(A/N): Never thought I would reach the day where I would write an entire chapter dedicated to Baralai's POV of -Will-, but here we are, and now I'm gonna go finish crying in a corner. 😭 I inserted a gratuitous amount of OCs, such as Baralai's parents, an entire Council of characters, a historical figure, etc. There are honorable mentions, like Rikku, Cid, and Shinra, and cameos, like Shelinda, the Magus Sisters and their ancient treasures, etc.

Chapter 10

~Renewal & False Faith~

Baralai stood alone in the Farplane abyss.

Flowers bloomed in the darkness, white daisies and purple petunias, of irises and sage and pink perennials wrapped around his rooted feet. Upon recognizing the flowerbed he once walked in his waking dreams, he realized he must have perished. Why else would his body not obey him despite every fiber of his being wailing at him to follow the echoes? He thought he heard the sounds of distant combat, the voices of his friends, of heroic legends encouraging them to fight… yet the chasm of cascading waterfalls drowned all other noise except for the choir of whistling pyreflies.

'I must stop him… from destroying Spira… I must… return…'

His retinas burned from watching molten gold pool into a bottomless reservoir, mesmerized by the beauty of its mystical landscape, how everything seemed to revolve around the crimson orb floating in the black void, a mimicry of the sun ensnaring all light and matter within its gravitational pull. He sighed, feeling the wind blow through his unanchored soul.

He felt no guilt, nor shame or fear of failure. No pain. No suffering. Only calm. Peace. Oneness.

"Wake up! Don't die on me, dammit! Open your eyes—!"

"You're the boy from my dream! When I woke up, I found myself all alone. I looked for you for so long…"

"What're you saying?! I hate the way you talk! Why don't you ever say what you mean? At least talk to me in a way I can understand—"

"That woman holds you prisoner... and calls it love... she can't summon you forever..."

"Baralai! ...he's not breathing. Something's wrong! Healer!"

He started hearing voices behind him, both familiar and unfamiliar, overlapping in constant ripples to create an echo, a riddle, an opaque picture, sparking his curiosity, his desire to look back. Beyond the bridge of pyrelight that suddenly appeared before him, snaking into the hazy horizon, he watched another scene unfold, painting pandemonium. He drifted forward, squinting, recognizing Paine and Nooj amidst the lustrous backdrop of Bevelle as they fought to stave the relentless waves of Sinspawn.

Baralai shuddered, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions and memories flooding in. He dropped his eyes to his hands now, confused by the embroidery of his cuffs, the absence of Yevonic symbols on his emerald uniform. He raised his arm, and then the other, tracing his translucent sleeves to his spectral regalia and frayed stoles, jolted by the phantom pain of cardiac arrest—

'That Unsent…' He gasped, horrified by the realization. '…summoned Sin! Sin returned! I must protect Spira— for Lady Yuna—!'

He forged ahead, his footfalls sinking heavier than twin anchors pulling him to rock bottom as he fought against the sweet call to eternal rest.

Reaching for the light, he caught the glow of a phoenix feather between his fading fingertips—

Baralai took his first breath, and hacked out blood.

Clutching at his tight chest, he keeled over and vomited, grasping for air through the sheer, hot, blinding pain.

Tears blurred the faces of those surrounding him, followed by voices exploding all around him, so many voices, shouting his name and various forms of vocal, incoherent relief that it deafened him. He succumbed to white noise ringing in his ears, suffocating beneath the weight of so many hands clinging to him in fervent worry and concern that anger rose to the surface, followed by shame and mortification towards his own pathetic display of discomposure—

Baralai ripped away to push himself on his hands and knees, pounding the pavement in his vitriolic ire until his voice grew hoarse. Once the last of his coughs quieted down, nauseated by the puddle of blood pooling onto the pavement, splotching his coat and sleeves, he climbed to his feet and straightened on his heels, gripping his knees, spitting the remnants of blood clogging his throat before exhaling a shuddering, sharp, weak breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, neglecting to use his handkerchief. A part of him wished he could cast a Regen spell to ease the pain, to mitigate the internal bleeding, but he could hardly concentrate due to his addled mind.

"You're alive." He heard Nooj huff in relief before feeling the cold weight of his metal hand pat his shoulder. "You son of a gun."

"…where is he?" He croaked, wheezing, clearing his throat in the vain hope to regain his voice.

"The Unsent? He's gone— vanished into thin air," Nooj said.

"…w-what of the people?" Baralai halted, wracked with another burst of chest pain, helpless to contain the surge of blood welling in his throat. He reached for someone, anyone— and felt Paine catch him in her wiry arms before he collapsed over her shoulder, heaving large gulps of air and hot saliva. Her firm embrace anchored him, carrying him through the worst of his violent coughing fit, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, enduring the impossible, constant pain, clutching her tight, striving to center himself.

"We're fine." Nooj said at long last, his voice soft with remorse. "…we did the best we could, all things considered."

Baralai sighed in harsh relief, waiting for the first vestige of calm before raising his head from Paine's rigid, bloodstained shoulder, comforted by her silent presence.

"You're a mess."

Until she opened her mouth, and he glared, astounded by her nerve.

"It's a nice look on you." She continued, her scarlet eyes crinkling from mirth as she scrubbed the blood from his chin.

He scowled, turning the other cheek. "…thank you, Paine."

"No problem."

They locked eyes, exchanging faint smiles— until Baralai pulled away first, hyperaware of Nooj's gaze burning holes into his back. He cannot deal with his pitiful, pining looks right now.

He looked past the wall of officers surrounding them, witnessing Warrior Monks and Crimson Blades pursue the trail of fleeing Sinspawn, spurred by Lady Lucil and Lord Ulric's swift command at the front lines. Lady Olenka trailed close behind, leading the ranks of their exhausted medics and combat mages while dual-casting elemental and healing magic in masterful tandem. Lord Isaaru brought up the flank, adopting the score of addled Senders in Lady Ilyria's place; distributing red feathers dropped from their war chocobos to enchant their bodies with wind magic to hasten their step.

The rest of his Ministers remained to survey the decimated area, assessing the damages and harrowing head count. Lady Wu Seiran danced at the epicenter of the pavilion to appease the rampant pyreflies despite the conspicuous limp in her slow, yet graceful step, her wound bleeding into her crimson chemise. Lord Quinn brewed double the amount of potions from his portable chest of herbs, lumbering over his torn, grass-stained robes to reach every begging hand and bleeding heart eager for comfort. Lord Caelin stooped to retrieve the spheres from the fallen tripods, lamenting the damaged footage within the broken glass, which matched his own cracked spectacles.

And in the midst of all this quiet devastation, Baralai found him standing alone.

Tidus seemed to glow in the sun like morning dewdrops, fixated on his iridiscent, flickering hands. His breath caught in his throat. Baralai stumbled towards him, sensing something wrong. That Unsent must have done something to him while he had been incapacitated. Why else would his pyrefly signature weaken with every passing second—?

"He's not like the rest of us." Rikku told him once, faltering on his name.

His hands stilled, and he placed the teapot down to rest it on wood, unable to calm his curious mind.

"I don't really get it, but Yunie said he's a dream of the Fayth. That the Zanarkand he came from wasn't our Zanarkand, but a version of it summoned by Yu Yevon, and then he created Sin to protect his Zanarkand, but then he lost control— and became a bug! A gross-looking, floating bug that never died, kinda like a cockroach— At least, that's what Bahamut told her. Sooo… does that mean if Yevon never summoned Zanarkand, Tidus would've never existed?"

It took Baralai several long weeks to piece together the whole picture from her renegade thoughts. Lord Tidus had been born in a pyreform world summoned by the mythical Summoner himself, drawing upon the power of a whole city converted to willing Fayth for an entire millennium— just to protect his undying dream, preserving Zanarkand at its prime and the memory of all those who lived there. He perpetuated the summon beyond his mortal lifespan, creating a complex ecosystem of reincarnated souls throughout the centuries— if one could believe Yu Yevon's Zanarkand shared the same flow of time as Spira.

And Tidus's arrival in Spira three years ago, preceded by his father, Sir Jecht, in ten years served as a testament to that fact. He walked among Spirans throughout Lady Yuna's pilgrimage, none the wiser of his pyreform existence until his first disappearance. Who tethered his existence now? The departed Fayth? A wrathful Unsent? An ancient superior force awakened from its slumber? Baralai dreaded the possibility of any one of those coming to fruition, fearful of anyone possessing the power to determine his fate and free will on a whim.

That ebon-clad Unsent targeted Tidus specifically and spoke of the Zanarkand Fayth. What could it all mean—?

His racing thoughts soon out-sped his awkward, lumbering footsteps.

"Lord Tidus!"

He snatched his arms, squeezing his biceps, and exhaled in relief. His body felt solid and warm and alive. Tidus jolted, anchored by his touch, his broken, rasping concern. "A-Are you hurt?" The light returned to his glassy eyes and he breathed, and before Baralai could respond, Tidus tripped forward, startling him with the force of his embrace.

"Y-You're alive! I thought you died—!"

Baralai coughed, touched by his effusive relief, his grief on his behalf, and pulled back, attempting to recollect himself by clearing his throat, wiping his chapped lips, feeling parched, drained, short of breath. "He casted temporal magic to stop my heart… however, I was resuscitated in time due to everyone's swift action." He paused to touch his shoulder, distressed by the state of his ruined attire, his petering pyrefly signature. "That Unsent... Did he do anything untoward to you?"

"N—Nah." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, pushing away out of embarrassment or discomfort. "I'm good."

He nodded, reassured for now. He intended to confront the nature of his existence at a later point, but he must tread lightly in case of causing him any undue offense. "Stay close to me. You may be a Legendary Guardian, but you are still a civilian. Should the Unsent return at any point to pursue you, I will keep him at bay. In the meantime, we must return to the temple and alert Spira at once. Paine—"

She appeared by his side before he even finished that sentence, feeling her fist bump his shoulder. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Baralai nodded, lifting his hands to form the shape of a triangle, envisioning The Sky Tower in his mind's eye. He imagined a room full of tiered desks and sphere consoles, an observation deck overlooking the cityscape, the Sphere Oscillator, the crystal microsphere, all his robed officers and Al Bhed technicians operating the equipment, and focused on it, concentrating on the lines for a teleportation spell.

"It's time we deployed our Warrior Motor Unit. When you find Gippal, tell him to be prepared to provide aero support. We need as many aircrafts online as soon as possible—" Mana shifted the air, billowing their clothes and spilling onto the concrete, painting the delicate, complex lines of a silver mandala, growing in height and diameter until all three of them stood within its circle. He braced himself, allowing the cascade of familiar, white lights to shower them until they vanished from the Vermillion Province.

"Chancellor Baralai! Miss Paine—!"

Baralai emerged from the disintegrating pillar of white light, sensing Paine close at his heels while Tidus shuffled behind, no doubt disoriented by the spell. He strode into the circle of officers and technicians whom all swiveled from their seats to swarm them, and while the Al Bhed bombarded his back with hearty claps of their calloused hands, the rest of his Bevellian-born officers hovered in equal annoyance and concern, scandalized by their impropriety. His chest quaked beneath the constant impact of their joyous relief, yet he strove not to let them see, suppressing his coughs, managing a meek smile.

"Worry not, everyone, for we are alright."

"The hell you are, COTSC— Look at you! We saw what happened!"

"You sure you're not a Beckoning? No lie, Chancellor, but ya kinda look like a zombie..."

"Most of us were betting you actually died, but I knew you'd come back. Let me tell ya, you've made me a richer man, Chancellor!" Omar laughed, slapping his knee.

"You imbecile..." Rowan, a senior officer he had been acquainted with since the onset of New Yevon's formation, quivered from boiling rage until he soon snapped, incensed by his peer's inappropriate humor. "How dare you make a sport of the Chancellor's life! He fought valiantly to protect us from that baleful Unsent! And now, Sin has returned—."

"What're we supposed to do against that? Please tell me you got a plan, COTSC, or we might as well jump ship now—"

"We're working on it." Paine crossed her arms, and they all stood at attention, intimidated by her disapproving glare. Baralai sighed, pained by his throbbing heart, appreciating her presence to whip them into line when he lacked the energy and mental strength to do so. Now, they surveyed the dozen of sphere monitors surveilling various parts of the city, most of them featuring Sin at different angles, across multiple distances, either from a reporter's spherecam or aerial drone. His eyes lingered on one particular screen, recognizing the auburn hair of that tenacious reporter who cast caution into the wind, pursuing Sin's shadow.

"Have you guys been tracking Sin? Where is It now?"

"We've been following Its movements. Sin's been circling the city while making more Spawn—."

"General Nooj issued the mobilization of our machine weapons through our commsphere channel. We patched it immediately to the Machinery Department, and they've been launching missiles and torpedoes at It to dismember Its limbs, but they keep regenerating!"

Baralai nodded, folding his arm to balance his elbow, holding his chin in thought. When did Nooj authorize the use of machines without his voice? While he had been temporarily deceased? Regardless, it made sense to default to the very same tactic Lord Cid employed three years ago aboard the Fahrenheit, since that had proven successful in weakening Sin, allowing for Lady Yuna and her Legendary Guardians to pierce Its armor and venture inside. However…

Did that Unsent Beckon Sin? Or Summon It by possessing the departed Fayth? Rikku told him they fought Yevon, an immortal man reduced to fiendish form at the core of Sin. Did the Unsent retreat inside Sin after incapacitating him? Or could he pilot It while running amok in the city streets? So many unknown variables… and the identity of that Unsent concerned him most of all, because everything pointed to him being—

"What're you thinking?"

Paine's soft voice reeled him back from the frightening direction of his thoughts.

"…I'm thinking about everything that Rikku told us, of Lady Yuna's final battle inside Sin, against Yu Yevon… and I have a theory."

Before he could elaborate further, someone burst through the restricted door only accessible from his Praetorian Lift, barreling into the room. "Baralai?! Are you in here?"

"Gippal!"

Baralai dropped all pretense, rushing forward to meet him halfway. Gippal hugged him with such gusto that he almost knocked him off balance, and he coughed, holding his waist, allowing their embrace to linger just this once. He smelled of oil and sweat, and his favorite cologne, of saffron and licorice, which brought to mind their late night walks after the spherema, the open air baths during Lunar New Year. His chest fluttered, feeling his anxious heart calm. Everyone made it out alive, safe and sound. As long as the four of them were together, nothing felt impossible.

Gippal finally pulled back, taking in his appearance. "Oui muug mega cred."

"That's what I said." Paine smirked.

"Quiet, you—" He refrained from the inelegant retort, mindful of the audience present, and pulled the cords of his self-restraint taut, recomposing himself. "…How fast can you ship out those aircraft carriers? We need as many reinforcements as possible, including those motorcycle prototypes you have been working on."

"Oh? What about the paperwork?"

Baralai crossed his arms and smiled, amused by his escalating excitement and disbelief.

"Wait… Does that mean I have your blessing, oh Mister Chancellor?" He rubbed his palms together in diabolical glee.

"Consider their trial period over."

"Yes~!" Gippal pumped his fist, bounding over to the idle hovercraft. "You heard the man! We got no second to waste, people! Let's rock n' roll~!"

Baralai turned to face Paine now, faltering on the farewell, feeling wistful, and covered his cough. "Take care."

Paine lingered, tapping his chest with an affectionate bump of her fist. "Hey. Don't go dying on me— again, you hear me? Take care of yourself."

"Of course." He clutched her wrist without thinking, for once annoyed by the cover of her glove as he took in her features.

Paine… The only woman who ever held his gaze unflinching, who never once cowed her tongue or coddled his feelings for fear of sensitivity; aside from his mother, of course, and he considered himself blessed to call her his dearest companion. Paine saved him many times over, from Shuyin's possession twice, from the darkest days of his wretched life, suffering many a sleepless night alone entrenched in his many misgivings and deep-seated regret until she interfered in his daily life. He harbored so much fondness and affection for her that his chest ached, and he wondered whether his heart would ever truly recover from the sorcerous Unsent's lethal onslaught.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Baralai chuckled, tickled by her wit, letting go once she withdrew her hand. "A photo can never compare to the original article."

"Stop. You're making me blush."

Tried as she might to hide behind the edge of her sharp tone, he perceived the truth in her pink cheeks and cool gaze, delighted by the rare occasion of her bashfulness. Nooj could afford to compliment her more. She looked adorable when caught off guard (even more so when denying it with the point of her sword), and he would happily endure a lifetime of her complaints just to admire her slender, cutting figure in high-end dresses.

"Save it for someone who'd actually fall for it."

Her retort reeled him back from his whimsical musings, and Baralai chuckled, smiling. "I'm afraid that list is endless."

She huffed, rolling her ruby-red eyes. "Well, aren't you special."

His smile widened as he spied the perfect opportunity for mischief. "Not as special as you are to me—"

"Okay, enough cup-caking, you two!" Gippal smacked the side door in his juvenile impatience, drawing his voice out to an obnoxious tenor. "You're killing me over here!"

"I think he's jealous." Paine smirked, striding forward.

He allowed her to steal the last word, lamenting the distance as he watched them depart. They rerouted the Praetorian Lift and veered south, heading for the Priest's Walkway, the closest entrance near the cloister now converted to underground hangars for Gippal's dream garage, and he sighed. Sin returned, the Fayth disappeared with the Yevon name cast aside, and the Al Bhed boy he once broke bread with on infernal desert sands became the Chief Engineer of his Machinery Department. 'What a world we live in now…'

Gippal's ingenuity and gall never failed to exceed his expectations, for within one month of his promotion, he proceeded to flip the entire basement of Bevelle Temple into a playground for his latest projects, repurposing the de-powered corridors into actual race tracks and obstacle courses. With Paine at the helm, in charge of deploying their new specialized forces of motorized Warrior Monks in Nooj's behalf, the safety of their citizenry never felt more assured on ground level. 'I must do my part and clear our skies of Sin—!'

"Someone send a distress signal to Lord Cid on the Fahrenheit, and the Celsius in case his children are acting independently." Baralai strode forward now, recollecting himself in shattered pieces, reinforcing his glass heart. "I am preparing a speech as we speak. We must inform all of Bevelle what truly transpired in the Vermillion Province." He paused to pull out a compact mirror from his coat pocket, recalling his disheveled appearance.

His hand trembled as he peered into his fractured reflection. 'I must pull myself together. I cannot allow Spira to see me like this—.'

He withdrew a garment grid first, puzzling over Shinra's latest prototype. It's supposed to function as a portable wardrobe, and this would be his first time using it without supervision. He prayed that he would not end up embarrassing himself in his darkest hour. He pressed an occupied node, opting for a uniform simpler in ornamentation, swapping cashmere for wool, allowing the dormant pyreflies within the device to shower his body in magical light before his clothes finally materialized.

He lifted a silk handkerchief to wipe his ashen face and sweaty forehead next, staining it with dry blood. Although his bloodstream roared like a mountainous waterfall, he casted spellwater to soak the crisp, clean corners, imagining an onsen bath, bamboo striking the rock, droplets casting ripples along the steaming, calm surface, finding strength in the rhythmic, clear notes. He applied lip balm and facial cream to smooth out his deep contours, and then snapped his mirror shut, admiring the mother-of-pearl effigy of Shiva stylized in Macalania crystal wood, soothed by the memory of his graduation from Monk Academy, his parents' proud faces.

He worked his whole life for this moment, suffering long, sleepless hours of study and early prayer. His godfather's disciplinary hand. His father's merciless training. His mother's scarlet reputation. The judgment of his envious peers, the admiration of his mullish elders, the perversity of the Bevellian elite. He endured it all to earn this esteemed position, the privilege to rule and protect Bevelle, to redeem it of its sordid name. His Bevelle.

'I must not fail, or falter in the eyes of the people—'

"...At my signal, broadcast it throughout Spira. I am ready whenever you all are."

Baralai stood before the microsphere in rigid silence now, imagining every crystal scale of the pipe organ as human faces carved in agonizing expressions of bamboo instead. He took a deep breath, struggling to exhale, to breathe again, bracing himself, listening to the digits count down while clinging to elusive thoughts anxious to take flight, deafened by his erratic heartbeat, his pounding adrenaline.

"Everyone— Sin has returned. The Eternal Calm has come to an end. I repeat, Sin has returned—."

'I never wanted to be the one to say those words... Please, wake me up from this nightmare…' He fought to untangle the knots in his throat, pushing past the pressure to sound cool, calm, and collected in spite of his whirlpool of emotions. 'What would Lady Yuna do?' He focused on the image of her beautiful, smiling face, the last time they saw each other at the Lucan seaport one year ago, how the sun shined bright that afternoon, casting shadows into his heavy heart— just like three years ago, casting a shadow over her distant expression while her speech burned the loose chains of his unmoored heart, forging his faith anew.

He wanted to protect her smile, her happiness more than anything, but she never needed him to do so.

She had always been strong and brave, having saved Spira twice and liberated a wrathful Unsent from his own millennial curse.

Lady Yuna never ceased to inspire him even in her silence and apathy, and significant absence. Baralai wished that he possessed an ounce of her strength, her valor and faith, thus strove to emulate her in his moment of weakness and utter powerlessness. Shoulder on. Believe in your friends. Smile to give the people hope. His heart raced from warmth and affection now, overpowering his cold fear. Newfound strength surged within him, steadying his mind, his voice, his heart. 'I will protect Spira, for Lady Yuna—.'

"But do not be afraid. We, the Spiran Council, shall perform a mass Sending to banish Sin at all costs. Reinforcements are already on their way. General Nooj and Ministress Lucil currently lead the defense at Vermillion Province where the first Beckoning of Sin took place. Beware of an ebon-clad male Unsent roaming our city streets. I repeat: Do not be afraid—"

"What is the meaning of this?!"

Scisero burst into the room first, causing him to break concentration. Baralai turned away from the microsphere, signaling the officers to cut the spherecams just in time for Ilyria to push past her flabbergasted husband, smothering him in her frantic concern. "Baralai! Bless the Fayth you are alive! I feared the worst— Let me look at you. Are you hurt?" She snatched his face in her hands, and he bowed his head, allowing her to scrutinize every inch of him from head to toe, sensing her magic scan his entire body and biorhythm twice over.

"I sense no Toxin… What happened here?"

He took her hands and lowered them before she could probe further, comforting her with a firm squeeze. "Worry not, Mother. I am unscathed."

Ilyria sighed in immense relief, embracing him at full force, and he reciprocated without complaint, grounded by her warmth and rose perfume— and reluctant to let go when Scisero wedged himself between them.

"Inform us of the situation. What happened after we stepped away?"

"Yes…" He cleared his throat, composing himself and recollecting his thoughts. "It is as we have always feared. Sin managed to return. An Unsent clad in ebon robes appeared at the Memorial and Beckoned Sin before our very eyes. He spoke to Lord Tidus at great length…" He paused to glance in his direction, just now reminded of his presence. Quieter than a wallflower. Quite unlike the outspoken, rebellious youth described by the poets. Tidus tensed, defensive of his calculating gaze, and Baralai averted his eyes. "...and spoke of the Zanarkand Fayth. I dread to surmise his true identity."

"We can speculate later. I presume you failed to banish the Unsent."

"Yes. I attempted a Sending, yet he somehow managed to reject my ceremony, and incapacitated me…" Baralai halted, chilled by his brief experience with death, his miraculous escape from the Farplane, and opted not to mention it for fear of evoking their overprotective concern. "…He disappeared before any one of us could give pursuit. Nooj, Paine, and the other Ministers remained to fight the Sinspawn and protect the citizenry. I propose we gather our Senders at once and perform a mass Sending for Sin."

"Will it work?" Scisero said, skeptical.

Heavy silence fell between the trio, and the two men look to their matriarch. She stared into the empty space between them, clasping her manicured hands over her flat stomach, the crystal shards sewn into her blue corset casting sharp light over her dull amber eyes. Nobody dared to say it, but everybody in the room knew that Lady Ilyria would most likely die in her gamble to banish Sin, hoping that It would vanish as any Beckoning would.

Baralai willed himself to acknowledge the hollow truth. "Even if we do manage to Send Sin once… It may very well return, like any other Beckoning."

"We must show courage in the eyes of the people." Ilyria declared, hardening her resolve. "If we allow them to succumb to their own fear and despair, then Sin will return stronger than ever, tethered by our living memory." And then she paused, paralyzed by a moment of uncertainty and painful indecision. Before Baralai could recover the presence of mind to speak, to volunteer in her stead, she smiled, solemn, lowering her hands.

"…I'm afraid no other option lies before us. I must go."

"Mother, wait—!"

Baralai reached for her, neglecting his composure as Chancellor, and she caught his hands, squeezing them in her tender, loving grip. She stepped closer, raising them to kiss his knuckles, and he swallowed, fraught by the impending moment of their inevitable parting, the fate that awaited her. Sadness glistened in her bright amber eyes, mirroring his own, and his words gushed forth from the battered floodgates wrenched open.

"I—I cannot allow you to confront Sin alone! I am a Sender, too— Perhaps— if we organize a dedicated unit of barrier priests, we can distract Sin and buy the Senders more time…"

She opened her mouth to refute him, yet Scisero interjected faster. "Have you forgotten? You are no mere Sender. You are the Chancellor! You must prioritize your life above all others."

She nodded in solemn agreement, pulling back. "Listen to your father, Baralai."

He shook his head, vehemence scalding his tongue. "Who would want to follow me if I refuse to lead by example? I have no right to risk other people's lives if I cannot risk my own—!"

"Admirable sentiment. However, unlike many others, you lead from the highest position of authority. If you perish, our capital— nay, all of Spira— will fall apart!" Scisero coughed, covering his mouth behind his ring-decorated fist. "...As you can see, High Summoner Yuna is not present to lead in your place. You must remain here, far from Sin's range—."

"Then I shall trust the Spiran Council to lead Spira in my stead—."

"Wait! Wait for me to confront Sin first. Allow me this one thing. If I fail and perish… then use that knowledge to come up with another countermeasure for Sin. Please, live. You must live. Do not die for my sake, I beg of you."

"But—."

"Not another word."

Their eyes locked in silent, tense farewell, and they let go only to embrace each other once more, lingering for as long as their positions would allow in the presence of everyone watching. "…At least take comfort in the fact I lived to see you grow into the fine man you have become." She whispered in his ear, and he clung tighter, hoping to stifle the hitch in her breath, desperate to commit every detail of her to memory. Her warmth, her embrace, her perfume, her voice—

"I have no regrets, my love. None."

—and her strength most of all, feeling everything that he built for himself fall apart.

Baralai wanted to forge a new age where people could live until they grew old alongside their adult children, watching their grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up without fear of death or Sin. He wanted to see generations build new traditions and new homes for themselves until cities became countries and Bevelle became a kingdom. He wanted to tear down the borders that divided the people, whether they be Al Bhed or demihuman, nobility or common folk. He wanted to share his happiness with the rest of Spira. He wanted to banish suffering and sorrow.

Instead, Baralai feared becoming just like all the rest, broken and lost without his family to guide him.

She kissed his cheek, pulling back to touch foreheads, and he squeezed her shoulders as soon as he sensed her step back, startled by how small and delicate they felt in his clammy palms.

"Do not look upon me with such a forlorn expression." She peered up at him with a tremulous smile now, tugging his hands down. "You still have both of your fathers—."

"Nonsense. I must stay by your side—." Scisero interrupted, yet Ilyria silenced him with a glare.

"I would much rather you protect our son." Her assertive tone brooked no room for argument, and for once his proud Guado father cowed his tongue. Baralai could do nothing, but watch in speechless despair as the seconds pulled her further and further away, feeling powerless to stop time. "See to it that he lives a longer life than me— than the both of us. Mori would understand, if he were here…"

"Father will never forgive you." Baralai clung to his name, hoping to call upon his spirit, the only man in all of Spira who could sway her indomitable will— every time, without fail— and found himself resenting him for his ill-timed absence. As always, he wished for his father's obstinate strength, his penchant for fierce indignity to reject this tragic, hopeless situation—

"I know." Ilyria smiled, reinforcing her stance. "But at least he will have you. That, at least, we have always agreed on."

She moved back, one step at a time, until she stood out of arm's reach, recomposing herself with a prim smile, her manicured hand hovering over her stomach once more, her eyes shimmering bright. "Never forget: your life is more important to us than anything else." And then she pivoted on her heel, forgoing the final farewell to stride towards the elevator, and he exhaled, haunted by the sight of her unshed tears.

Baralai could not bear to watch her leave— 'what kind of man allows his own mother to die?'— and steeled himself to face his mother's wrath, martyrdom be damned.

Scisero's hand snatched his shoulder before he could take the first step, wrenching him back.

"Remember yourself. You are not a boy anymore." His whispered words and sharp fingernails dug deep into his bone, uprooting the childhood memory of his harsh discipline. Baralai stilled his tongue and beating heart, numb to the ire and contempt erupting from his bloodstream, and forced himself to swallow the bitter pill of his incoming lecture. "Everyone watches us. We must treat your mother with the respect she deserves and allow her to perform her duty. Remember the oath we have sworn since the formation of our council. Bevelle, all of Spira, depends on us."

Baralai felt him straighten in place only to remain by his side, as rigid and self-imposing as an oak tree a thousand years grown, and knew his father strove to hold himself back tenfold— acting stronger for the both of them as his iron grip burned hotter than molten lava. In their single moment of silent solidarity, they wallowed in mutual powerlessness, unable to chase after their beloved matriarch in defiance of her will, or in betrayal of those whose expectations were foisted upon them.

Baralai feared he would regret this moment for the rest of his life.

"See ya! Don't go dying on me, you hear?"

Now Baralai must watch Tidus do the same, feeling the smile fall from his face as he watches him depart with a heavy heart.

'Lady Yuna… She's actually here.' His chest aches. Oh how he yearns to run by his side, searching for Lady Yuna in the chaos to protect her from harm— to protect them both as they fight through Hell and high water together, becoming a united force that would forever inspire Spira. Yet with each passing second he wastes chasing down his ignited feelings, his own mother marches ever closer to death's door.

'I must protect Spira first, and trust others to protect her instead. I must hurry to Mother's side—'

"...I know I must stay out of harm's way. I am the Chancellor, after all... and you are my councilors. I must never obstruct your ability— your right to perform your duty. I know this! I know." Baralai clenches his fists, striving to rein in his emotions, his ire from this accursed war of attrition. He forces himself to take a deep breath, loosening his grip before he ends up scarring his melanin-light skin with blood-red crescent moons, trembling from the irregular palpitations in his heart, the resolve slipping through his fingertips.

"Even so... you and mother are also citizens of Bevelle, and I have sworn to protect everyone, including my own parents. I must go." If Baralai stops to turn around now, making the mistake of looking him in the eye, confronted with his stern and beseeching violet gaze, Scisero may succeed to sway him by the power of his parental authority alone, and so he strides forward, preventing him the opportunity to speak. "Farewell, Vice-Chancellor."

"Baralai, wait—."

"You cannot stop me, Father." He answers in kind, allowing him this one moment of informality.

"Let me finish."

Baralai relents, chastising himself for robbing his father what may be their final moment together, and turns around to face him.

He considers the Guado man before him, who suffered the indignities of discrimination within Bevellian society for nearly a decade of Baralai's childhood. He loved him no less than his own blood father, respected him above any university professor or distinguished scholar, and yet he had been forced to treat him like a lowly servant in the public eye. It bewildered him to watch Scisero endure prejudice and contempt in the name of love for a human woman and her precocious son with stone-faced, rigid pride.

Scisero Guado had been exiled by his own clan for following a Summoner on her pilgrimage, years before Jyscal guided the Guado into the Yevon Faith, and that betrayal spurned him into fierce loyalty for his newfound, fire-forged family. Now, he must face the reality of losing them both for the city that once ostracized him, and Baralai feels selfish for choosing his mother when his godfather needed him the most.

"I know… nothing I say will sway you." Scisero halts, as if grappling to rein in his thoughts, anchoring him from his morbid musings. With a resigned expression, he lifts his large, brambled hand to twist a silver ring off his forefinger. Baralai stares, frozen in shock and disbelief as he cradles his hand to place it onto his palm, folding his reluctant fingers into a gentle fist. He drops his gaze to contemplate the gesture, mulling over the reminder of his sacrifice— and his own mortality.

"But Father, without this, you…"

"We both know that ring has been wasted on the likes of me." Scisero huffs with a self-deprecating smile, clasping his wrist at his back. "Accept this as my gift to you. May Orion's Belt tilt the odds in your favor, even by a slim margin."

"Thank you, Father." He forces the smile on his face, bowing his head, and holds his fist over his heart, touched by his rare gesture of generosity. Baralai proceeds to slip it onto his middle finger, careful not to disrupt the enchantment as he casts spatial magic to alter its diameter. The trio of diamonds shine, glowing with the power of crystalized stars. Already does he sense his mana reservoir ignite like a furnace, becoming a manafont of untempered power awaiting his next command.

He wills his trembling to cease, distracted by the shuffling of his pointed boots, before his spindly long arms come to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into his stiff embrace. This awkward display of public affection surprises him most of all, more than any priceless ring or rare praise, and he reciprocates with equal timidity, his quiet words of farewell compounding his sorrow.

"Take care. I shall await your fateful return."

He leans on his shoulder, resting his hand on his bent back. "If I fall… please do not mourn for me. Promise me."

"I cannot. I refuse."

'As stubborn as ever.' Baralai sighs, chastising him in fondness.

"Then you must try. Let this be my dying wish. Do not resent the people we have sworn to protect. Consider this an order from your Chancellor." He chuckles, pulling back, smiling to mask the sadness from spilling through the cracks. "Farewell. Pray for my victory." And then he falters on the last words, afraid that if he were to confess them now, he would only be inviting ill omen. 'Oh, superstitions be damned—'

"Thank you, Father… for everything." He attempts to bolster the strength in his voice again, hoping to dispel the fear from fracturing his false confidence. 'Can I do it? Will our plan work? Or will I only live long enough to see Bevelle fall?' While his mother marches ever onwards, harboring the same doubts and fears as he does, he cowers behind the glass walls of his ivory tower, paralyzed by his own powerlessness. 'No, I must stand by her side—'

"Watch me. I will show you the fruits of your labor, the culmination of your tutelage. I will not disappoint you."

"You never have, my boy."

Baralai pivots on his heel before Scisero could burn his tears in his memory.

Baralai watches the world rise through cracked glass and painted sunlight as he descends through The Earth Tower, drawing a mental map of the temple to determine his path. Orion's Belt glimmers in his clenched fist, breaking his limit, the boundaries of his imagination. He inhales, fighting to stay afloat in the sea of power he now wields, afraid to drown within its unfathomable depths; disoriented by its staggering ease as he finds her navigating the gardens with a score of two-hundred and fifty Senders strong, slicing any Sinspawn that dares to approach with lethal wind magic.

She intends to mobilize their forces at The Palace of Light and take their Sending to the skies, as he expected. Therefore, he shall cut across Leviathan's Fountain of Tears and intercept her before she can reach the base of The Star Tower. She would not be able to outrun him in those impossible, statuesque heels of her—

Exiting the elevator once the platform slows to a stop, Baralai halts in his tracks, arrested by his racing, anxious thoughts.

'I may die today. All of Spira will be watching. Lady Yuna will be watching me. I cannot fail— I must not—'

Hei forces himself to breathe, relying on the muscle memory of his breathing exercises, his daily meditation, and moves forward, one step at a time. Sunlight ignites the oriel windows aglow, bathing the golden mosque in iridescent lights reminiscent of a kaleidoscope broken free from its dark tunnel. He walks the marble floor of the inner sanctum where he used to kneel in prayer, celebrating Mass on every Holy Week and Night of Holy Flame, always disciplined and silent, always bursting with pride and joy every time Mother performed her honorable, sacred dance.

Even in an empty room, he does not feel alone, accompanied by the memory of his young, eager self dashing the halls, overshadowing his longer strides. He passes the gilded pulpit where Grand Maester Yo Mika used to preach atop its elevated steps, discomforted by his lingering gaze every time Mother entered the room, how his sunken eyes seemed so hollow whenever they fell on him. It would take him years before Baralai learned the truth, that death and mortal sin governed Spira in the shadows, and he felt powerless to change it.

Until Lady Yuna vanquished Sin and ushered in the Eternal Calm.

For three fleeting years, he drowned in the tidal waves, drunk on the taste of freedom— until he awakened from the dream.

His pounding heartbeat echoes so loud that Baralai closes his eyes, approaching the Prayer Wheel blind, counting the steps he knows by heart until he halts before it, opening his eyes to gaze upon its opulence, its magnificence enduring, yet forgotten by the annals of imperial rule. Dwarfed by the complex sculpture that gives the illusion of a single piece, he admires the vibrant columns decorated in teal-blue-white ceramic tiles.

Emperor Wu Dai stands atop the tall massive kavsara in all his romanticized glory and resplendent, ancient treasures; the Cherry Blossom Crown, the Celestial Mirror Amulet, and the Autumn Flower Scepter. He reads the Path of the Pilgrimage by the Yevon inscriptions captured in gold filigree along the borders, the Hymn of the Fayth upon the pediment— and falls silent, not realizing he had been singing the Hymn until he faltered on the last note.

"...'You can strip a man of his cloth, but you can never cut his faith from the roots.'" Baralai hums, pensive, amused by his master's favorite proverb.

He wishes to pray one last time… before he leaves this lustrous world behind, hoping for absolution.

Baralai kneels, struggling to keep his body at rest on top of his pointed leather boots, and submits to childhood memory. Lock the wrists above the head, an act of total supplication; weave the arms as twin tidal waves, the symbol for eternity; hold a perfect circle in your hands, bend your back until it breaks. Close your eyes. Suffer for the sins of thy fathers. Pray for forgiveness. Seek atonement. Repent in the name of Yevon. Sin. Suffer. Pray. Repent. Sin. Suffer. Pray. Repent. Sin.

The cycle never ends.

Hope once saved humanity from succumbing to its own despair— until the Final Aeon had been abolished. The Fayth have departed, the Yevon name abandoned. Sin returned, Beckoned by someone's will. The High Summoner who broke the cycle refuses to end her self-imposed isolation for reasons unknown. 'I must rise in her place… to protect the Spira we dreamed of and fought for all this time. This… is what I have wanted for myself ever since we parted ways. You may have forgotten, Lady Yuna, but I never have. I still carry the torch you sparked in me— and I shall continue to carry it, forevermore.'

Baralai reflects upon the life that he lived and smiles.

Baralai watched the girl who always sat alone in Lady Yunalesca's shadow.

None of the children wanted to play with her, because all the adults whispered poison in their ears. They would throw hurtful words more than sticks and stones, calling her "heathen," "half-breed," and "Sinspawn" whenever she trotted past. She would duck her head and tuck her bangs over her cursed eyes, because everyone knew her as the daughter of a disgraced priest and an Al Bhed woman.

Baralai did not understand. He understood that Al Bhed were sinful, because machina were sinful, and the Al Bhed worshipped machina as if they were divine works of art— but he could not understand why people hated the Al Bhed when the Al Bhed were people, too, who simply practiced a different kind of faith. Watching her hide behind holy statues every day, surrounded by holy people who pretended she did not exist, Baralai wondered what exactly made her sinful when she had feelings just like anybody else.

He saw a lonely, little girl, not a monster.