Chapter II
Baralai doesn't like to think of a life without New Yevon. He once remembered a life without an eternity-old monster lurking underneath stone corridors and the age-old lies he was once forced to swallow. Whenever his mind wanders to grass-filled fields and the sunsets of the Highroad, he pushes the thoughts out of his mind and reminds himself that Yevon is his job now. In a little under two years he had fixed little of the damage the former maesters had wrecked upon Spira. Even after their deaths, their secrets still reside in Bevelle's halls and deep under the temple their monsters still sleep.
It is no wonder that the Praetor devotes himself entirely to Bevelle; locked his office, he seeks to correct centuries of old men's mistakes. But sometimes in the quiet of the morning, he will steal like a thief across the silent courtyards. Face buried in his familiar olive-green coat that smells slightly of stale air and day old tea, he walks in the dying night to an abandoned tower in Bevelle's north quarter. Climbing the spiraling stairs to the top, his mind reminding him of in whose footsteps he is walking. This was Seymour's tower, his own private quarters when Bevelle had called him from Macalania. He scowled, the air still laden with the musky scent of trees, earth and guado. Still, his tower had the best view of the ocean and on good days, you even see Gagazet in the distance.
He finds his favorite spot, an unadorned ledge jutting out of the tower's flank. Sitting down, with his back to the tower, he watches the sunrise until Bevelle wakes up and bids him to her once more. He watches unblinkingly as the sun rises; a black sky turns yellow, clouds are wreathed in orange and pink fire. Finally the sun launches itself from beneath the horizon into the sky, heralding the birth of a new day. He closes his eyes, his mind telling him what he could have done in the confines of his office while his mouths plays into a grin at his thoughts.
He hears nothing but sea birds and the slap of the ocean against the boats until the sound of a man coming up the spiraling staircase meets his ears. Curses are said under every other breath as tired muscles cramp in retaliation for being worked so hard this early in the morning. Baralai grins again as he recognizes the wheezing of his assisant, Isarru.
"In the name of the aeons master Baralai, why must you get up so early and come to a place like this," he says, pausing against the doorframe to catch his breath.
Baralai opens his eyes and takes out an offered cup of tea from his assistant. Isarru sits down on the opposite side of the door.
"Its nice, to watch the sunrise," he says quietly.
Isarru looks out at the sun, three quarters way into the sky. It has chased night into the far western part of the sky, replacing cold blue with yellow gold warmth.
"Yes, it is nice," he replies, almost in a whisper.
The two men watch in silent reverence as if a sunrise happened but every hundred years. Finally Isaruu breaks the silence. Baralai could feel it, words pent up in his assisant's mouth like a herd of chocobos ready to bolt.
"There is a celebration going to be held in Luca in honor of Vegnagun's defeat. The governor of the city has extended a personal invitation to you."
"You know I don't like parties," Baralai says. People have never been his forte, neither drinking nor long nights out either.
"The governor has given you a personal invitation," Isarru quickly countered, "such dealings with Luca would be good for trade...," he stopped suddenly and looked at Baralai, "this is about Nooj, isn't it?"
The tea in Baralai's mouth quickly turns sour. He swallows it, forcing it into the back of his throat, even as it goes down, it feels more like a lump of rock rather than a mouthful of liquid.
"We have had…our differences," he says slowly.
"The people of Spira will not take kindly to this; if you and Nooj do not reconcile quickly, war will break out between New Yevon and the Youth League," Isarru said solemnly, "we almost saw it once, Baralai, it will mean disaster for us all should it happen again."
Baralai nodded slowly, he knew exactly what would unfold if war should break out: Spira would be thrown in utter chaos, even the iron fisted rule of the maesters would have seemed a better time than what war would bring.
The tea had turned from a steaming hot cup to a tepid-warm last mouthful. The sun had risen and in the distance Baralai heard three bell rings. The wake up call. Soon, novices, alycoytes, and priests alike would be rising to fulfill another day of duties.
Baralai sighed and his mind played upon him a thought of a life without Yevon. Shoving the thought aside, he told himself that Yevon was his beast to tame, whether he liked it or not.
The pony-tailed ex-Summoner rose and began his decent down the stone steps, leaving Baralai still sitting.
"Isaruu," the Praetor calls to his retreating backside. Isaruu stops and turns.
"Get my things in order," he says, "I am going to Luca."
Isaruu bows, hands across his chest, one palm up, one down.
"As you wish my Lord."