Familiar Sights [Djose Temple]

[Griever]

The encounter at Gulgan Gulch hadn't left Rheis's mind. It was with weary eyes that he watched the ship approach land, pull into port with various shouts and calls about the deck, and finally settle in next to the pier, rocking slightly in the waves. With little thought toward his actions, he joined the mass of people flocking off of the ship, jostled in the crowd, the sword that had once again been buckled about his waist catching and pulling every so often against the too-close throng. Idly, he let one hand rest on the hilt, finally breaking away from the group a little further into town as they went off to shop or to find room and board. Taking a room at the inn himself wasn't an unwelcome prospect, but there was a deep restlessness within him, a need to move on and put his troubles far behind. His stay in Poft would be short, perhaps long enough to pick up a few sundries for the trip, and then he would leave the little town with its tourists and gossip behind.

The town's airship service had been the subject of much talk on the ship, yet while it seemed to be held in rather high regard, Rheis felt a very firm need for his travel to be by his own feet. The northbound road would lead to his destination as certainly as the sky routes, and held a sense of self-made progress that easier paths lacked. Perhaps it was because of the memory of his long pilgrimage, but he found that to be an invaluable thing. It took longer to move from place to place that way, but that mattered little to a vagrant and a wanderer; if he thought on it, he was more comfortable out there anyway, far from civilization's imposed rigidities.

The north gate, when he reached it, was little more than a break in the wall encircling the town, where the stone-paved street gave way to rocky earth, bleak and uninviting and, more than anything, shockingly familiar. Disbelieving, he stared around at the sheer face carved into the rock, at the overhanging ceilings of stone and, beyond the cliff edge, the drop to the ocean below. Rheis knew as well as anyone that the Merge had thrown the world into disarray, but to find this here, of all places? The Djose Highroad, once settled in the middle of Spira, now stretched out along this unfamiliar coast as if it had always belonged here. Absolutely unchanged, it seemed; the very earth held that sense of timelessness that had always pervaded the lands of his world, and the long-held piety of its people seemed to still hang in the air itself.

He had to go back. It wasn't a choice. Rheis let out a long, bitter sigh, shoving one hand roughly through his ashen hair. It was all the damnable old memories that little girl had stirred up. They were haunting him, even as he tried to deny them; they had their grasp about him, and they wouldn't let go unless he did.

Djose Temple lay at the end of the winding rock path. Lightning flashed from the stones themselves, great chunks of rock turned about above the structure, and from somewhere nearby, a small cluster of pyreflies wandered by, twisting their faint light through the air. He averted his eyes until they'd passed.

What was the point of all of this, anyway? The Fayth were gone. The aeons had been Sent. All that was left of the summoners lingered on the Farplane, and that land of death was not through these doors. Yet they opened to him, and, accustomed to strangers in and out of their workplace, the Al Bhed within barely glanced up as he approached. It was a sight he still wasn't entirely used to, these people in the very heart of that which had cast them out for a thousand years, but it was one that brought him some small satisfaction - no more would Yevon dictate who was to be accepted and who was to be utterly shunned.

Finally, at the top of an all-too-familiar set of stairs, one of the rougher-looking blonde men approached, moving to block his passage. "Hu uha kuac ibcdyenc fedruid bansecceuh. Gippal'c untanc."

Of course it wouldn't be that simple. Wearily, he turned to the stranger. "E ryja hu ehdanacd eh ouin machina. E's rana du caa dra Lryspan uv dra Fayth. E fuh'd pa muhk." The language was difficult for him, and came haltingly, but was clear enough to make the point, and the Al Bhed raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Hud uvdah uha uv Yevon'c baubma pudranc du maynh uin myhkiyka. Veha, ku uh, pid syga ed xielg." He stepped aside, but Rheis didn't pass immediately, fixing the man with a hard stare.

"E's hud uha uv Yevon'c."

[Bharune]

This place was different.

The dirt felt ordinary beneath his boots, yet somehow alien.

When he looked at the sky, he saw the same one as everyone else, yet he still felt as though he had never before beheld it. And it wasn’t just the matter of a new collection of clouds.

It wasn’t a matter of the additional constellations that suddenly found themselves vying for the infinite space.

It wasn’t a matter of the unfamiliar craters in the moon.

But what did he know of the heavens, anyway? He had grown up in a shell, where the weather was regulated by divine pleasure rather than natural shifts. They had not a star to light their days, but a Fal’cie. A sentient construct.

Even then, he hadn’t seen much of Phoenix’ glow from his little corner.

Out here, he could almost feel free as he inhaled air controlled by no man or creature, likely polluted by allergens and expended resources. It wasn’t nearly as clean as Cocoon’s had been, back when Cocoon had been whole, yet that was somehow gratifying. But freedom was always only an illusion, and such was the case for every man who walked upon the new world.

Lucien sat near the temple at a place called Djose, his back against the side of a small Al Bhed establishment outside the sacred site. He rested there casually, thinking, while Eugene chased screeching squatter monkeys in a tree near the road. The little wooden model wasn’t nearly as fast as the creatures and posed no real threat, yet they were understandably alarmed and baffled by the intrusion into their heights.

Meanwhile the young, red-haired mage rested his head against the building, gaze lifted to watch a hawk trace slow circles within the blue. He had left Cocoon several months ago, but with little reward thus far. He had learned much, but nothing his master wasn’t already aware of. A reprimand would be…

Inconvenient. Lucien somehow knew the right sort of reprimand would progress his stigma, something he certainly wasn’t eager to accomplish. He was confident in his ability to avoid the fate of the cie’th, but he knew bearing the mark of the Fal’cie would only become more difficult as its hold on him deepened. Yet Ark’s interest in spiritual cycles conflicted stubbornly with Lucien’s expertise, and was therefore difficult for him to study.

That reason alone was why he found himself at Djose Temple. He could sense the culmination of energy in this place, crackling like the electricity that hovered about the shrine itself, causing his pulse to quicken and his fingers to curl and uncurl subtly with suppressed adrenaline. The dead were here, yet they did not rest. Here, the dead swirled together, interacted, and became one, metamorphosed into something else entirely. Here was power. Reverence. Melancholia.

It was death and despair, yet so, so peaceful. It wasn’t at all like Ark’s death.

Here questions could be posed and, if not answered, at least some study could be conducted. It would be simple enough, if only he could get in.

He hadn’t tested his luck, but the feeling in his gut wasn't promising.

As before, Lucien left the brand on his throat unhidden, yet it was not well received. Most had no idea of the nature of the mark he bore, yet the sense of it was so unsettling that many shied from his company, uneasy even if they couldn’t comprehend why. Only the more open-minded, emboldened travelers were immune to its effect, accustomed as they were to all sorts of foreign and unnerving interactions and experiences. And what companionship Lucien received, he was certainly grateful for, as he didn’t care much for long hours spent in solitude.

A fisherman in Rabao had confided that Djose Temple used to be open for all travelers, and people found a safe haven for prayer and reflection inside its doors. Ever since the Merge, however, religious sites everywhere suddenly fell prey to undesirables – or, at the very least, unfamiliar travelers who were not versed in the respective nation’s ways of piety and respect. Some places were mocked, some looted, and others treated as tourist attractions rather than sources of sanctity. Many of the temples in Spira closed its doors to outsiders, refusing entry to all except the summoners, their guardians, the voices of Yevon, and those who carried permits of mourning or study from the New Yevon establishments in Bevelle or Luca. Lucien, of course, possessed no such convenience.

Yet here he rested. Waiting. Patient.

To his left, and iridescent wisp wafted about lazily, undisturbed, almost close enough to brush his fingers against, if he stretched out his hand. Pyreflies, they were called; the anima of this world. If he died here, would the pyreflies waft from his corpse? If an Al Bhed died in Bodhum, would they then?

What of the children of mixed worlds? Were these the sort of questions he had been sent to answer?

Lucien wondered if he even had any such anima – in a pyrefly form or otherwise – in his incomplete state.

“Are you what I lack?” he murmured to the orb as it fluttered closer, his hand – protected by a glove and leather bracer, though the fingers left uncovered – passing slowly beneath it as his crimson eyes regarded the swirl of waves within. He didn’t try to touch it, despite his usual inclination to brush his nimble digits against any surface with even the slightest tactile interest. For a moment, Lucien was so completely absorbed in his study of the pyrefly that Eugene fell from the tree with a soft clatter of plastic anatomical parts, lifeless against the grassy stones beneath.

Maybe if he could just...if he could only...

Sudden movement on his other side caused Lucien’s attention to swiftly divert, and he switched his gaze back to the road leading into the temple. The pyrefly drifted off, and Lucien watched a traveler make his way up the path.

A man. One who also carried with him the scent of death. His, however, was the same melancholic sort that pervaded the temple, though it seemed to be missing the electrifying defiance of the holy place. Lucien caught the man’s gaze as he passed, studied him evenly without expression, and then inclined his head in a slow, respectful nod. The young redhead had no way of knowing what it meant to be what he was, and yet he sensed and understood something beyond conscious perception.

Weight.

Lucien stood, stepping to the side of the small building to watch the newcomer interact with the guards, who seemed to permit him entry without complaint. A summoner…? He saw the man disappear into the temple.

The sensation of melancholic death. That was the common string that wove around the Spiran temples, the pyreflies, and the summoners. It was never the same exactly, but it was close enough to be recognizable.

As Lucien stepped down to the road, Eugene pulled itself up from the grass, brushed the mud from its arms, snapped the plastic organs back into their respective places inside his chest cavity, and then pattered off after the small mage. Lucien had little doubt that he’d be denied entrance into the temple, but it never hurt to post a few queries.

“Rao. Yllacc ec nacdneldat; oui haat y bansed du ahdan rana.”

Lucien halted and switched his sharp eyes to the blonde speaker without replying, his expression neutral. The man sighed, and it was the second one who spoke up, enunciating deliberately as if speaking to a child.

“You need pass,” he stated in a heavy voice. Of course, Lucien had known that already.

”I wish to speak with the summoner,” the youth replied, his eyes focusing on the second guard. ”A moment is all I need.”

The guard gave a shrug. ”Wait, then.”

”And if he should decide to spend the night inside?”

”Pitch a tent.”

They both guffawed briefly, though Lucien’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He took a few testy steps forward, but one of the Al Bhed shifted to a more threatening stance.

“Didn’t you hear my friend?” he demanded. “You need pass from New Yevon to proceed. Go south to Poft, then you can travel to Luca to make your case to the praetor there.”

Lucien pursed his lips slightly in displeasure, but decided not to test his luck. He could probably take the guards with little exertion, but…a commotion would be counter-productive, so it was best to wait for now.

[mattsukun]

Jinsoku smirked when he heard a few muffled words outside the doors of the temple. Even without the stranger's aid, he had managed to make it this far into the temple. Now he had to question whether it was worth his trouble to go further, or if this would be good enough. With a small sigh he rased his hand to the mechanic who had been working on the machina in front of him. "If you could please wait a moment, I think there's something happening outside."

He didn't bother to wait on the other man's answer. He merely turned and made his way to the doors. As he came out he saw the two men he had convinced earlier to let him speak to the mechanics inside. He also saw a third figure, a very familiar figure. Just as he had figured, the younger stranger truly knew how to catch an eye.

Gently laying a hand on each of the guards' shoulders, he made his past them and stood only a few steps in front of the stranger. Casually brushing his right hand through his black hair, he shook his head as a soft smile lay across his lips. Reaching down, he gently tapped the hilt of his sword as a manner of warning the intruder.

"You may be a traveler such as myself, but there is no chance that I will allow you to pass by these guards when they have already given you fair warning. If you insist on attempting to push through, I will make sure you do not lay a step within the walls of this beautiful temple." His words were calm, yet meaningful. Every word influenced by his stance and experienced eyes.

[Bharune]

“Well,” Lucien spoke in that soft, dangerous purr of his. “Look what the sea washed in.”

The petite mage carried no visible weapon, yet in no way did he present an air of defenselessness. Magic spawned an especial wariness and distrust in the merged world where phenomena were commonplace and things were never as they seemed. Being presented with an unfamiliar mage was akin to finding oneself inside the den of a fiend they had never heard word nor rumor of, completely blind to its abilities and threat level. Needless to say, the Al Bhed – who weren’t particularly fluent in the magical arts of even their own world – expressed subtle yet clear signs of gratitude at the fighter’s appearance.

Being suddenly presented with this fighter, Lucien found his attention drawn from the summoner for the moment to focus on dark-haired man, who he had crossed paths with briefly once before. He didn’t know the man’s name, yet he doubted that would prove significant.

“I had no intentions of pushing through,” Lucien answered calmly, though the sharp look in his crimson eyes didn’t fade. He doubted starting a feud outside the temple would incline the summoner within to permit him even the quickest of words. “This is, however, an important matter, one that concerns more than just myself. I would even permit an escort if it allows me a moment inside.”

Lucien glanced at one of the Al Bhed, who tilted his head up and turned away. Hm…he supposed that was a refusal…

“Why do you involve yourself, stranger?” Lucien asked, his growing vexation manifesting discreetly in the icy edges of his tone. He didn’t have time for games. Had it just been the Al Bhed, Lucien was certain he would’ve been able to convince them after a few more minutes of diplomacy, but the introduction of this fighter complicated that.

Eugene stopped at the mage’s boot, and Lucien paused to crouch in a slow, graceful movement, collecting the small mannequin in his protected hands he straightened, sliding the animated model into a canister hanging from his belt. His lips curved into a faint, dark smirk as he snapped the lid on the canister.

“You have no such pass, and I doubt you are any cleaner or more pious than I.” Though Lucien kept his eyes on the warrior, he noticed the other Al Bhed shift slightly with a hint of guilt. “I might not be able to match the depths of your pockets, but I find it hypocritical that you stand in my way.”

[mattsukun]

Continuing to stand in the younger stranger's path, he kept his back to the guardians of the temple. He allowed the boy a moment to make his argument, letting his words process.

"Hm? Not once did I ever say I was better than you. However, I do know when there's a side I should choose to pick. So, tell me. If you were in my shoes would you either pick the side of the lone stranger, wandeirng towards a temple, looking for someone without any proof or absolute reason? Or..."

He paused a moment, motioning behind himself toward the two men still standing, heads still lowered slightly at their own guilt. "...would you side with a temple you know for a fact is seen as a symbol of power and knowledge when you are new to this world?"

Jinsoku waited for only a brief moment before taking another step towards the stranger. The two travelers now within striking distance of one another. In all honesty, he didn't care how important the temple was or exactly how much knowledge they had within the walls. Still, so long as he could make the excuse that he had tried his best to gather the information he was seeking, he had no worries of anything else that may arise.

Sighing, the man lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword once more, slowly removing it from the sheath which it slept inside. The blade well-made and beautifully designed as he brought the point to aim at the younger traveler.

"Now then, one final time. I suggest you leave before you cause any more of a scene." A slight smirk traced across his lips. "I would certainly hate to have to spill your blood at the steps of a temple. Seems rather...ugly to me."

[Bharune]

“As if you could.”

The words left Lucien’s lips before he could award them any thought, drifting in a near-whisper that somehow managed to sound every bit as even and challenging as if he had declared them loudly. His lips curved, his eyes darkening and his fingers curling.

He hadn’t come for a fight.

Yet the energy in this place was so…

It scorched his chest and crackled within his hands, quickening his pulse and his thirst. It was apparent in his eyes -- those sharp, devilish orbs that seemed to house a subtle fury of writhing chaos. Destruction was carved into his flesh, his very soul, and as soon as adrenaline quickened his heart the desire to ravage came along with it, burning an inclination he found very difficult to ignore. Though his expression remained neutral, there was something feral about the eyes of the mage as he shifted to a defensive stance.

For a moment, he forgot why he had came. For a moment, this encounter was not about the temple, and not about the summoner. It was not about Ark or the pyreflies.

It was only about appeasing some greater lust for destruction, pushing against the inside of his ribcage and tightening his muscles in eager anticipation. In battle, nothing else existed. There was no greater reprieve than that of expelling the internal pressure, the turmoil, and once one was conditioned to fight tooth and nail for survival all other experiences were dulled by comparison.

Lucien did not like to suffer. He did not like to kill. Or did he?

But now, after so long of it, only during the most intense of encounters did he feel he was truly living.

The petite male laughed softly, venting some of that devouring instinct before too much of his rationality was sacrificed. And though none of the ferocity in his gaze wavered, he straightened and took a slow, fluid step backwards, relenting with nothing more than an enigmatic smirk.

“Such an altercation would hardly be worth my effort.”

He may as well reclaim his place of meditation and await the summoner’s return, though he would only remain for a few more hours.

[mattsukun]

Jinsoku stood there a moment, still watching the younger traveler. Had he heard the boy right? Had he truly said such insulting words aimed at him? No, there was no way. No one in their right mind would ever insult him.

Yet the boy continued with his mocking insults as he made another small movement. Hardly worth his effort? Was that really the way he felt as he judged him? That was the last straw for the dark haired traveler.

"I will not allow you to insult me boy!" Quickly taking a step forward, he aimed the tip of his fencing saber towards the boy's body. His movements fluid and quick as he took no leeway in his aim.

"You dare to judge me before knowing my skills!? I'll be sure to make you regret those words as I stain these steps with your crimson blood!" His voice rose in anger and seething hatred at the boy's mocking tone.

OOC: Ugh, sorry, crappy and short posty. v.v

[Bharune]

Lucien pivoted in an instant with a speed honed by frequent battles, knocking his arm against the swift rapier and shifting his body oppositely as he deflected the strike. The blade didn’t even tear the red silk of his tunic as its path was forcibly diverted by the mage’s arm, and it was obvious the sleeve of his garments concealed something much tougher than flesh or leather.

The visible part of his bracers -- which wrapped around his wrists and hands, leaving only his fingers exposed -- appeared to be nothing but brown leather. The solidity of whatever had deflected the blade spoke otherwise though, perhaps betraying some hidden vambrace that didn’t ripple the cloth in any telling matter. Maybe it was just a spell. Or maybe his arms weren’t flesh.

One never did know in these new times, particularly when it came to magic-users.

The redhead flicked out his other hand and blades erupted, presumably from the bracer, in the form of three splayed claws, the tips sharp and smooth for piercing but the blades quickly becoming serrated along the length. The metal – if it was metal at all – was black and didn’t reflect as much light as ordinary steel.

“Defensive, aren’t we?” he purred after hopping a step back, the length of his tunic fluttering with the movement.

The dark-haired swordsman had emerged from inside the temple. Therefore, Lucien couldn’t trust this ploy wouldn’t end in some…misfortune on his part…this man seemed fairly quick to spill blood, and had very little incentive not to maim him. Not that Lucien wasn’t confident in his own abilities, but one-on-one melee was a bit of a gamble for a mage regardless. Luckily, his opponent used a light sword, and light weapons he fared well against – it was the heavy swords, axes, and blunt weapons that he had trouble contending with if he couldn’t successfully evade.

The Al Bhed seemed interested in this little skirmish, he noted.

“Few things are more revealing about a man than his ego,” Lucien purred, his ferocity having tapered considerably into alert watchfulness. His stance remained ready for a fight, though he didn’t move to strike back. “As I said before, I’ve decided against engaging in combat here. If you persist in confronting me, I will defend myself to my fullest capability.”

Jinsoku had gotten what he wanted.

“This feud will accomplish nothing of significance.”

[mattsukun]

The fencer's eyes followed the young traveler's movements as his own blade was deflected with such ease. He was not aiming for the most precise aim, but to have his attack negated so easily brought a bit of anger to his face.

And what was this? Calling him out as though he was the one in the wrong? What a ridiculous accusation. If the boy thought he would let this go, he was sorely mistaken.

Taking a small inhale of the cooler winds that blew past them he steadied himself, calming his anger to the best of his abilities. His eyes locked on to the boy in front of him as he pulled his arm back, hilt of the sword lined with his waist as the tip of his sword stared deep into its target's stomach.

Once more Jinsoku took a step forward, his movements much more fluid than his first attempt at stabbing as his body moved with precision. His movements faster, his eyes fixated on his opponent's still. The tip quickly came forward, much lower than the previous stab.

The boy wanted to test his skills? Then he would allow him a taste of something a bit closer to his real abilities. He was not one to be made light of, and no one was allowed to walk away unharmed after mocking the skills he had taken his life to perfect.

[Bharune]

The swordsman was exceptionally fast, Lucien noted. Faster than his opponents typically were. The lightness of the dark-haired one’s weapon and his honed finesse made him difficult to evade, even with Lucien’s own combat-tempered fleetness. They were fighters at opposite ends of a spectrum; Jinsoku fought with precision and premeditation. Lucien, with instinct and recklessness.

And that’s how it was when they parried, so different in style that it was difficult to find a similar footing. Lucien couldn’t anticipate Jinsoku’s moves because he was accustomed to the skirmishes of pit battles and had little experience against the technical prowess of a highly trained opponent. At the same time, Lucien himself couldn’t be anticipated because he wasn’t trained, and while he possessed rhythm it was extremely chaotic. It was clear by the way he fought that he had never been taught any specific style, but had learned out of necessity how to defend himself. And for the most part, it was strangely successful.

The young mage wasn’t lacking in guts, either. If an opportunity opened, he took it, not caring if he put his own body in harm’s way to take that chance. It made him unpredictable and dangerous in his own way – more like battling a humanoid fiend than a duel with a fellow fighter. And Lucien had to have some form of armor concealed beneath his robes – whenever an attack of Jinsoku’s landed, it met with something hard and tough rather than soft flesh. Even hard stabs did nothing to actually damage him.

They were attracting a small audience as well, Lucien noted. Travelers to Djose had paused to murmur and point, and the noise had alerted a few other Al Bhed as well, though no one attempted to interfere. Lucien didn’t want to use his abilities here if he could help it, knowing it would probably only make matters worse, so he was stuck with melee. But the redhead was vicious and relentless in his assault – for short bursts. He knew he would wear out long before Jinsoku would, his stamina suffering due to the poor diet he had taken to lately. Still, he didn’t pull back.

“I like a man who knows how to handle his sword,” Lucien teased as he barely dodged another blow, though the playful jest wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. For some reason, despite his current predicament he found his mood to be lightening with every moment spent in this little encounter, and thought that perhaps the exertion – the adrenaline – might’ve been just what he needed. Sure, he was probably going to end up wounded, but what the hell…

It wouldn’t be the first or the last time.

His dodge brought him close to Jinsoku, and Lucien wasted no time in taking advantage of that. The much smaller male brought the wrought claws towards his opponent’s side, but just as they came close enough to brush they lengthened half again as much, unexpectantly. Without waiting to see if his attack connected, Lucien twisted and jerked back with several agile hops to avoid a counter strike, his breathing quickened in his chest. He smirked with an enigmatic air, pausing only for a breath before lunging forward to initiate another round.

If Jinsoku thought a rapier would be enough to do the trick, he was quite mistaken.

[Yllarius]

"Holy shit!" The boy exclaimed, staring off into the distance at the lightning. It moved and warped around what appeared to be a large structure. He grinned, excited. This was definitely something he had never seen before.
"I've gotta see that place!" He grinned, taking off at a jog towards the building.

Nameless had always loved to see new things. He had always been a sheltered child, so to speak. His parents loved him very much and gave him the best education they could. When he was old enough he left to explore the world, he needed to see what everything was about. This place, was definitely going to be a great memory!

As the boy approached he saw a commotion around the beginning of the temple. He slowed his pace, acting casual, and slipped into the crowd. As he neared the road he saw two figures fighting. A calmer, more composed man wielding a blade, and a more reckless man wielding claws. At first he thought that the man in red would be at a great disadvantage, he certainly wasn't armored, and his claws were shorter in length, forcing him to get closer. But as Nameless watched, the blows from the calmer man's blade simply bounced off of the red guy with out so much as a scratch, probably from some magical protection, Nameless noted. Then, when the red guy's claws extended he re-thought his initial evaluation.

Clearly the calculated blows of the swordsman were to the other's advantage. With the claws and magical protection, he clearly was better prepared. He grinned, raising a fat stack of gil into the air.

"Bets! Bets over here! Taking all bets!" He called out quickly, as people began to crowd him with money. Many of them didn't speak his language, but it didn't take much for them to point out either of the combatants. Nameless also helped with there suggestions, letting his smooth words flow into there ears, making bets they really shouldn't make. After a few moments they went back to there spots and everyone began to watch the battle with new found intensity. Especially Nameless, soon to be a few thousand gil richer...hopefully.

[Griever]

Despite the way these ancient, familiar rooms now buzzed and echoed with the sounds of machina and the tools that made their modifications to them, the temple itself clung to its resolute sense of permanence as much as it ever had. Faintly, sparks crackled in the air, leaping from the walls in a brief-glimpsed flash of blue, filling the entire place with their dusty, metallic scent. The stones themselves held the hymn within them, even if the voices that had sung it had long since faded. Whatever he thought of Yevon, however disillusioned and jaded the years had made him, the profound respect Rheis felt in the temples resonated to the very center of his being. This was what it meant to be a summoner, this was the way it irreversibly changed any who walked that path, even if his pilgrimage had been left in broken ruin.

A lone Al Bhed worked outside the Fayth's chamber, sparing him only a brief, curious glance before returning to his work, indifferent to the passing of a single stranger. The painted red door barring his path lifted effortlessly at his approach, the transparent wings flanking it parted almost reverently to welcome him through, and for a brief moment, he stopped.

For five years, he had resolutely avoided the temples, the priests, anything that served as a reminder of Yevon and the losses indifferently cast aside in its name, and here he stood on the threshold of its very foundations. Faced with it, now, he found that he wasn't entirely prepared for the significance of it. He drew in a breath, long, slow, steadying.

And then he walked through.

With a quiet rumbling, the door settled back into place, cutting him off from the sight and sound, even the existence of the rest of the temple. Here, the only light was the faint glow surrounding the fayth, and...Rheis caught his breath. There was the stone-cased soul, locked in its thousand-year dream, unmarred by the passage of time or the breaking of the faith that had sealed it. And, though he knew as well as any that the aeons and their fayth had been sent, it pulsed with ethereal incandescence.

Almost automatically, the former summoner took a step forward and brought his arms about in an arcing gesture, once familiar, now almost alien in its execution. Hands cupped about each other in front of him, he lowered to his knees, bending before that stone-cased spirit in prayer.

He wasn't even sure what he was praying for. Rheis was a man of no desire or ambition, and Sin was gone, no more now than a memory. Yet it felt right, necessary, somehow, as he closed his eyes, suddenly filled with a remembered reverence.

"I gave you my power once."

The voice was startling. There, above the glass-encased stone, stood the fayth - that same spirit he'd spoken to so many years before, calm, watching him without expression. Rheis opened his mouth to reply. No words formed.

"You carried the weight of Spira until it was too much to bear." The fayth didn't move as it spoke, but for a slight inclination of the head. Unconsciously, Rheis averted his eyes, but the figure before him shook his head, reassuring. "We do not fault you. Few can walk our path to its end. But now you must carry that weight again."

"Again?" The word fell almost numbly. He half-rose, staring uncomprehending at the entity. "But Sin..." He broke off, hesitant to continue. "Sin is gone. High Summoner Yuna sent it. Spira finally has peace."

"The world has changed. The Farplane is unsettled. Sin has returned, and it rages at all of Spira for its waking. Summoner, you came to me. You do not want this, but you will not run from it. You must find your strength again."

Rheis stared, first at the fayth, and then unseeing at the stone floor below it. The words rang hollow through his mind, equally impossible to comprehend and to deny. He wanted to protest, to say something, anything in response, but he had no voice. He hadn't come for this, not to take this again - but what had he come for, then? The fayth bowed his head in understanding - and then he raised his arms, gathering to himself his incorporeal power.

It was like a crushing impact, every bit as staggering as before. Rheis gasped, hitting the floor hard as the aeon locked itself to his very soul. He couldn't move or think, but for a single, brief realization, almost absurd in its simplicity: he hadn't managed to run away at all.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he could finally stand, unsteady. The fayth was gone when he rose to his feet, no more again but impassive stone. The Chamber of the Fayth was completely silent. Irrationally, Rheis looked down at his hands, as though there should've been some perceptible change to him. Aeons left no physical mark. But he could feel it, undeniably, like a living current running inside him.

He was a summoner again.

Outside was too much light and noise, blinding, incoherent. He took a step back toward the doors, half tempted to retreat back into the darkness and the relative quiet of the temple until he felt certain he had his bearings again, but even as he stepped backward, the sounds clarified themselves, the light started to make sense, as in defiance of his uncertainty, the crusader surpassed the summoner. Rheis knew this, the distinctive clash and ring of battle.

On the grounds of the temple?

Irrational anger flared, and the summoner stepped forward past the uncertain guards, through the gathered crowd, who turned looks of disdain on his interruption. He ignored them, pushed past until he stood at the edge of the conflict. Grey eyes flicked from one to the other, the redhead with his untrained, animalistic stance, the older one, with the restraint that evidenced considerable training.

Normally, he didn't care to step into the conflicts of others. Let them kill each other, if they must, it was no business of his. But to do this here, profaning the temple with their brazen street fighting, was going too far. Rheis drew his own blade, pointing it forward; blue light flashed as the summoning glyph burst into existence; the crowd gasped and exploded into shouts and calls as the Spirans among them recognized the art, and then Ixion leapt into the fray, stamping its feet, electrifying the air.

"Enough!" Stepping forward to join his aeon, Rheis turned the blade first on the warrior, and then the rogue. "This is a temple. Take your conflict elsewhere."

[Bharune]

Nothing could compare to battle, when there were no thoughts. No emotion, only motion. As if the world could melt away, and with it every weight, every pain, every ambition, every hope. If a greater freedom existed in life, Lucien had yet to find it.

The mage wasn’t battle-hungry by any means, as with each skirmish came the risk of damaging his own body, and even though he wasn’t afraid he certainly had no desire to end up maimed. He didn’t crave the small tastes of freedom that much, to stupidly plunge into every conflict that presented itself, regardless of his inclination. And he wasn’t too prideful to back off when he was better suited to it, because what did he care of others’ opinions? In this case, however, Jinsoku insisted on the fight and Lucien had every intention of delivering a heavy repercussion. But, speaking of things that affected his dignity…

"Bets! Bets over here! Taking all bets!"

Acute as ever, even amidst the turmoil, Lucien picked up those words over the rush of altercation and the din of the crowd. Immediately he jerked back from Jinsoku in a hop that inadvertently created an opening, and he felt the sudden blossom of heat as the other’s rapier connected with his left shoulder in a diagonal slash that split cloth and flesh alike, streaking across his collar bone and part of his chest. But Lucien paid no mind to the wound – once he settled safely out of Jinsoku’s reach, he straightened and tucked his arms behind his back, a small smile touching his lips as his claws slithered back into the hidden vambrace.

“I fight for practicality and, occasionally, I fight for pleasure,” the redhead remarked fluidly, with a trace of amusement though his eyes remained sharp. “I will not, however, fight for another man’s profit.”

He turned his head, his gaze affixing to the young male who had called out the betting, before his eyes shifted back to Jinsoku, fully prepared to take another blow if the swordsman meant to deliver it. He knew, however, that Jinsoku would not strike him more than once more – doing so would cost him the favor of the crowd, which was far more important to the reputable fighter than the solitary mage.

But suddenly there was a wave of gasps and a sharp jerk of energy that almost left Lucien winded, sensitive as he was to the rapid alteration of environmental anima caused by spell-casting. His attention darted to the caster, but he barely had time to take note of the overlapping circular runes before a huge force charged towards them, his mind rapidly snapping a visual of the creature’s essence before his physical eyes could possibly perceive the aeon. Though his first inclination was to meet the threat with something of his own, it was nothing more than baseless instinct that he didn’t act upon. Instead, he merely held his ground.

And he continued to hold his ground, even when the mass of death and electricity halted before him. He didn’t look away from the creature, oblivious to the shouts of the summoner. Turning to face the aeon completely, Lucien took a step to bring him closer to the summon, the motion entirely unchallenging. His eyes were sharp, but bright with a curiosity unencumbered by fear. He could feel every crackling ripple of anima almost as if he were channeling the creature himself, though he had never possessed that kind of ability. His nerves tingled, his soft, blood-colored hair beginning to cling to his pale cheeks and branded neck. This equine was a manifestation of death, of the temple, but it used its destructive forces to protect. Still, it was only a small amount of anima when compared to the quantity filtered regularly through the Otherworld.

Was this the knowledge Ark sought? If humans could harness this kind of creature using only a small amount of sealed anima, what could the Fal’Cie forge with his masses, if he only knew how to do so?

But what was the point? Ark longed for freedom from his enslaving tasks, but Lucien didn’t believe he would find purposelessness very satisfying. When one spent his entire existence wrapped around a purpose, breaking from that purpose left nothing but a pervasive emptiness. At least humans could die.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Lucien said, inclining his head in a slight nod of respect to Ixion. He would’ve loved to have reached out and touched the horse despite any physical repercussions, and even though he wasn’t lacking in audacity he had no desire to disrespect. He did not have the right to touch.

But he did wonder, absently, if a touch to Ixion would be felt by the summoner, like some deep stroke against his very soul. How invasive that would be.

“It wasn’t my intention to disturb this place, I merely wanted to see the snow,” he lifted his head, his gaze remaining unwavering, the edge of his lips still curled with a faint, relaxed smile that didn’t seem ill-natured. “But I seem to have chosen the wrong season.”

He switched his eyes cleanly from Ixion to the summoner, unsurprisingly the very man he had witnessed heading into the temple hours earlier.

“I’m content to let this skirmish rest; I came for other business.”

[Griever]

Even as Rheis channeled the boundless energy that brought forth Ixion, his aeon channeled his own tension, his pride, and his anger, perhaps a reactionary emotion that rose in order to conceal his inner hesitation and doubt. Ixion's hooves pranced in place, clattering on the hard ground; he tossed his head often with a snort and a whinny, and his entire form rippled with suppressed power, flaring occasionally with a snap of blue lightning. The aeon's restlessness was like a window to his summoner opening wide.

Whatever confusion the Fayth had planted inside him, though, Rheis firmly kept it there, unwavering in his stance. The warrior he spared only the briefest glance, but the youth received his full attention as he approached Ixion, looking absolutely unafraid despite the reverence and hesitation that ran through the massed watchers. Perhaps it was naivete, but no - there was a knowing look to those deep-hued eyes, a fascination, and a sharpness that far surpassed his age. Rheis got the distinct impression, as he watched this stranger, that he possessed no naivete about anything at all.

What was his home, that it would do that to one so young? But perhaps that was the indiscriminate coldness of life anywhere. Sin had left children orphaned and jaded and bitter for a thousand years, after all. And now it sought to do the same again. A surging flicker of bitterness rose like bile; Ixion flicked his head sharply in response.

He met the boy's eyes unflinchingly with his own as they turned from the aeon, perceiving the unusual focus and attention in that gaze, but standing firm in the face of it. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered his blade, then finally sheathed it once he was certain he would receive no retaliation for it. As the steel clicked into place in its sheath, he released his hold on Ixion as well; the creature dissolved into a mass of pyreflies that swirled about the combatants, wreathing the crimson stranger in their multicolored light as they dispersed. The gesture didn't condone the fighting, but accepted the assurance that it wouldn't continue - though Rheis kept his hand on the sword's hilt in subtle warning.

"The temple is closed to outsiders. There are too many who couldn't respect the sanctity of this place." Perhaps there was a faintly bitter note there, a subtle implication, but he let it pass without pressing it. Rheis glanced back over his shoulder at the ancient structure, the stones churning above it once again now that he had exited, and a flicker of distaste crossed his features - not for the temple itself, but for the disregard it was now so blatantly shown.

So few who could even begin to perceive the weight Spira's temples carried now. It was good to be rid of Sin, good that they didn't have to learn, but...it felt profoundly wrong, after a thousand years of such absolute piety.

Or maybe that was just the summoner's perception, the old biases that never really would go away.

"You should leave," he continued, firm, but not threatening. "There's nothing for you here but a few bored spectators, and there's no more show to give them."

[Bharune]

”The temple is closed to outsiders. There are too many who couldn’t respect the sanctity of this place.”

Lucien’s lips curved a mere fraction more, not missing the subtle reference. Even though nothing about his eyes or stance was threatening, his gaze didn’t flicker from the summoner’s own, not even for the briefest of diversions. “Funny,” he commented with a soft, relaxed evenness, “what the energy in this place does to the soul. Isn’t it?”

He wondered if the other temples of Spira possessed such a profound, electrifying atmosphere, so capable of jolting his very core into feeling that much more alive. Ironic, he felt, that a place of death harbored such zealous intensity and animation.

The faint smile didn’t fade, even when the summoner suggested he leave. He listened with a surprising attentiveness for one who had no inclinations towards obedience, as if every inflection, every draw of breath might reveal something significant about the object of his curiosity.

“On the contrary,” he returned calmly. “This place has given me more in the last few hours than any other in a lifetime.”

Red hues left the older male to view the sacred place in question, the orbs still bright with a sharp vitality.

“I think the temple forgives this ‘profanity’, as you see it,” he remarked absently, and the faintest touch of warmth reached his eyes, as if he had some long-lasting fondness or inherent affinity for the place. ”Perhaps it is you who misunderstand it, steeped as you undoubtedly are in lessons of piety and lore. Next time you come to this place, forget all that you know, if you can manage that. You might be surprised what you see.”

The redhead turned his attention back to the summoner, seeming completely pleased with the current turn of events. He approached with ease as the spectators dispersed, many of them shamed by the authoritative reprimand, but not Lucien. He had done no wrong in defending himself, and though the other male may feel disrespected Lucien believed the temple’s energies did not reflect such a notion.

“I would like to negotiate your services,” the redhead said in a lower tone, stopping closer to decrease the likelihood of eavesdroppers. With the talk of business, his smile disappeared momentarily, his red eyes flicking over the other in objective assessment.

“For a sending.”

He settled his gaze back on the other’s eyes.