Three FFX-2 one-shots under the cut. Baralai centric, with hints of Baralai/Yuna.
“I know everything.”
Yuna smiles, appraising the Al Bhed child who never sees the light of day in his protective suit. “Okay. Then tell me about the factions.”
Shinra bends over with his small arms, typing away at a mechanical keyboard that might have been custom-made by the boy himself. She watches him input commands like how a Besaidian tailor spins cloth, his hands moving so quick Yuna can’t hope to keep up. Seconds later, she gasps when a panoramic view of Bevelle pops up all of a sudden on screen.
The holy capital of Spira, Yuna’s birthplace. Painted with brushstrokes of crimson and magenta, spires and skyscrapers dominate the landscape with glowing blue hues of feather embroidery and ebony Yevon insignias. The blue of the sea and the blue of the sky surrounds this majestic metropolis, somehow left untouched by the ravages of Sin as if blessed by the teachings for centuries. Yuna knew better, the damp underground passageways of Bevelle’s secret catacombs.
“There are three ruling powers of Spira right now,” Shinra says, reading off the text. “New Yevon was the first to form. It’s a political organization built upon the temples and teachings of Yevon. It was founded by Trema, a pioneer in the search for Spira’s true history.”
Yuna tries not to dwell on the memories that misery begets; instead, she thinks about the embarrassing memory from few months back in Besaid. Wakka found her on the waterfall path, in the middle of one of her daily walks, just so he could tell her about the Praetor who visited the village with obvious intentions of courting her. She never met the man, nor did she ever grace him with a proper answer.
If she never left so suddenly to join Rikku and the Gullwings as a sphere hunter, where would she be in life? Stuck on the island, mourning her lost love? Or be by the side of a powerful politician who would only see fit to use her?
Shinra’s voice anchors her back to the present.
“New Yevon seems to have inherited some of the temples’ furtive nature. It has been accused of hoarding spheres collected by Spira’s sphere hunters. However, it also serves as a pillar of support to those overwhelmed by the rapid changes that continue to rock Spira. The young Praetor Baralai leads this party.”
“Praetor Baralai?” she says, feigning nonchalance. ‘So that is his name…’
Expecting to see another pop-up image, perhaps a full body profile or a picture of his face, her curiosity deflates when Shinra closes the window and drags two more into view. Youth League captions the top of one window, Machine Faction on the other.
“Yeah. I heard he’s only been in office for a month or two. Don’t know much about him, ‘cept he’s the new guy.” And as Shinra continues to speak about the other two factions, Yuna dares herself to like the idea of New Yevon. It’s nice to know the disbanded Crusaders have a home, of course, and the Al Bhed are bringing liberal thinking into their craft ― creating new things, not building on the old ― but Yuna will always feel this profound and inexplicable connection towards Yevon.
Yuna wonders what kind of person Baralai had to be for everyone to look up to him with unquestionable respect ― a mere youth her age? a priest perhaps? ― someone who accepted the role to lead thousands, men and women, children and elderly.
The man whose hand she rejected for the memory of a broken dream, what does he look like in person?
If only she could find the courage to meet him one day.
~
“This is rough―"
Yuna hears his voice over the scratch and flicker of lightwaves, sees his face somehow behind all that annoying static, trying to understand this unbelievable sight. Baralai, in Bikanel Desert? Holding a rifle, a machina, sitting next to Gippal, an Al Bhed, and ― is that Nooj? The three most important men in Spira, together? And they are not at each other’s throats?
“My name’s Baralai. I’m from Bevelle. You?”
No answer from the Mevyn who marches on, and Gippal grumbles his complaint.
“I’ve seen this a hundred times… Yup, a lot of people’d sooner shoot an Al Bhed than tell ‘em their name.”
Silence, and then a dry chuckle of amusement. “Hmph. It’s Nooj.”
Never in her wildest imagination ― and yet she did see them below the grounds of Bevelle ― and Paine did mention something about having a history with them ―
Yuna closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, taking a step back.
It wouldn’t be strange to see Gippal there, close to Home. Nooj goes wherever his warrior heart calls for battle, and hadn’t he been a Crusader once? The fact she found Baralai of all people in this mysterious crimson sphere alongside the current leaders of Spira’s factions surprises her beyond comprehension, but there must be a reason. Baralai doesn’t seem like the type of person to do anything just because he feels like it.
‘Wait, why do I feel so concerned? He’s an agent of Yevon. He can take care of himself… but will he end up killing Nooj? I wonder how they’re all doing in the Farplane…’
Shinra decodes the time of its recording ― two years ago. Sometime during or even before the start of her pilgrimage.
Praetor of New Yevon, Paine’s friend, my enemy ―
Baralai faces the recorder, kind and polite - unlike the cold mask of the man who almost killed her.
‘Who are you?’
~
“Save your tears, 'cause I’ll be back.”
Lenne could still hear him whisper that as he walked out that door, and into a war.
Though Lenne can often recall she never found the strength to speak pass her doubt, she still relives that day, still hears him say, “Wait for me, I’ll write you letters.”
‘What if I said I couldn’t wait? Would that have made all the difference?’
The dream has yet to end, for the nightmare remains. Now here he stands before her, one millennium late of his promise and in possession of an innocent’s body. A man unfamiliar to her, yet she knows him as the one who leads the lost, who smiles through the hate in his black eyes and raises his hand against his own friends ― all in order to protect the person most precious to him.
“Lenne? We disappeared together, but when I awoke, I was alone. I looked for you for so long…”
Solemn feelings fall alongside light and timid piano keys, superimposing a childlike sadness. This body that embraces her, it belongs to a noble soul, a human soul ― not unlike her beloved, the evil shadow of a thousand years.
Lenne likes this boy, because they share this quiet empathy ― a powerlessness that prevents them freedom to convey real emotion. Be it selfless or selfish, their lips are sealed.
“what can I do for you? what can I do for you? I can’t hear you”
They must rely on the voices of others to communicate.
If Lenne closes her eyes, like Yuna does right now, she will remember the dream that mingled with her host’s hopes and dreams and fears. Remembrance traps her in the memory: the hope of a new Yevon, a better system, and the hope for another tomorrow where she comes that much closer to him, one step at a time, one step, one jump, and Yuna runs at full force ―
She runs to embrace him on sun-kissed waters, runs to escape the Bevelle monks hot on their heels, holding his hand so tight her fingers slip off leather and sweat. They arrive at a dead end and behold the cruel limelight, unable to fight their fate when one man instead of a thousand stalks through that dark threshold with gun in hand. His crimson helmet hides his heartless visage as he stops on one knee and takes aim, takes a step back one step at a time, and takes off his mask ―
“Vegnagun must not be touched” “Vegnagun will make that all go away”
“What are you planning to do?” “You must stop!”
“The only thing I can do…” “Suffer!”
It’s his face ― “I finally found you” ― Baralai’s ― his faraway face, and his cry of bloody murder. Always Baralai, in her nightmares.
His voice echoes in the cataclysm of history, and so does hers.
“The world is changing, and there are many who are finding it difficult to keep up…”
“Although I know the journey will be hard, we have lots of time. Together, we will rebuild Spira. The road is ahead of us, so let’s start out today.”
“New Yevon wishes to help those who feel lost in the winds of change.”
“The people and the friends that we have lost”
“A pleasure, Lady Yuna. I am Baralai―”
“and the dreams that have faded”
“Ah. It’s not much, but…”
“never forget them”
“Here. Have this as a token of my friendship”
They sound so alike, souls in ever changing harmony with their ideals, they belong together. Their hearts beat to the same drum, Lenne can sense it―the percussions of their broken faith, the strings of their resilient spirit, and the lyrics of their individual swan songs (before the beginning of the next movement called “The Eternal Calm.”)
‘Whose feelings are these? Lenne’s? Mine?’
Lenne wonders that herself.
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