!

"My apologies, great Guardians…" he started, bowing his head in shame. "I've come to appeal for your help, for there are no other entities better at protecting Macalania and those associated with it than you."

The mouse's ears perked up, what is going to happen to the woods of Macalania?

"It's in danger of getting harmed, great Guardians."

By whom?

"People… people who no longer want to ascribe to the old ways."

Yevon's words were picking up the bird's interest, wiping away the defensiveness that had been holding its frame. I must admit… I've been having a budding sense that something ruinous is looming ahead for many years now, it said, with face awash with worry.

How can we trust that your words ring true? The mouse prodded, evidently still sceptical.

"You must, great Guardians!" Bozho chimed, scuttling forward with a bravery that impressed not only Yevon but also those others present with them. "Because his words are very very very true. It's not just the woods of Macalania that are at stake! It's also those of Moonflow, of Besaid, and of Kilika too! And we're all appealing for you to protect them all!"

"We humans can only do so much," Chayim said, stepping into an area with more light so the guardians could have a better view of him. "We'll sing and dance to keep the woods alive but if we die, they'll die with us."

"Even the Guados who are supposed to be protecting the woods with you are siding with the enemy," Yalda added with a tone of regret. "At this rate, if you're also choosing not to help us, then we'll lose not only the woods and the lakes but also the Farplane."

Very well. What do you want us to do? The frog asked, divulging what its other two companions were also thinking.

"Sing and play music with us," Yevon said, smiling openly at them. "That's all that needs to be done."

Chayim, Yalda and Bozho exchanged silent glances with one another, and each shrugged to tell that they had no clue as to what Yevon was planning to do. Yet, they trusted him. They knew Zanarkand – or specifically, him, had been inventing new rituals out of their practices of worship and these rituals were supposedly useful for infield battles, just like Black Magic spells would.

After what seemed to be an eternity spent on contemplation, the trio of guardians finally gave each other a nod. The bird plucked a feather out of its wing, while the frog pulled a string out of its robe, and the mouse tugged a hair off from on top of its covered head. They handed Yevon these little marks of themselves and told him in chorus: carry this with you at all times. When you think of us, we'll come to you.

The guardians disappeared, leaving Chayim, Yalda and Bozho cheering for the success of winning their favour. Yevon watched them, not knowing whether to celebrate with them or not.

A/N: One of the notes I made about Macalania Woods during my FFX-2 re-playthrough was: "How did the spirits came alive in the woods? Why do they have an affinity to music? I feel like they could have had a much bigger role because of their ability to 'speak' with the woods and the overall spiritual nature of their existence"

This chapter aims to answer these questions and tying it to Yevon - the person himself, and the ideology/religious movement.