The Spiral
"They are coming, my Lady."
The figure rose from her throne, long tendrils of silver hair flowing around her lithe form with a serpentine grace. Stretching like a cat recently woken from a nap, the few bangles against her wrists chimed softly in the stillness. Zanarkand, a city a thousand years dead, always possessed an atmosphere of suspended tranquility. A cemetery in twilight at the edge of the world.
"How many?"
"Three, my Lady."
She stepped to the precipice of the temple, lively eyes dancing across the surfaces below to watch the trio who approached. Three men, one summoner, two Guardians. Those who would bring peace to Spira, and give the people hope.
And give her beloved father a new structure. As it was before and as it would come to be again.
"The hour of reprisal is near. Go to them."
"Yes, my Lady."
Ghostly footfalls made no sound as the servant departed. She could hear the echoes of words from the hall. Angry, and then uncertain and finally understanding. The same as she heard from countless other Summoners who arrived at the gates to her Temple.
Did she ever question her role? Lady Yocun asked that, once upon a time. But it never bothered Yunalesca. Zaon would understand. He would agree with her. He would have told her what must be done.
But Zaon was long ago taken from her. A thousand years to suffer with his absense. A thousand years of pain and death. She sighed, fingers curling.
And then she turned, motions fluid and graceful, the second she heard the rustle of robes. She turned and she smiled. As it was before.
And as it would be forevermore.
(Fin.)