(A/N): Thank you, lureofthesea, for being my beta! I appreciate your love and wisdom. *hearts* And I apologize for the long wait! Enjoy~

Edit: I had to change one line of dialogue from Wakka to Lulu, because I made the mistake of not rewatching the audio drama to remember who said what. XD Apparently Lulu was the one who said "We're here to spare Yuna any unnecessary headaches. Now state your business." I swear, I honestly believed Wakka had been the one doing the whole spiel, but I guess the newlyweds are so in tune that I cannot tell them apart. XD

Updated as of April 2nd, 2024.

Chapter 3

~The New World~

Gazing out into the blackened sky through her porthole, Chuami sighs.

Their daredevil pilot decided to chart a suicidal course through the stormy skies of the Thunder Plains enroute to the Moonflow without consulting them first, and now she wonders if she should've written a will. Why couldn't they have just flown above the storm or around it even if that ended up extending their flight by a couple of days. She outright asked him, demanded even, on the verge of knocking him flat just so she could take the wheel, and the Al Bhed explained that airships can't fly above a certain altitude (whatever that meant) and they lacked the gas tank capacity to cross the world in prolonged flights. He reassured them that once they reach Djose Temple and refuel with the Machine Faction, they'd be in the clear.

As a child, she always wondered why the Thunder Plains were stuck in a never-ending lightning storm, responsible for the highest death toll among travelers after Sin. Once she started sitting in on Baralai's private lessons with his godfather, she at least learned how to tell apart fact from fiction better than her own peers. Chuami often recalls that one particular meteorology text propped open to the many different life cycles and cloud formations depicting the sky's phenomena, exhausted by the mere memory of all those scientific words and complex terminologies that overwhelmed her child brain.

She knows thunderstorms naturally form due to unstable air and moisture, fueled by the action of warm air rising and cold air sinking through a process called convection. The Thunder Plains in particular exist in a cyclical state of unrest, raging against the constant cold fronts that descend from Macalania's arctic borders, which clash with the Moonflow's equatorial updrafts. Shiva's presence in the crystalline forest combined with the equator's proximity were always believed to be the contributing causes to the Thunder Plains' tempestuous weather.

However, ever since the Fayth disappeared on the eve of Sin's defeat, Macalania lake melted into a gaping chasm, revealing submerged ruins of an ancient city once prosperous and long since forgotten, sinking the Temple along with it. The woods were dying, yet the Thunder Plains' remained unchanged. By all logic, it should've started dissipating by now, or at least calmed down enough for safer passage without the need for calibrated lightning rod towers.

So, why...? Kurgum believes a long-forgotten Fayth must be dwelling in the land, possibly one in association with the same element as Ixion, or a mythical demonic creature born from the molten gold soulfire of the Farplane, a manifestation of chaos and sin― the possibilities are endless. Chuami voices her thoughts out loud in hopes to alleviate her boredom.

"Hey, Kurgum. Is there a Fayth out there, like you said…"

"Maybe." Kurgum shrugs from his spot among the bank of seats. "Baralai and I― er, I mean, the Chancellor, thinks so, and so does Lady Ilyria and Sir Scisero. You know, it might be a wrathful Fayth who got sealed away. Why else have we not known about it? It was probably too powerful for humans to handle, or maybe we did something wrong to incur its wrath―."

"Okay, okay, I get it, Gandof." Chuami rolls her eyes, amused by his excited prattling. Kurgum's such a nerd for mythology, proving worse than Baralai sometimes. "There were Fayth before Yevon's time, right? What do you think they were like? Summoners didn't need to sacrifice their lives for anything major like the Final Summoning…"

"Well, in the Machina War, Zanarkand sent their Summoners to the frontlines."

"Oh, yeah… But before that. What do you think?"

"I don't know. That's a good question…"

Three years into the Eternal Calm, and still historians are poring over the truth of Yu Yevon, the mythical Summoner's role in the Machina War, his millenium-old curse (or legacy, depends on who you ask), and the radical new changes currently gripping post-Sin Spira. Upon the New Revelation of unburied lost truths following the abrupt dissolution of the Yevon Church, everyone had been forced to revisit and deconstruct their ingrained knowledge of Spira's history. Scisero Guado, an avid scholar, renowned History professor from the University of St. Bevelle, now Vice-Chancellor alongside Chancellor Baralai since the Council's founding six months prior, recently released his latest book― Spira: A World Unraveling― citing Guadosalam's library as his primary source of research.

Sudden turbulence rips Chuami out of her thoughts, and she arrests her leather seat in a vice grip, frightened by the implications. What a pain, but she resolves to endure the ride until their estimated arrival on Moonflow soil. She can't wait to step on solid ground again.

They arrive by nightfall, parking on the outskirts of the southern bank. Come morning, they head out for breakfast, eager to stretch out their legs and soak in the early sunlight, staying well within the territories bordering the Mushroom Rock Road to avoid the central roads affected most by the Beckoned. Food vendors promoting a proud line-up of foreign delights dominate the stretch of uncultivated land, and Chuami lingers by a yakisoba booth as soon as she catches a whiff of its fragrant scent, tempted to order some fried noodles for the both of them.

Kurgum returns with a wicker basket full of fruit, prompting her to make the decision. They take a stroll throughout the dirt roads in search of a place to rest, snacking on watermelon slices and grapes until they stumble upon a secluded spot by the river. They remove their shoes and roll up their pant legs to dip their feet into the shallow, cool water, enjoying their meal in peaceful silence, mesmerized by the myriad of lights dancing across the water's surface. Chuami sighs in content, patting her full stomach.

'This is the life. Traveling the world and taking in the sights, all expenses paid by the Council. A girl can get used to this. Being a glorified courier is not so bad.' With Kurgum by her side, this job beats embarking on the pilgrimage any day. On their way back to their airship, they grab some fried rice and beef kebabs for their pilot, stumbling upon a shortcut through the bazaar. They take flight before noon, admiring the sleepy azure-white scenery.

As Chuami watches their eventual descent onto Lucan waters through her porthole, spying ships moored to port and ivory buildings painted bright in the declining sun, she sighs in relief. She enjoys the novelty of air travel as much as the next person, but sitting for hours on end stuck inside an airship prone to turbulence can get exhausting. Kurgum agrees with her, looking worse than when they first departed, and soon enough they exit onto a harbor, which also functions as an airlift, glad to be on solid ground again.

"We reconvene again tomorrow morning, yes? Ten o'clock. After a necessary tune-up. Nothing major." The Al Bhed pilot informs them in his heavy accent, and Chuami nods, even though she doesn't understand what that means.

"Is there something wrong with the ship?" She can never tell, honestly. There were so many weird noises, she couldn't even begin to distinguish which ones were normal from the ones that sounded concerning.

"Nah. Just normal procedure."

"Okay. We'll come back here tomorrow."

They wave goodbye as they depart from Pier 3, brushing past Al Bhed porters pushing around freight carts loaded with machine parts rattling inside their metal storage containers; new shipment, most likely, from the excavation site hosted in Sanubia Desert. Chuami can tell by the amount of contractors employed by the Machine Faction disembarking from their respective air shuttles, looking airsick and exhausted by the sway of their jelly legs. These bulky men and muscular women sport darker skin than when they first departed from the mainland.

Chuami raises her arms high above her head, stretching out her sore, stiff limbs and breathing in the crisp, open breeze. She likes the air here. It reminds her of Bevelle, of the open sea and the seagulls' cries. Already does the seasalt breeze lure her homeward, bringing to mind the salt flats she used to frolic in as a child, the pleasure piers she loved to visit during the annual summer festival. Of her few visits in Luca, there were even fewer she could call vacations. She struggles to distinguish the pleasant memories from the painful ones in the presence of all her conflicted emotions every time.

Lady Yuna's speech following the fall of Sin three years ago.

Baralai's return alongside the two other faction leaders after their mysterious disappearance two years later.

The dissolution of the Youth League and New Yevon. The rise of the Spiran Council. Spira and the golden throes of the Eternal Calm.

Until the Beckoning epidemic. Until the Monastery Isle Massacre.

Chuami slows to a stop now, misty-eyed, forcing herself to face the vast, crystal clear landscape.

Her mother, victim to the gossip of superstitions, contented herself behind the crimson bulwark of Bevelle, never willing to venture out and experience the world. Only in her time with Baralai's esteemed parents did her mother find the courage to peek out from her shell, placing her trust in travel-worn pilgrims who braved the Summoner's path until they turned their backs on the end of their line, loyal to self-preservation.

She cannot imagine them being afraid of anything, a wily free-spirited Summoner from the isle of Besaid and her two stubborn, prideful men, their fire-forged friendship proving thicker than blood. Chuami cherishes their presence in her life, especially during her childhood, because without them she would've definitely grown up trapped in sheep's clothing, oppressed by a devout world eager to mold her.

Banners beholding the alpha letter of Yevon no longer adorn the quayside stone walls of Luca, torn down in the days subsequent to the Church's dissolution. Chuami remembers how the statesmen made a proud, public display of it upon her arrival in Lucan waters, discarding the last of them in a large, growing pile later to be burned in a grand bonfire hosted at the city's central plaza, celebrating the dawn of a new era.

It unsettled her more than she thought it would, the feeling festering in her stomach on her way to the stadium. She attributed it to nerves, eager to lay eyes upon her generation's High Summoner for the first time. They rented three rooms as a party of seven, intending to stay for at least one week. The three children typically had one room to themselves, with Baralai and Kurgum sharing a single, Chuami and her mother had a double, and the polyandrous trio took an emperor-sized duvet.

Baralai had been acting really distant then, melancholic and dazed, slow to warm up to their teasing and horseplay. In the six months since they have last seen him, a bright-eyed green soldier fresh out of the military academy, time and experience changed him, whittled down the hopeful boy into a hollow man. She wanted to ask him what those haunted eyes have seen in his exhibition outside of Bevelle, but a gut feeling told her to refrain. Baralai never tells them anything, but she knows he harbors inner demons that want to be let out, raging inside his self-made prison.

Although she joined the Spiran Council for the chance to mete out justice, she also wants to be the pillar that supports him; the blade upon his sword delivering his will. She wants to fight for the future he believes in, for the vision he strives for. As much as the corny sentiment embarrasses her, it also drives her on the path she forged for herself. She wishes to lend him her bow and arrow alongside her tempered blade, not to babysit Kurgum and his growing pains.

'What can I do for you? Tell me, and I will answer―'

"The ocean is beautiful, huh?"

Kurgum's wistful voice startles her out of her reverie, and she blushes, sheepish.

"Huh? ...oh, yeah. But the view from Bevelle is better."

"Because the Chancellor is not here?"

"Quiet, you."

They check into a three-star hotel by the end of the hour, eager to exploit the rare opportunity to lavish in luxurious comfort by leeway of the Council's own generous coffers. Chuami specifically picked out a two-bed suite with a seaside view so she could admire the ocean, since it never fails to calm her in moments of weariness or anxiety.

While Kurgum lounges on the bed, nursing his airborne headache with an arm thrown across his face, blocking out all vestiges of light from his aching eyes, she steals the opportunity to strip out of her sweltering thick frock coat and black leggings, sighing in pure relief. She slips into an asymmetrical leather brown skirt, delighting in the air that soothes her exposed legs, and unbuttons her vest down to her undershirt, padding over to the window seat barefoot so she can recline on the plush window seat. Gazing out into the boardwalk, she contents herself with people-watching.

Lifting her face at the slightest pickup of a breeze, she closes her eyes and inhales, enjoying the cool light of the sunset on her cheeks, the wind carrying the scent of sea-salt. She smiles, melancholy gripping her heart.

A world without Sin. A world she only dreamed of, until three years ago.

If only her mother were still here to enjoy it with her.

Chuami drags Kurgum out to the bar once he recovers, ignoring all his constant protests, because who knows when the Spiran Council will decide to raise the bar again to something even more outrageous like twenty-one years, or hell, twenty-five? Kurgum may not want to partake in his eternal quest for abstinence, but she definitely wouldn't think twice, daydreaming of the sweet taste of a chocolate margarita or mango tequila. Where better to celebrate their recent passage into adulthood than the nightlife of Luca?

Although many policies and stipulations have changed since the beginning of The Eternal Calm– such as open curfew times, increased Al Bhed residencies, and subhuman immigration– the legal drinking age still remained at sixteen years of age. Rumors were circulating that the Spiran Council wanted to pass a bill for its prohibition, for fear of another popular craze sweeping the nation like drug trafficking.

As far as she knew, the Spiran Council were still mulling over the abolishment of a certain writ of assistance, the one written specifically to combat suspected and illegal smuggling. Chuami mayhaps peeked at the documents Baralai brought home late one night, and he had been too distracted preparing them dinner to notice (while Kurgum witnessed her snooping with silent disapproval). She remembered hearing about reported controversy in the past where the legality of trade and navigation laws came into question, such as Warrior Monks exploiting the right to investigate people's homes at the slightest provocation, without cause for suspicion and at no consequence of their own.

Chuami shivers at the childhood memory: of parents in her neighborhood always fighting. One day there, the next day a whole family would disappear. Children were usually spared only to be ostracized for simply having 'criminal' parents. Everybody knew when some household had been ousted for a falsified accusation born out of petty resentment or personal conflict, escalating to the point they slandered each other.

One would be careful to watch their mouth, she had always been told, or else her mother would be paying the price. Chuami hated living in fear of sticking out. She tried hard restraining herself, but in the end she always succumbed to her temper, causing her mother much grief over the years. If she ever said the wrong thing or even felt a certain way that rebelled against the public standard, anyone could turn that against her for any reason.

At least those morbid memories could be laid to rest, because the writ passed the first screening courtesy of the Chancellor's support.

So many things are changing now that she cannot begin to fathom the scope of it all. Chuami would much rather let Baralai handle all of that complicated government stuff while she travels around Spira in hopes of uncovering more of its hidden mysteries, playing the counselor to civilians in need.

They eventually find a bar right around the corner of a quaint cafe near some steps that lead to a tram station still in development, discovering the entire place packed to the brim with inebriated adults and boisterous blitz fans watching the telesphere consoles hung up on the high walls. Groups of varying counts occupy all available seatings, and Chuami manages to snag a corner booth the moment a couple stands to leave, pleased with herself. Coins echo in the background, bouncing to the flurry of quick-minded players engaged in Sphere Break.

Men and women, human and demihuman, every blitzball fan under the sun and moon, toast to frothing glasses of beer over at the bar, watching replays of the past month, placing bets and building tabs in hype of the next season. Chuami chews at the end of her straw, suckling the dregs of her strawberry mango martini and welcoming the bittersweet taste that saturates her taste buds, basking in the heady, energized atmosphere.

Kurgum sits quietly across from her, having long since given up on casual conversation when his voice proved too soft to rise above the cacophony, munching on their ahi salad. Chuami orders another round, ignoring his look of concern as she challenges herself to chug it in one go. Her throat burns with each large gulp, yet that does not deter her. Slapping the glass cup back down with a satisfying clunk, she exhales, buzzed. 'Huh. This feels… good.'

Her head feels fuzzy and light-headed, disoriented by all the lights that start to blur, and she hiccups, burping into her mouth ― devolving into inane giggles at the thought of her mother scolding her. "Young lady! Mind yourself. That is not how a proper woman behaves," and then she would cup her face and wipe her mouth and smile. She doesn't remember much afterwards, only the distinct feeling of Kurgum dragging her to her feet, his comforting voice soon to disappear in her tear-induced sleep.

"It's okay, Chuami. Everything's going to be okay…"

Kurgum spends the remainder of their eight hour flight shuffling back and forth across the bridge, stopping at times to peer out one of the portholes to stave his airsickness and sitting back down at the bank of seats to wring his hands. Chuami finds his constant restless movements nauseating to watch, worsening the headache born from her hangover, so she redirects her gaze outside the porthole. Not that she can fault him. Anyone would be anxious on an airship with nothing to do.

Tired of the same old beautiful scenery, Chuami props open her logbook and thumbs through the written pages. She had been recording their progress and the details of their journey every day, amazed by the numerous sights and smells that Spira has to offer as well as the rapid passage of time. What would normally take a whole month to travel could be reduced to three days on airship. Boredom threatens to circumvent the wonder and beauty of aero travel fast, however, and she sighs.

Imagining the look on Baralai's face when he finds out she actually worked on her report somewhat abets the headache, and Chuami smiles, straightening in her seat. She casts her gaze out through the porthole again and sighs, weary, admiring the incredible view of the golden horizon bleeding into purple and azure, signifying the arrival of evening.

Squinting against the dull glow of the sun blinding her periphery, she spots a conspicuous dot of green land in the distance. 'Is that…?' Kurgum voices the thought before she can bother to form it, glad to avert her eyes from the painful horizon.

"Is that Besaid Island?"

"No, dummy. That's Kilika."

She crosses her arms, confident in her claim. They couldn't have reached it this fast. Besides, with Kilika having undergone a significant expansion of their piers and harbors since their complete restoration in the past three years, it could rival Besaid in lush verdantry. But then the Al Bhed pilot interjects, pulling the rug out from beneath her feet.

"We are approaching Besaid. Prepare for landing!"

Kurgum laughs, his mirth devolving into nervous laughter when Chuami throws him a withering glare.

"Did you just laugh?"

"Of course n― Chuami, I can't brea― Stop!"

He starts choking, trapped in her vicious headlock and struggling to break free.

"Prepare for landing, oui pnyda!"

Even though she didn't understand a word he said, Chuami knows for a fact he called them brats. It doesn't take a Hypello linguist to know that. Ignoring his barb, she relinquishes Kurgum with a harsh shove, vengeance satiated for the time being.

"We are not here to sightsee."

Chuami proclaims the moment they step onto the sea-worn wood of the docking bridge, punctuating her next grandiose remark with a cheeky smile. "Remember, our objective is to meet the one and only High Summoner Yuna." Kurgum simply sighs in response as she pivots on her heel, teetering to the fall of her boots sinking in sand. They leave behind the beach to walk the waterfall path, enjoying the cool, soft mist rinsing the grogginess and sweat from their skin.

In the last year since Yuna had been reported to quit sphere-hunting, she returned to Besaid and assumed her position as the High Priestess of the Yevoners.

Chuami suppresses the sigh, internalizing her disappointment. Yevoners. Everyone knows the story with them. Stuffy, anachronistic fossils who act as guard dogs of the old ways and the 'so-called' morality. They were also responsible for the recent commotion that had upset Spira, or at least, the hard-core members were, but since then the incident had been quelled. Still, it nauseates Chuami to think that organizations such as them still exist in the world.

New Yevon had been bad enough, but she hates the Yevoners even more. She would be lying, though, if she said she harbored zero interest in meeting the heroine who defeated Sin and freed Spira from a thousand-year-old curse.

She slows her pace now, thoughtful, kicking aside a stray pebble that threatened to capsize her.

Lady Yuna must have also known her father well.

Reaching the promontory leading to Besaid's rustic hamlet, they descend the slope until they reach the stone pillars that border its entrance, stepping through the threshold. They survey the paved center plaza and dome-shaped homesteads populating the sparse forest of trees, feeling a little lost. There couldn't have been more than a hundred people living here. Like the boondocks, a perfect place to settle down and raise a family, or retire.

Chuami could never see herself living here, so far removed from the mainland and its numerous sources of entertainment. Time appears to be frozen here, preserving life at its most peaceful and monotonous.

Speaking with a few of the locals, they locate the mayor's home soon enough, a five minute walk from the main gate. Chuami peaks her head through the opening before Kurgum can stop her, lifting up one end of embroidered fabric that serves as her door. "Hello? Is anyone home?"

Only to instantly regret it.

Chuami almost ducks out from sheer embarrassment, mortified that she caught the mother with one breast exposed, nursing her one-year-old on her teat, and succumbs to the impulse, using the tarp as coverage for her shame.

"You may enter." A deep, sultry voice answers, granting them permission despite their bold entry.

They stand in front of the doorway, blocking entry for anyone who wishes to step in and interrupt their impromptu audience. The man she assumes must be her husband and the father of her child lounges in front of their low table, in the process of eating dinner while gazing up at the pair. Kurgum squirms from their scrutiny in the midst of this raw domestic setting while Chuami takes a visual survey of their humble abode, spying an open air oven cooking fish. Smoke rises from the crackling chips, lending its heady scent to the unique spices that fill the various pots adorning the cloth walls. Barely any air circulation in here...

"Good afternoon, Mayor Lulu. I am Kurgum, a Sender of the Spiran Council. This is my assistant, Chuami."

"So, what business does the Council have here?"

Chuami avoids eye contact with the woman, annoyed that she didn't exercise the decency to cover herself after their introductions.

"My apologies, Mayor Lulu, but my instructions are to speak to Lady Yuna in person."

Chuami glances at him, impressed by his tone of authority. It's obvious Kurgum strives to channel Baralai in his voice, stressing politeness around the firm command. He tends to emulate him in moments of anxiety and self-doubt, even managing to dispel the worst of his stuttering due to his lifelong big-brother worship of him. This doesn't intimidate the newlyweds in the least, unfortunately, and the muscle-bound man voices his surly complaint.

"Oh, yeah? Well, then, I guess we should let you see her. Not." He stands at full attention now to fold his burly arms across his sun-scorched pectorals, projecting his massive presence as well as his loud, boisterous voice. "Lots of people come here saying the same thing, yeah?"

"We're here to spare Yuna any unnecessary headaches. Now state your business."

Lulu reinforces her husband's statement, stubborn and self-imposing while staving the worst of her baby's fussing. Readjusting her fur-lined collar over her breast now that her infant satiated himself, she stands to walk over to the crib, rocking him to sleep, before placing him on top of the quilt. Once satisfied her child will not wake, she straightens to regard the pair with narrowed eyes.

"But…" Kurgum falters in his stance, frightened by the angry giant who towers over him as well as his austere wife.

This garners Wakka's sympathy, and he drops his arms, rubbing the back of his cockatrice-coiffed head in deliberation, all the while ignoring Lulu's pointed glare. "Well, I guess you got a job to do, too. Let's do this, I'll take you to Yuna, but I sit in on the meeting, too. We'll all share the pain, eh?"

Chuami suppresses her snort, disguising the sound by crossing her arms.

'What 'pain' is there for you?' She internalizes her complaint, because the big-breasted mayor and the oafish caretaker were also legendary Guardians. They knew her father, too, so it wouldn't be wise to start trouble right away.

"C'mon. This way."

Wakka escorts them to the temple, leading them up the outdoor steps to venture inside, crossing the antechamber to climb another, longer flight of steps to the uppermost door. Chuami and Kurgum pause before the base, taking in the stone-sculpted stairway carpeted in red velvet, the brightest color in this dim, muted building. The towering stone statues of High Summoners past seem to mock them from their regal perch atop the bleachers, glaring down at them in stone-cold judgment. Such an overbearing presence...

Why does she get the feeling one of them will spring to life and smite them for their audacity to enter a divine threshold? Chuami senses Kurgum reach for her hand and she meets him halfway, allowing him comfort in the meeting of their clammy, wet palms.

This could have been them. In another life, they could have braved the seas and weathered the storms beneath the shadow of Sin, time and time again, for a paltry moment of harsh supplication.

"Well?" Wakka peers over them from high above, impatience bleeding through his annoyance. "What're you waiting for? This place isn't haunted, trust me. We cleared out the nest of fiends months ago."

Chuami scoffs, the first to move and break the spell. "We're not afraid of any fiends."

Inside, damp stone walls surround them, tinged in green moss and gray blue. Chuami scrunches her nose, put off by the pungent, moist smell. They reach a dead end where a glowing green glyph points to all four cardinal directions on the wall in front of them; a compass robbed of its purpose, for Wakka turns to descend a short flight of steps, which yields into an empty alcove and stone console. Kurgum's eyes linger on it before Chuami urges him along.

They turn again to descend once more through a set of open double doors, and Kurgum takes to reading the writing on the wall now, glowing white Yevon script detailing the path of the pilgrimage. Besaid, Kilika, Djose, Macalania, Bevelle, Zanarkand…

Kurgum would have had to travel all this way from Bevelle on foot, no airship, only seafare to cross the long stretches of sea between the islands, not knowing if he would die in a random, ill-fated encounter against Sin or some other powerful fiend, before trekking all the way back to Bevelle and crossing the Calm Lands. Going by the word of hearsay, many of the Fayth would not recognize a fledgling Summoner unless they sensed the divine blessing of Valefor. Perhaps even Ifrit, the hellhound of Kilika, if their burning resolve proved them worthy.

Chuami always hated the idea of Kurgum and Summoner training. Many of their past disputes originated from their stubborn refusal to understand the other's side. Fortunately, the Eternal Calm put a stop to all that heartache.

"This place used to be called the Cloister of Trials." Wakka breaks the silence, his loud voice accompanying the echo of their footsteps. "It's just a regular passageway now that there's no Fayth. Summoners used the room farthest down to meet with the Fayth. That's where Yuna is right now."

"What's Lady Yuna doing there? I mean, if there's no Fayth…" Chuami remembers her wits, forcing herself to be mild-mannered.

"Even with no Fayth, you can still pray. That's what Yuna does now."

"What does she pray for?" Kurgum pipes up, curious.

"Peace on Spira."

"Yeah, right…"

Chuami mutters, prompting Wakka to throw a glare her way.

"Say again?"

"Oh, nothing…" She feigns innocence, suppressing her frown. Yeesh. Hostile much? Well, since they're here at the source of Yevoner philosophy, might as well delve into a native's perspective. "Uh, by the way, Sir Wakka… I'm a little confused about Yevoners. Their objective is not restoring power to the Yevon temples?"

"What, we starting from there…?" He grumbles, conceding to her question. "Well, I guess it's pretty important, so I'll explain. Yevoners aren't trying to control the world through the teachings like the old temples did. All they're trying to do is live their own lives by the teachings. That's all. It's just one way of living."

One way of living? Who would want to live like that, chained to outdated principles? Chuami frowns, annoyed. "I don't quite understand the difference."

"The temples maintained several big lies. Sin being the manifestation of human misdeeds, the taboo against the use of machines, that kinda stuff. But everything else they said was pretty much on the money. Gratitude for the bounty of nature, respecting your neighbors…" Wakka goes on to gesticulate his words with bombastic gusto, otherwise stating what everybody knew since primary school. Really, that kind of stuff goes without saying.

She scoffs. "But all of that just sounds like common sense. I don't think you need to become a Yevoner and pray..."

"That's why I said it's one way to live, not the only way." Wakka pauses, halting in his tracks to scrutinize her. "How old are you?"

Chuami quirks an eyebrow, confused by the relevancy of that question. "Seventeen."

"So you'll learn soon." He crosses his arms, nodding his head to the weight of his self-imposed wisdom. "The older you get, the harder it becomes to change how you live. Even in this new age, there are people that are lost. Yevoners are a gathering of people like that."

"So it's different from say, New Yevon?" Kurgum chimes in, enthralled by the direction of their warring philosophies.

"Those guys were just using Yevon's name to gain the people's trust. Their views were actually progressive."

"So the Yevoners are backwards thinking?"

Wakka fumbles in his response, caught off guard by the blunt delivery of her question. "That's not what I meant… Anyway, New Yevon is gone, and now it's a council. What's the point of discussing it now?"

"So to sum up, Yevoners are basically a gathering of weak people?" Chuami smiles, proud of her natural lead-in― and startled by the expression of grief that suddenly shadows his stern features. 'Uh-oh. Did I take it too far? Dammit, now I feel bad.' Now She blames him for making such a pained expression, evoking her guilt and sympathy when she only wanted to express her opinion over an obvious and sensitive truth.

"Chuami!" Kurgum scolds her, but she ignores him.

"Why you gotta go and say it out loud? Everyone knows. They know."

"If they know, they shouldn't just crawl into a hole. They should go out and try to live. They think they maintain peace through prayer? Talk about delusional…" Again, her conscience kicks in too late, because she catches the way his mouth twists into a surly scowl, reminding her of the priests who used to look down on her with contempt and disappointment. She hates that look, and she braces herself for the incoming lecture.

"Chuami, was it? Be kinder. Be bigger. Your kind of thinking will only hurt those people."

Chuami didn't like how he said "those people," acting as though he had no stake. His own Summoner and surrogate sister leads those people. She chooses to live just like them, weary old folks afraid of the new world. To think that the woman who defied tradition and overthrew the Church now backpedals on her own achievements, it doesn't make any sense.

What caused her to change her tune?

They resume their walk in tense silence now, following Wakka into an empty cloister devoid of furnishing save for a single, inoperable pillar. Chuami breaks out into goosebumps the moment she hears a familiar haunting sound– a chorus of reverent voices singing the Hymn. What the– Where's it coming from? It sounds so distant and muffled. Creepy...

They both come to an abrupt halt once Wakka stops in the middle of the room. He turns to face them, beckoning them to step inside a faded circle. Chuami and Kurgum exchange looks, wary of the mischievous glint in his eyes.

'I don't trust that look…' Yet they do as he instructs, because what else are they supposed to do? Fiddle with their thumbs like a bunch of scared, little children? Chuami stares down at her feet now, shifting in place, studying the platform stripped of its paint and color while Kurgum rocks on his heels. Huh. How old is this thing anywa–

The ancient mechanism suddenly jerks to life, startling them to almost lose balance as they start to descend below ground. Chuami reaches for Kurgum on instinct, concerned by his sickly green pallor and desperate to brace herself for the inevitable impact. When's the last time these people brought a maintenance crew down here? Since the dawn of time? The platform's screeching like it's dying of oil-thirst. Once it cranks to an actual stop, they breathe a sigh of divine relief, resisting the urge to lean on the cool walls for comfort. 'Yevon have mercy…'

"Okay, wait here." Wakka steps forward, regarding them with wicked amusement. Damn him and his country-bumpkin ass. He knew this would happen, too. "I'll bring Yuna. Just keep it to business. If you hassle her like you did with me, I'll throw you out."

Wakka pivots on his heel, cutting through the rows of people knelt in prayer, ascending the flight of steps where a white-robed woman kneels at the top.

Chuami clucks her tongue, steadying herself.

'Hassle,' he says. Perhaps she had been harassing him. Coming to terms with the visible, undeniable proof that the High Summoner stands as the spokesperson for these Yevoners, a stark contrast to Chancellor Baralai who used to lead these same people back in his days as Praetor for New Yevon, before he chose to adapt to change, replacing the previous figures of authority with younger, fresh faces…

It irks her.

'Praying for peace'? Far too late for that.

Her mother had been killed by Yevoner hunters. Impaled by a spear, she died with blood streaming from her chest, and just for being a sympathizer. The crimson, acrid memory of smoke and raging fire stings her eyes twofold, both in memory and in the present, and she grits her teeth to extinguish her unshed tears. Chuami tries in vain to silence the echo of anguished screams of dying people and her mother's helpless, pleading voice, yet they replay inside her head, fueling her rage and grief beneath the surface of her strained calm. 'If it wasn't for them…'

"Chuami." Kurgum anchors her back to the present, his voice soft and empathic. "I know how you feel, but please… We have a job to do."

"I know." She acquiesces, averting her eyes to stare at a tapestry depicting Valefor.

A mighty and omnipotent avian deity known for her mercy on fledgling Summoners. Chuami remembers viewing an oil painting of Valefor's slender, robust body in the city library, the violet scales and scarlet feathers of its flesh-colored wings, how frightening and fearsome it looked when Lady Ilyria summoned her. Genteel and guileful, performing cartwheels in the sky for the thirteen-year-old boy fearless of heights.

Kurgum's simpering voice interrupts her reverie. "Just please… oh, it's Lady Yuna."

A young woman descends through the aisles of elderly folk bowed in humble prayer, with long, dark hair flowing to the beat of her clipped footsteps. She wears a pleated, black skirt that sashays around a pair of fair, slender legs. Her long, draping sleeves match the snow white color of her wrap shirt save for the shades of red dye that grows darker closer towards the ends. Stopping before the young pair in soft-spoken regard, she clasps her hands in front of her and bows.

Whereas Baralai brightens the room with kind eyes and arms wide open in warm invitation, gracious smile ever present, Yuna dampens the air surrounding her with a hush and reverence her solemnity begets, her beautiful face a stoic mask. As she straightens to regard them with polite apathy, the dim torchlight of flickering embers illuminates her cerulean-green eyes. The shadow of her smile chills her, as does the disheartening contrast.

"Hello, and welcome to Besaid, home of the Yevoners. I am the Priestess Yuna."