Yevon ciphers paint holes on Kilika docks. Color called out of the Underground lies in streaks across the wooden planks, the curve of building timbres, and plays in ripples upon the ocean water. We are surrounded by memory.

I recognize the chamber. The sphere shows the Underground; the Yevon runes are plain as day, shining around the huddled bulk of Vegnagun. The figure in black and blonde whispers something half-lost amidst the static. Faux-shadows roll against the noontime sun.

Then the lights go out, and I remember to breathe again.

Gippal closes his mouth from where his jaw was hanging open. His words are hushed.

"That is one. .. vilgehk awesome sphere."

Nooj is lying behind us both, sprawled like a casualty of an understated war; Gippal recovering fastest, as he always does. The Al Bhed is up on his feet in a flash, yanking himself away from me with such haste that the puffed segments of his boots scrape by my cheek, knock against my jaw. He scoops up the sphere in a roll of his hand that brings it closer to his chest.

Trapped, the glow of the sphere hums. It bathes the Al Bhed's torso in crimson, and all I can think of is blood.

And the Highroad.

"Give it to me." Nooj's voice is hard poison. Metal clatters upon the dock; his hand clamping down on my ankle frees me from memory, and I recognize the immediacy of the moment.

"No." My interruption is almost as harsh as the Deathseeker, coming as fast as it does. "Gippal, give it to me. Please."

Instinct rouses me to kick again, rolling as I do. Nooj growls a sound in his throat when my heel skims the air past his head. He releases his grip upon me; I scramble up to my feet, crouched with one hand upon the nearest shipping crate.

All through this, Gippal has been watching us both. His face silent, smile banked like a river gone frozen in winter ice. The porttown breeze lend his only life, ruffling his hair as wheat, timed to the sporadic blinking of his eye.

Glimpsing this uncustomary expression, I suddenly have a vision of what Nooj and I must look like-- struggling like beasts upon the ground, stripped sour by our own quarrel.

One shift of my weight and Gippal snatches his shoulders hunched. The sphere flickers; I halt in an instant, afraid that further sudden movements might break this quarrel through the Al Bhed's departure. Behind me, I hear dead silence instead of Nooj's cane-scrape. Even he has gone still. Waiting.

I shouldn't have worried. Gippal eases out of his tense defense once we both stop looking as if we will wrestle the record sphere from him. His face dives into a frown. "You guys are acting seriously messed up about this." One of his fingers jabs towards me. "And did I hear you wrong, Baralai, or did you say you were working for that Trema guy?"

"Gippal--"

"No way." The Al Bhed's denial is firm. "This sphere's staying with me."

"Gippal!"

"You." A gloved hand spikes the air between the Al Bhed and Nooj, finger jabbing aggressive. "I don't know about you right now, Nooj. But you're acting seriously out of whack, man, even for a Deathseeker."

I start to straighten from my defensive hunch, pulling myself upright in a fledgling's motion that scrapes against the boards.

At the noise, the turret of Gippal's finger swings to bear upon me. "That goes for you too, Baralai! I mean," flummoxed, the Al Bhed's words break, plaintive, "fighting over a sphere like this? What gives? It's not like it's got us on it! We're in no danger!"

Frustration pulls my voice strained. "It's not just any sphere, Gippal! It shows the presence of--" Caution rings prayer bells in my head, and I continue after a glance to Nooj. "Something we all know is important. You can't just let that get handed around, not when--"

"It's a reminder to those who have forgotten certain paths over the years." Nooj's contribution to the conversation cuts through my own, blunt machete's blow breaking my defense. "But more than that, it's a way to keep Bevelle from ever hiding its secrets in peace again. That... city deserves what's coming to it."

Surprised by the venom of the Deathseeker's words, the Al Bhed stares. "Oh, so now you're picking a fight with a city along with its religion? Nooj!" Blonde brow knit in vexation, Gippal throws up his empty hand. "Man! None of us have any reason to like Bevelle, or Yevon, but it's not like there's a reason to crusade against 'em like that!"

Gippal has never been a leader. He does not have the temperament for it, the will --and yet now, watching him face off against myself and Nooj, single swirl-eye unerring, I can understand why the Al Bhed have gathered to follow him. A lack of complication is equally charismatic. As is a lack of grudges.

I think Gippal has not even realized his own position yet.

"That's it." Gippal's final decision comes with a pressing of his lips into a hard line. He tosses the sphere up in a hand, pitching it to himself where he wraps the crystal back in its cloth. "You guys both need a time-out. No one's getting this sphere but me. Got it? No one." Fingers fist around the orb before he squirrels it back into his pocket, shoving it away. "Not until you guys start acting normal, okay?"

My protest scrambles out my mouth, forcing an exasperated, "Gippal! Just wait, please!"

And then he is gone.

Two choices. I can stay here and confront Nooj. Or I can try to catch an old friend and his sphere first.

In scrambling to catch up with Gippal, I almost collide with one woman carrying a basket of fruit balanced in her arms. She yelps in protest; a panicked stumble and I am steadying her, filling the air with apologies. By the time I manage to recover, the foot-traffic of Kilika has swallowed the blonde Al Bhed in every direction that I look, devouring him without even a pyrefly left to guide my path.

The bustle of Kilika's restoration feels muted as I stride down the main walkways. I filter through the crowds. Snap-tracks of conversation catch around me, stringing a web of gauzy words, one that I break through effortlessly as I press my way back down the docks.

It feels as if everyone is watching me. Everyone heard the argument, saw the fight. Everyone knows.

Dinner in Kilika involves a type of fish I cannot identify, mixed with vegetables I have no interest in. I pick at it, lacking all appetite, before finally shoving the plate away and heading up the poorly-hammered stairs.

The guards return in straggled clumps by the end of the eve. We have rented a room in one of the local inns; without any official announcement of our purpose here, we pay common prices and are mixed with the other travelers. I suspect that it might be for the best, to dodge possible anti-Yevon sentiment, but there's something to be said for not having to wait for a shower.

A pair of my guards are in each room on the sides of my own rented bed. If I am to be attacked by Nooj in the middle of the night, they should be alert and ready. While the possibility is slight that the Deathseeker would wish trouble, and I have not advised them specifically upon the man, I take some comfort in knowing that my walls are guarded enough to let me sleep.

Nooj. He would not dare cause trouble.

Would he?

With these thoughts heavy as chemist toxins in my mind, the first strike that snaps at my window screams of machina shots to my paranoid nerves.

One slap, like the clawing of bird-talons. Then a second. Gloved fingers appear, pawing over the glass in a fumbling search for grooves, latches, any manner of leverage by which it can try to pull the window open. The intruder must be splayed down from the roof, judging by the angle.

I reach over in a slow hunt for the machina pistol beneath my bed, and then I realize I know the insolent dexterity of those hands.

The fingers on my window are familiar. The gloves as well, buckled around the wrists, white-rimmed to the knuckles while purple beyond. Loose ties.

But mostly, I recognize the man's pants as he starts to slip off the roof and slams his leg into the window, the smear of magenta and black that scrambles against my vision in all its poor-taste glory. His knee presses against the glass. Seconds later, Gippal's head twists into view. I watch him mouth what is clearly my name, exaggerated, along with a desperate jab of his finger at the windowlatch.

Open it, I think he is saying, but the effect is so comical that I find myself staring.

For a moment, I debate leaving him there.

Then I am already up and walking, moving in swift strides towards where the Al Bhed dangles. Two clicks and the panes are unlatched, swinging inwards; Gippal's foot almost kicks me in the head as he tries to wriggle in before I have fully stepped away.

"What are you doing here, Gippal?" Hissed, my voice mixes with the tide-chorus of the outer docks. "You'll wake up the entire floor!"

There are guards around us both; I can only imagine what they would think if they investigated my bedroom and found an Al Bhed faction rogue here. My first question melts away into the second. "How did you find us?" I hadn't noticed the guards dressing in their uniforms, and we flew no banner of display when our ship came to port. The high-necked jacket that I prefer has been packed away for now, in order to avoid the sweat of the Kilikan summer.

Thankfully, the answer is simpler than I feared. Gippal's shrug is performed with one shoulder, the other already relaxing into a cat's insolent ease.

"Asked around after you. Not hard."

Forced to accept the lacksidasical logic by which the Al Bhed lives, I step away from the window at last. Gippal slides his feet to the floor, leaning upon the sill with both hands and blotting out the twilight with his body.

"So what's going on with you and Nooj? And... have you seen Paine at all?"

The questions buffet me like angry bees. I turn my head rather than look at the Al Bhed directly during my reply, speaking to the corners of my bed rather than a human being.

"Paine isn't here. And I hope she stays away."

A blonde brow jerks upwards, quirks. "That's cold, man. Not like you used to be on her."

Panache was not appreciated tonight. "What else do you think I should do right now, Gippal?" Now it is my hand shaking the air, hunting for an invisible answer. "She's alive. As long as I try to keep her from being involved, she might remain that way."

It is then that the knocking comes upon my door.

"Lord Baralai!" A voice only marginally familiar hails me; the title is more recognizable than the man who uses it. Dimly, I recall it as belonging to one of the guards. "We've heard reports of an intruder! Are you safe?"

Great.

"I'm fine!" I shout back, a shepherd's call against the wolf. "I haven't seen anything!"

Neither myself nor Gippal dare to speak until the thunder of boots recedes down the hall. I should not have underestimated guards who hold good faith with me. This is the same problem I had with the Lustrum--having won their favor, I also earned their protectiveness.

Even when it is inconvenient.

Gippal sighs like a chipmunk, rolling out his cheeks with his breath. "Can't even spit around here," he challenges me with, a lopsided grin, "can you?"

I acknowledge the honesty of this with a rueful shake of my head. "There's not much time." Sudden nervousness causes me to wet my lower lip with my tongue, and then I press ahead. "About... spheres, Gippal. It could be a great help if you and the Al Bhed you work with could keep an eye out on your excavations. You don't need to join New Yevon," I suggest. My words are placid. Practical. "Just... send us some of them. That's all--"

"No vilgehk way." He interrupts me with a hard motion of his hand, slashing through the air. "That stuff? Nothing but trouble. You can count me out of it from now on. You and Nooj can go crazy all you want over them. Not me."

Bootsteps bringing him to the center of my room, Gippal pauses before he swivels on one heel, waving his finger at me.

"I like you, Baralai." The Al Bhed's mouth is back into its serious line, long with a crook at the end that betrays his natural jubilance despite the matter at hand. "We owe each other. But don't ask me to pick sides, okay? 'Cuz that's just going to drive me just as crazy too."

My exhalation aloud is a paper's scrape, tired.

"I understand."

The silence sits awkward between us, forced to linger like a guest too unwanted to even be shown the door.

Gippal interrupts it first.

"About the sphere with Vegnagun..."

"Yes?"

Another drawn pause, the Al Bhed's eye upon the floor. One of his boots twists its toes against the ground; the sand-grit of the beaches causes it to rasp where he applies pressure. "I've. . . I've got something for you. I think... you should be the one to hold onto it."

Against my relieved disbelief, Gippal's hand fumbles inside his pockets, producing first a wrench, then a bolt, and then finally the same dirtied cloth that wrapped itself around the Vegnagun sphere before. A flash of crimson crystal peeks out from within. An awesome sphere, he'd called it. I'd thought it horrific.

"Here you go, man."

I accept the ominous weight of the record sphere into my cupped palms. Surprise has strangled my voice in its sleep. There is nothing I can say.

Gippal is similarly quiet as he watches me. He fills in the silence when he speaks. "Me and the rest of the crew, we'll be heading back to Djose after this." The phrase is hushed before he clears his throat, attempts to continue after he jerks his thumb back towards the window. "Any surprises on the way you think we should be aware of?"

The sharpness in Gippal's eye pulls me out of my thoughts, and I realize he is speaking to me as one representative to another, two forces politically askew.

"No."

No. The Temple will be safe. At least, as much as I can keep it so.

Then hammering cracks the air; a fist to my door, again and again. "Lord Baralai!" The guards, returned. Frantic. "The intruder was reported on the roof! You might be in danger!"

"Sounds like my cue to exit." Remarkably unworried despite the danger, Gippal delivers a swaggered grin in my direction. "Don't want this party getting too big, y'know?"

I risk a feverish look back to the door, and then once more to the Al Bhed.

He grins. Mischievous. And then prods again, question gentle. "Right, Baralai?"

"... right, Gippal."

His head inclines towards me. The gesture, I mirror, and then the blonde is sweeping one leg over the windowsill, one final flash of merry teeth.

"Lord Baralai!"

When the guards push the door open at last, I have already finished latching the window shut.

The morning tides come early. As the dawn opens, it finds us upon them. My orders to depart the port were accepted without protest; the guards do not understand, show no eagerness to return to the strictures of Bevelle, but there is no challenge of my authority from them. I have already demonstrated to them once in Luca that I demand little in the way of enforced respect. Perhaps that is helping me win their loyalty.

We have no threat upon the ship. Sin's departure has left the seas free at last, save for the occasional fiend, but those primarily prey upon fisherfolk. Armed with harpoons and machina rifles, my guards spend their hours in dice games and conversation. Some of them have begun to hate seafood. Others have taken a fondness of it. Luca is compared to Kilika. Blitzball season is discussed.

Once we are far enough away from Kilika, I pull myself away from them in order to watch the sphere.

My cabin is windowless. It is safe, secure in the belly of the ocean-vessel, and I lie upon my bed watching the way the lantern mounted in the ceiling swings. Candlelight spatters. I track the swing of it, the swaying of the tides that buoy me in their reach, and then I pull the record sphere from out my vest.

The grease-stained handkerchief that Gippal used has not been untangled from the Al Bhed's knots; several minutes go by while I tug at the ends, remembering the blonde's deftness displayed long ago. My boots had paid the price back then, in Bikanel. Lacking a knife, I am forced to resort to patience, and finally coax the cloth free.

Red is my reward. It pools over my fingers and over the irregular timbers of the hull. I admire the weight of the crystal as it counts itself in my palms, and then I frown.

That's strange. I thought the Vegnagun sphere was larger than this.

My thumb depresses the playback.

A snap of wavering display, and the camera angle tilts into a steadier position. One broken building comes into focus. The ocean, beyond. Grass, short and sparse, painted around the inside of my bunk. A sky filled with all the colors of sunset, picketed by occasional clouds rolling lazy in the distance.

This is not the Bevelle Underground that I expected.

Red meets green, blue, purple and silver--three figures resolve in the image, set upon a grassy hill I know all too well. It took me months to shake the nightmares the first time.

Paine's voice murmurs in my ear.

"I want to know... what it was you all saw back there."

Transfixed by the events as viewed by our Team's recorder, I watch the promises exchanged on the hill outside the Travel Agency. The camera angle swings; Paine had been looking in all kinds of directions at the time, uncomfortable and hesitant to ally herself to our group even though she had run all the way down Mushroom Rock looking for us.

That mixture of assertiveness and fear--that was Paine. That has always been her, as I recall.

I never heard the words she said back then, on the Highroad. Truthfully enough, I had no idea she was filming us when Gippal and I said our farewells to Nooj.

And I did not realize just how Nooj had tried to kill her.

The playback terminates automatically after the crack of machina fire. As the static crawls over the surface of the record, I press the toggle once more, kill the repetition of history revealed. Considering the subject matter, it is understandable why the Al Bhed did not want to finish watching this sphere. I wonder if he would have given it to me anyway if he knew what was contained entirely within.

I have watched enough to understand what has happened. Gippal swapped the spheres he found, fooling me in the switch. He chose neither of us. The unexpected route--I should have remembered that as well, from old desert ruses in training.

Between myself and Nooj, our two poles of warring options, Gippal found a way to win out after all.

Paine does not show up directly in this encapsulated moment of history. I hold her in my grasp only by illusion. If I wanted, I could activate the playback once more, listen to her speak. Remember the sound of her voice. Fall asleep with the wry harmony of those words trickling into my ears and reminding me of dreams involving feathers and sand.

If only the price did not involve watching her be shot. Over and over. By Nooj.

I want to know... what it was you all saw back there.

Watching the darkened sphere, I repeat my own words back to her memory.

"We'll figure it out one of these days," I whisper. "We'll tell you then."