bottle of fic

Final Fantasy X-2: The Eternal and Perpetual Cycle of Becoming

The chamber was silent but for the quiet murmur of the occasional passerby in the hallway. Rich Besaid fabric flowed around the windows left open to let in the day's comfortable breeze and bright sunshine. Isaaru shifted in his chair, his robes whispering against the fabric covering the seat. The sun had traced a path across the floor since he had been delivered to the office. Very soon, Isaaru knew, it would climb high enough that the room would be cast in shadow and the lamps would need to be lit to see for the afternoon work.

He had mistakenly assumed that this meeting wouldn't take long. So much for being told the praetor would be with him quickly, Isaaru mused. At this rate, he would be lucky to catch Maroda and Pacce for the noonday meal.

He was unsettled, he knew, as he finally gave up repositioning himself in the chair and stood to walk toward the far wall. He had never felt quite comfortable in the praetor's space. Isaaru had not spent much time admiring the room's decor, as he had been too busy with affairs of the city, but the tapestry hanging from the wall was still shocking in its presence and color. Isaaru traced his eyes along the sharp curves of indigo, blue and gold, like a misty sunrise. The design was clearly of Kilika origin, abstract and mysterious—much like its owner.

Isaaru frowned up at the quietly fluttering tapestry. It all came back to the mystery of Baralai, of course. He had not been invited into the temple in weeks. No, he corrected himself; the Praetor himself had not invited him to the temple. Many of the other council members had done so and he had accepted their invitations gladly, speaking with them on many matters—he had never wanted for their thanks at his assistance.

The truth was that, after standing in for Baralai during his absence, Isaaru could not say that he hadn't been expecting to converse with the praetor at least once upon his return. However, Isaaru had received only silence—others hadn't mentioned Baralai, and Isaaru had not wished to push the issue. Isaaru no longer fooled himself into thinking that the rulers of Bevelle trusted anyone past a very tight circle. He knew his familial ties kept him at a polite distance. He had been useful to them for a time, and that time had passed by.

That made this invitation all the more surprising. Isaaru couldn't imagine what could be so important they he should be called so suddenly—nothing he had dealt with, he was quite sure. He had spent much of his time in Baralai's stead signing papers, listening and nodding, and his current days weren't very different. He had simply traded the frantic, worried tirades of a government in panic for the quiet, mourning tones of people who missed the past. He couldn't pretend the latter wasn't where he felt the most needed—but it didn't keep Baralai's silence from causing him some minor annoyance.

"It was a gift."

Isaaru started and turned toward the open door. Baralai stood framed by the archway for a moment, and then guided the heavy doors closed on quiet hinges, shutting them away. Baralai smiled politely as he turned and nodded toward the tapestry. "A woman from Kilika sent it to us as a sign of peace."

"It is very beautiful." Isaaru kept his eyes on Baralai as the praetor stepped up beside him.

"It's a very representative piece," Baralai said. "The loom she used was very large—larger than any she's ever worked on. No chance of the work being destroyed, you see." His hand went up to brush the bottom of the cloth. "Do you know what the pattern is?"

Isaaru looked up, but he only saw strange curves and rich colors. He felt caughty off guard. He had spent weeks in this very room with the same tapestry—it felt as if Baralai was mocking him somehow.

"I don't, I'm afraid." Isaaru schooled his face into calmness. "I always enjoyed music more than art."

Baralai nodded and stepped away, hands behind his back as he retreated to his desk. "It is a pattern of the fayth of Bahamut," he said, sitting in his chair beside his desk. "A kind gesture from a member of the Youth League, wouldn't you say?"

Isaaru returned to his chair without looking back at the tapestry. "Any kind gesture between organizations is positive, of course."

Baralai's face gave nothing away. "I was hoping you would say that." He waited a moment for Isaaru to settle, and said, "I apologize for not seeking you out sooner. It seems I owe you thanks for keeping Bevelle running smoothly in my absence."

"It was my pleasure to serve," Isaaru said.

"Was it?" There was no question in Baralai's tone: polite, rhetorical and with the timbre of temple speak traced in it. Isaaru sat quietly and waited.

Baralai was silent for a moment as he sifted through papers on his desk, nimble fingers selecting several that seemed to catch his eye and setting them aside. "The council was highly impressed with your skill in dealing with paperwork and people," he said. "They always lecture me a bit about the paperwork, but they were delighted by how well you fit the role."

"I have been complimented many times, you are correct." Isaaru buried his hands in the folds of his robes, fingers tight in the rough material like an anchor in sand.

"Being as you were such an asset to New Yevon during that time, I had wondered if there was something I might ask of you." Baralai's voice had dropped, as if he thought he would be overheard. Isaaru had always wondered; he had admonished himself many times over thinking any more ill thoughts towards Yevon, New or no. But in the end it had crossed his mind every day, wondering if the center of his life held any more machina secrets.

"Of course." Isaaru inclined his head.

Baralai leaned back, linking his fingers on top of the piles of paper. "Do you feel that Spira is ready for a government by the people?"

Isaaru frowned. "I'm am uncertain as to what you mean."

Baralai's shoulders straightened as if in defense of the concept Isaaru didn't yet understand. "You're aware that the council members and myself currently manage several important aspects of Spira's economy, are you not?"

Isaaru knew that Baralai's summation of the situation was liberal. When Baralai had returned to reclaim his position as praetor, it had come clear how much influence Baralai had over the council members themselves. Isaaru hadn't missed it when acting in Baralai's stead—the man was entrenched in the politics of Bevelle and the finer workings of Spira.

"Yes," he said, thinking of the fields outside Bevelle and spread across Spira as well as monetary support Bevelle provided to many of the communities. He had seen many documents pass over his desk of this type, with approval from the council already given, the signature line for the praetor blank and telling. Those pale, empty spaces had been only a stark reminder of whose place he was in.

"I'd like to change that." Baralai's eyes were full of an emotion Isaaru couldn't decide on as he spoke. "I wish to endorse a government for the communities across Spira that includes representatives for each."

Isaaru stared, taken aback and unsure. "You'll have to excuse me, Praetor, this is all very sudden—do you mean to invite the other factions into New Yevon?"

"Yes and no." If Isaaru's confusion bothered him, Baralai didn't let it show as he continued. "I wish to welcome people from every community and group into an organization that will operate to better the lives of all."

For some reason , Isaaru felt as if Baralai was dodging the issue and he still didn't understand why he was here. Isaaru didn't care to be led around in circles after everything. "If you'll pardon my asking, Praetor, why are you asking my thoughts? I haven't been involved with the political movement of New Yevon for weeks now." He spoke quickly, his voice rising as Baralai's form began to tighten. "However, it is no trouble." Isaaru spread his hands. "I am just wondering what use I could be for gauging the political climate of Spira."

"It is actually your expertise that I desire," Baralai said, eyebrows arching. "The people care for you a great deal, Lord Isaaru. I'm certain you must realize that you have a calming effect on a community concerned with the changes facing Spira."

"Expertise?"

"You are very much attuned to changes—you more than anyone." Baralai's face showed no sign of what he might be thinking, even as Isaaru hoped he would slip. "I wish to have communities across Spira choose individuals to come and be a part of a gathering that would unite Spira under one name, while still keeping our new identities intact."

"And for this you wish me to be involved?"

"I wish you to be the other representative for New Yevon," Baralai said. "Your presence would be a great asset to the endeavor."

"Is Spira ready for this type of government?" Isaaru was shocked, his heart thumping in his ears.

"Perhaps it is and perhaps not—we will never know unless an attempt is made." Baralai smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Although there's a certain kind of irony in New Yevon posing this plan, wouldn't you say?"

"It is...unexpected." Isaaru felt out of his element, and there was strange feeling that Baralai had sprung this on him with little explanation on purpose. There was something more here that wasn't being said. "But of course, if I can assist New Yevon I will be happy to do so."

"I feel it necessary to be honest—this is not an easy thing I am asking you to do." Baralai's words didn't speak to Isaaru of honesty at all, but he nodded. He hadn't missed the word choice—not the combined force of the praetor and his council asking, but Baralai alone—and wondered at it. "You would act as a liaison between the organization and the people of Bevelle."

"If I may ask, what will the organization be meant for?" All Isaaru's life, the communities in Spira had been self-sustaining, caring for themselves first and foremost. The idea of mixing the problems of each community together seemed a recipe for disaster, a huge leap when New Yevon preached deliberate movement.

"As of now, my goals are simply to make New Yevon transparent." Baralai spoke this to the paper on his desk, looking up at Isaaru when he finished. "Insofar as we show we care about all of Spira, and not simply our party. New Yevon—" He paused, and if Isaaru had not been watching closely, he would have missed skip on Baralai's intake of breath. "The formation of this group is very simple in the fact that no one controls it. The different parties—including New Yevon—are welcome, but the control lies in the people the communities choose to represent them."

"How has the council fallen on this?" Isaaru already knew the answer in the way Baralai shifted in his chair.

"They are at odds, as they are at odds over many things," Baralai said. "Of course, my motives may be pathetically easy to see, as the council was entirely impressed with your capabilities."

Isaaru nodded, but he would be a fool to believe Baralai would so easily share all his intentions with anyone. "I hope I can maintain that same level of confidence."

"I will take that as your acceptance." Baralai stood and Isaaru followed only a bit slower. Not all of his questions were answered—if anything, this visit had served only confuse him more.

"I—I have to admit I am out of my element," Isaaru said. "I do not wish to insult your plan, but—"

Baralai's hand swept up to silence him. "I'm sorry; I do imagine you have concerns. As it stands I have few or no answers; you and the council are the only people aware of my hopes for this project." The look he gave Isaaru made guilt bloom up like flowers—there was hope in it. "Until I send intentions to the other factions and communities, I will not know if the plan is viable. It is up to them, you see."

"I see." But Isaaru didn't see, and he knew he wouldn't be able to unless Baralai wished it so. "Should I plan to make myself available?"

Baralai's nod was quick as he relinquished his position at his desk and walked toward the door. Isaaru could almost find it in himself to be amused at the brush-off as he followed the praetor.

He was surprised when Baralai stopped ahead of him and turned to look back, expression curious as he placed a hand on Isaaru's shoulder. It was unexpected, the pressure of his palm pressing the cloth against skin. Isaaru suppressed a shiver.

"I believe," Baralai said, one hand on Isaaru and the other gracing the door handle, voice almost a murmur, "that with your support we will be able to accomplish many things."

"Praetor—" Isaaru didn't get to finish the thought—and he realized he didn't even know what the thought was any longer—before Baralai pulled the door open.

"Come, we will find you an office." Baralai's hand slid down robes until his palm pressed against Isaaru's back, firm and steady, and directed him out of the office into the hallway beyond.

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Isaaru's acceptance of Baralai's offer was soon followed by realizations as heavy as stones that what he had agreed to wasn't hard in the sense that Baralai had meant it. Isaaru wondered idly as he brushed through the various stacks of paper on his desk just who Baralai thought he was fooling. He didn't cling to that thought, or any others questioning Baralai's motives—he knew his own name and the weight it carried. It did no good to dwell, for he had realized long ago that any organization, new or not, would always come back to the same tactics—because they worked well.

Baralai didn't speak to Isaaru as much as send him memo after memo explaining his new position and what he was expected to do for New Yevon. Isaaru wasn't surprised that, the excess of paperwork aside, he was still doing what he had been for weeks—dealing with people.

Representative, Isaaru had mused the day Baralai had organized Isaaru's move into the temple. The term was not encompassing, Baralai had said, as Isaaru would be doing quite a lot more than simple representing. Isaaru didn't have to be told how to stand for a people. He had done it quite well for years with no direction from anyone at all. The plan was risky and Isaaru hadn't decided whether or not he cared for it. However, when Isaaru had mentioned his concerns Baralai had only given him an amused look and reminded Isaaru that even if it failed, his presence wouldn't be wasted. Isaaru had been forced to concede that point.

His office was small but lavish, tucked in the back of the temple, as close as one could come to entering the hallway to the priests' and praetor's own quarters without actually doing so. Isaaru didn't mind the lack of windows—indeed he soon came to appreciate it. He imagined when he started accepting visitors they would likely prefer the privacy. He hadn't had many in the past week, but for acolytes delivering messages and taking away completed paperwork. He had been surprised to find that much of the busywork Baralai clearly had him doing now were complaints and concerns about the city. It was becoming more and more apparent that Baralai had not been lying when he had given Isaaru the title of representative.

A knock on his open door shortly after mid-day roused him from a letter complaining about the state of the few schools Bevelle boasted. Isaaru looked up gratefully to see Lord Soren, one of his companions from the council smiling on the threshold. Isaaru smiled in pleasure and stood.

"Lord Isaaru, I hope I'm not disturbing anything too important?"

"Lord Soren." Isaaru beckoned for Soren to enter. "Please, I am available to you at all times."

Soren stepped into the office, his robes whispering along the carpet as he drew his arms together for the prayer. Isaaru repeated it in turn. "I see Baralai has found a use for you quickly. How are you settling in?"

Isaaru took the other man's outstretched hands and pressed their palms together. Lord Soren had been kind to Isaaru when he had been acting as praetor as well as sympathetic to him as a former summoner. In the past few days Isaaru had come to realize Baralai harbored a certain level of distrust towards the council—not surprising, Isaaru had decided, given that Baralai had not been completely honest with him about or how many on the council cared for his plan. Isaaru had walked blindly for Yevon once, and he was fast discovering that Baralai was leading him down the same path, using Isaaru's own eagerness to be available to his people against him.

"Very well. I feel honored that the praetor would think of me to help Bevelle in this capacity. It is my pleasure to help New Yevon grow."

Soren waited for Isaaru to return to his seat and took the guest's chair. "I apologize for not seeing you sooner. Baralai's announcement of his intention has caused more work this week for all of us, it seems."

"But public reaction hasn't been negative," Isaaru said. "At least not in Bevelle, as far as I've heard."

"A bit of a surprise to the council, as a matter of fact." Soren linked his hands on his lap above rich red silk. "We had expected a much more serious outcry—after all, Baralai's plans are a extreme political shift."

Isaaru had no idea how to defend something he wasn't even sure he cared for. "If Baralai believes it could foster unity among the different groups, it will not hurt to make the attempt. He is not promoting radical change."

"But you don't disagree that it is change." Soren's tone shifted, lowering. "You accepted this position and a place on this council of Spira, but how do you feel about this plan of Baralai's?"

Isaaru opened his mouth, but he didn't know what he could say honestly without giving the council reason to doubt Baralai. Suddenly Soren's purpose seemed less friendly than a spur-of-the-moment visit. Isaaru was disappointed in the fact that Soren didn't seem to trust his judgment.

"Lord Isaaru?" The unfamiliar voice started Isaaru away from the despondent thought.

Isaaru turned his gaze from Soren's searching one and was surprised to find one of the acolytes at his door, half his body hidden by the wall. His eyes kept darting toward Soren, and Isaaru wondered how long he had been standing there, afraid to interrupt.

"Come in," he said. "What can I do for you?"

The young boy only stepped in a few feet. "Praetor Baralai has requested you meet him at the warrior monk headquarters."

"Don't be ridiculous, that place has been sealed for almost a year," Soren said, twisting in his seat to look at the acolyte. "What would be the purpose?"

"I am unsure, sir. Praetor Baralai asked that Lord Isaaru join him as soon as he was able."

Isaaru stood and bowed in careful prayer. "Thank you for delivering the message." It surprised him that the acolyte's answering prayer was hurried, and his departure quick, his eyes never wandering far from Soren. Soren stood as the acolyte left, his face bewildered, and if Isaaru wasn't mistaken, annoyed.

Baralai, Isaaru wondered, what in the world are you doing?

"Do not let me keep you." Soren dropped his arms into prayer, rising carefully. "If Baralai desires your counsel, it's best to not keep him waiting."

"I apologize for the interruption," Isaaru said. "Please don't hesitate to visit me—if my doors are open I am available."

"Of course," Soren said. His voice was curt and he left the office quite a bit quicker than he had arrived, Isaaru noted. But it was to be expected.

The warrior monks had kept their headquarters and lodgings in the inner city, not far from the temple but distanced enough for them to not feel like they spent their resting hours at work. It was a quick trip in the pleasant day outside, albeit a windy one. Isaaru wondered as he walked why in the world Baralai would stir up the hornets nest of the decimated warrior monks. Many, he knew, had left Yevon in heartbreak to live solitary lives. Others had found their way to the Youth League. Isaaru didn't care to consider the way the other monks had been lost to them. They were the ones that had refused to accept the treachery Yevon had wrought against them in the most serious way. New Yevon had moved the remaining warrior monks to the temple and sealed the headquarters. Isaaru knew that everyone in New Yevon had run away from the revelations they faced—just like he had.

The building was as nondescript as any Bevelle building could be. It rose into the air, its dome shining in the sunlight. Baralai stood outside, looking up at the dome as two acolytes unbarred the doors. His arms were linked behind his back, hair whipping in the breeze and Isaaru wondered how he could look so serene when he had just brought down every ounce of resentment the council could muster on his head.

Isaaru stopped beside him, but Baralai only gave him a sidelong look before turning back to the paneling coming away from the entrance of the headquarters. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"I am at your service, of course." Isaaru watched one of the acolytes struggling with a large piece of wood as they carted it away, feet almost tangling in his robes as he walked. "Although, if I may ask—what do you intend by this?"

"Our new council will need a meeting place and lodgings, away from the center of New Yevon." Baralai stepped forward and Isaaru followed. "I understand why the building was sealed, but we cannot hide away from the horrors wrought by the changes forever."

Isaaru's next step faltered. "This is a very bold move."

"I agree," Baralai said. "There is a time to be patient and there is a time to be steadfast toward a goal." He stopped, head turning. "Do you disagree, Lord Isaaru?"

"Perhaps I think it more polite to announce these changes." Isaaru met Baralai's flat gaze without flinching—Baralai had asked him to represent the people, so represent them he would. "How is hurrying this beneficial?"

"Come." Baralai headed toward the building without answering. "Let us go inside and see what we have to work with."

Isaaru followed, unsure as to whether Baralai was annoyed with him or not. He kept dodging Baralai's questions—he felt it only fair when Baralai had been doing his own elaborate dance around his plans and the purposes of this endeavor all week long. He wondered how long it would take for Baralai's patience to run out.

The two acolytes returned—older boys, Isaaru noted—and tugged on the heavy doors. Isaaru had seen this place many times over the years and these doors had never once been shut against the city the monks protected. They creaked as they were pulled opened, the darkness inside spreading over their eyes like nightfall, too shadowed to see in.

Isaaru was startled when beside him Baralai shivered and took a deep breath. He wondered if Baralai was regretting his decision or if the place made Baralai nervous like it did Isaaru.

"We will need to unmask the windows," Baralai told his helpers. "Just on the lower level for today, if you please."

Isaaru didn't envy the acolytes going in first, but they did so without complaint or fear. New secrets of a New Yevon was all the building in front of him represented. He wondered how many knew the truth if two boys could walk into the place so easily—rumor ran rampant through the acolyte ranks.

"Shall we?" Baralai spoke to him but was already walking into the darkness ahead, his form growing dim as he continued on. Isaaru trailed after him, cursing himself for thinking of the memories that haunted the place as anything more than that.

"Do you know why we sealed it?" Baralai asked. His voice was taut and too strong, echoing around the empty chamber. "It was a time of mourning, of course, for the lost monks, but we sealed it because several of the monks that—" He stopped as Isaaru came to stand by him. He watched as one of the boys tugged the cloth from the window, huge bursts of air as it fell letting the dust dance in the rays of sunlight that poured in. The expression on Baralai's face was chilling, the shadows raised by the light stroking across already distressed features. The light did not reach all the way to where they stood at the center of the room, bare but for the coating of dust on the carpet and shells of dead insects. "It was too hard to bear for some."

"I had heard rumors," Isaaru said, watching one acolyte reveal another window. He was at once grateful for more light but disturbed by the disuse of what was revealed. "I was never sure what to believe."

"Yevon didn't take the lives of our monks in this place." Baralai turned in a circle, looking at the lumps spread around the space Isaaru assumed was the furniture that had been covered. "The men did that with their own hands. We cannot blame Yevon for the free will of any person. Do you agree with that?"

Isaaru considered it. "I suppose."

"This isn't a change—the council may see it as one and so may the people, but it is only reclamation of something we let ourselves lose." Baralai's smile held a touch of sadness as the last cloths were pulled from the largest window and light poured in. All the windows were smoky with dirt and badly needed a wash. "We cannot bury our secrets, you see, pretend they don't exist to comfort ourselves. In the end it just creates waste."

Isaaru didn't know what to say, so he chose a safe route. "You intend to use this space entirely for the new council."

"Indeed. It can house each representative comfortably and the meeting room upstairs will suit our purposes perfectly." Baralai looked pleased, even though his voice was tense. Isaaru wished he could at least appear as happy. "It will give us a space that is free and not tied explicitly to New Yevon."

Isaaru raised a shoulder. "But a majority of the monks left for the Youth League. I assume many haven't forgotten that."

"It works in our favor, I think." A strange look crossed Baralai's face. "Although I don't suppose the Machine Faction will miss that point, either." Isaaru didn't understand but Baralai was turning away to the returning acolytes.

Isaaru let his eyes wander around the room as Baralai gave out instructions. He had never been inside the building—it had belonged to the warrior monks and them alone. Even toward the end, no one of status lower than a high priest's had walked in the lower level. Now it would change into something new—Isaaru wondered what that meant for the warrior monks and their history. There were staircases on either side of the room that led to the second floor. Everything was dusty, even the air. The scent of polish and leather remained, but under it was another that made him uncomfortable. He was used to this smell—had chased it across Spira—but the smell that wisped through the air here was similar in all the wrong ways. It made his skin crawl and his hands sweat inside his sleeves.

He jolted and turned when he heard one of the large doors close. The acolytes had shut one of them and were departing, so Isaaru turned to find Baralai watching him. The meager light reflected back in his eyes and made Isaaru shiver.

"Excuse me," Isaaru said, flustered. "I was thinking."

Baralai smiled. "No matter, I do that quite often myself. I am going to see the second level before leaving. You don't have to come if you need to get back."

Isaaru's pulse jumped, but he shook his head and they fell into step together. Baralai's arm brushed his as they walked up the stairs away from the light. He said, "I think I am more excited than I should be. Not even the maesters came farther than the first level." Isaaru could barely keep himself from trembling and Baralai was excited. He wondered if that meant Baralai did not care, did not judge, or something else, to make him so dismissive of what had happened here.

"Will it be this way for the council?" Isaaru couldn't help but regret the lost monks as they climbed higher into the quiet darkness. They circled around to the next level, their shoes lifting dust clouds from peaceful rest as their feet hit the carpeted steps. Isaaru's eyes strained to see the path ahead as they walked higher.

"This is something for the council to decide, if it becomes a reality." Baralai gave Isaaru a sidelong look. "You see why I have trouble with your questions, do you not?"

Isaaru cast his eyes on the floor, carpet crimson in the failing light, feeling chastised as well as a touch ashamed. He had harbored some ill thoughts and frustrations toward the praetor over his abundance of empty answers. It was becoming clear to him that Baralai did intend to let the council make every decision for itself.

"I believe the meeting room is through here," Baralai said, and his hand slid to Isaaru's arm, guiding him over the last step and to the left. His fingers brushed skin where Isaaru's sleeves were pulled back. Isaaru jerked as Baralai trapped the arm under his, tucking it close to his side. Isaaru was pulled along, feeling breathless.

It was very dark and Isaaru had no idea how Baralai expected to see anything. The room had been used for meetings and conferences—it had been enclosed, he knew that much.

A light flickered on, and Isaaru was taken aback as it revealed the entrance ahead of them. Instead of lingering there, Isaaru's eyes moved to Baralai's free hand, ignoring the murk on the edges of the light that now surrounded them.

"What is this?"

Baralai smiled and held up what looked like a plain metal tube, but for the glowing end—machina. "A hand light, although I'm sure it had another title when it was given to me. Gippal has a flair for the dramatic when he names things."

"Gippal," Isaaru said, and wondered at how Baralai's hand tightened on his forearm.

"He likes sharing his toys. At times they are actually useful. Here we go." Baralai walked forward and pushed on the meeting room door, which swung open on noisy hinges, the sound grating and reverberating around them.

Isaaru was quiet as Baralai's light shone over the large space ahead of them. Isaaru did not need to be told that this was where the end had come to the monks that had chosen death over living with the truth. The haphazard way the tables and chairs had been covered, the many pieces that weren't covered at all and askew spoke volumes. His breath quickened as Baralai drew them farther inside. He nudged a tipped chair away with his foot.

Isaaru did not like this room. He had felt this taint in the air once before, years ago, life taken instead of lost. Home, he thought. It felt like Home, and his throat burned with bile.

The silence between them stretched on for a moment until Isaaru said, "It's a little disheveled at the moment." His voice rasped and the echo was horrible, grating on his ears.

Baralai looked toward him, eyes catching the light and turning them golden. He didn't look afraid at all. "Don't you see the potential, though?"

Isaaru could only stare—all he felt about this room was that he didn't want to set foot in it again. That was foolish and he knew it; he was through running away from the past, however terrible it was. "Yes," he said, and hoped that he would one day mean it.

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The seasons always shifted slowly in Bevelle, from the cooler months to warmer as the weeks went by. Isaaru adjusted to his new place in the New Yevon upper echelons as slowly as the temperature rose. He felt odd and misplaced in a role and an organization he had once felt he belonged to completely. Preparations for the special council moved like beads of sweat down furrowed brows of the councilmen as they made it harder and harder for Baralai to move and organize.

Behind him the early morning sun was a warm caress on his neck, but he knew by midday the fans would be out, stirring up cool air to combat the warming ocean breezes. In a few weeks he imagined that the heat would hit them full force. Fitting that in those few weeks they would likely know whether the council would be able to meet at all. Baralai's deadline had been generous, but his rules strict—the council would not meet unless everyone agreed.

Stepping into the cooler temple amid the winding arms of acolytes performing the benediction, Isaaru was surprised to see several more warrior monks than were usually present. The warrior monks were still few, but they guarded much more of the city now and seeing so many in the temple proper was odd.

Their presence only grew more apparent as Isaaru headed toward Baralai's office, which he had to pass to reach his own. The doors were open—a new development, as Baralai used mornings for private work—and he could hear Baralai's voice, loud but flat.

He stopped outside the door and looked in, surprised to see Lord Soren facing Baralai across his desk.

"I will not," Baralai said, hands gripping the edges of his desk. "It is scare tactics and nothing more."

"You must think of the safety and comfort of the people." Soren's voice was strained. Isaaru had never seen him look so angry.

"You wish me to undo everything because I was threatened?" Baralai leaned forward. "It named me, not individual citizens. How would it look if I were to cease everything we've worked for? If by one word from some anonymous group, or person, we gave up?"

"It did not name you alone," Soren said. Isaaru was surprised when the councilman's head turned and his eyes locked on his. "It also named Lord Isaaru. Will you risk him as well?"

Baralai stepped back and folded his arms. Isaaru couldn't read the gaze Baralai raked over him as he carefully sat down behind his desk. "You're correct, of course. But I will take Lord Isaaru's worries from him and no one else, once I've told him what has happened."

"See that you do." Soren turned from Baralai and headed for the door. "The council wishes to hear your decision by day's end." He swept through and doorway and past Isaaru without even a nod, eyes red and angry. Isaaru watched him move down the hallway, the swish and fall of his robes as flashy as his departure had been.

"Please come in and close the door," Baralai said. "I had wished to inform you with a little more care."

Isaaru complied. "Inform me of what?" He took the seat—uncomfortable, as always, but somehow now Isaaru could appreciate the value of keeping guests just shy of at ease.

"There have been threats." Baralai sounded tired.

"Because of the new council, I assume." Isaaru tried to make the idea that he had been threatened matter, but it was faceless—he couldn't ascribe any serious worry to it at all.

"You do so correctly. It was delivered as regular correspondence on my desk this morning. I asked the acolyte who delivered it to fetch me the head of the guard, told her the message to carry and before I knew it the entire temple was aware." Baralai tapped his fingers on his desk, eyes downcast. "Soren is right, of course—I can't ask you to continue your work with matters like this at hand."

Isaaru frowned. "I would be offended if you tried to withdraw my duties," he said, and then immediately regretted it when Baralai's face slackened with surprise.

"Strong words," Baralai said. "I have been under the impression that you have been against this plan from the beginning. You're only marginally more pliable than the council on many matters, if I can be honest."

Honesty, Isaaru wondered. He was fast learning that honesty was relative in New Yevon. "I care a great deal for the people I speak to and counsel every day, as well as those who come to me with concerns of the city itself." He took a deep breath. "I believe they would be bothered if I was no longer available to them. I would be bothered."

"I suppose in a lot of ways I have you to thank for the majority of the population not balking at this scheme." Baralai shrugged. "Your name, your influence, carried what I needed. This changes things."

"If you are telling me you were using me," Isaaru said, amused, "I am well aware of that fact."

Baralai smiled, and it shocked Isaaru because the smile was real, genuinely pleased, changing Baralai's whole face—the first true smile Isaaru had received. He wondered how many people were able to get Baralai to do that, and felt pleased that he was now one of them.

"I will not take your position from you, Isaaru." Baralai shook his head. "The council expects me to roll over but I think not. It would do no good to have to tell the communities that have accepted that we can no longer meet because New Yevon is scared."

Isaaru knew that some communities had accepted, but not how many—Baralai was the only one who knew and he was guarding the knowledge closely. "I appreciate you allowing me to remain," he said.

"I appreciate your willingness to stay." Baralai sighed and then picked up a folder and moved it across his desk within Isaaru's grasp. "Look at this."

Isaaru blinked and opened the folder to reveal several notices. He gaped when he realized what he was looking at, and touched corners gently to browse through them. "This is almost everyone," he said. "This many have accepted?"

"They all came within the last week," Baralai said, looking pleased. Isaaru was disappointed to see his mask was back on. "Every community of citizens—all but the Ronso, but I don't expect them to hurry. They will wait until the last possible moment."

"What of the other two factions?" Isaaru said, handing the folder back to Baralai. He hadn't missed the lack of their notices among the papers.

"They will accept." Baralai gave Isaaru a wry look. "But they will keep their silence on it and make everyone wonder why until they can no longer get away with it." His tone was evasive, and suddenly the fact that he had shared something with Isaaru seemed to have lost a little of its pleasure.

"I see." Isaaru sat quietly as Baralai watched. Over the weeks Isaaru had gotten used to having Baralai's eyes on him—he felt them whenever they were in the same vicinity, no matter what the cause was. It no longer set him on guard—he imagined it was just Baralai's way of thinking about something. Isaaru had decided that Baralai was good at watching people.

Baralai stood suddenly and Isaaru followed. "I must insist on guards, however," he said. "We should not run from the challenge, but we should not ignore a direct threat, either. I will see to it for you."

Isaaru inclined his head. "I understand, and thank you." The lines of formality had been redrawn without him realizing it, and Isaaru suddenly very much regretted it. It was one change he did not mind—the loss of stiffness, or being afraid of connection or revealing too much. That was somehow the definition of Baralai.

"I apologize for this," Baralai said, frowning. "I had hoped it would not occur."

"But you expected it."

"I expect many to balk at change. It is why New Yevon promotes a careful approach to our new world." His voice carried a note of annoyance. "There is taking things one step at a time and there is standing rooted in one spot because it is comfortable."

"You must admit," Isaaru said, "that people having guardians to protect themselves from other people instead of simple fiends is a change that most of Spira would find disagreeable."

"To gain in some ways is to lose in others," Baralai said. "It does not mean we need to cling to the past. It simply means we adapt and find new ways to do the things we love." Baralai moved forward a bit and then lingered in such a way that Isaaru kept his position.

"Is there something else, Praetor?" Isaaru asked.

"I received good news today." Baralai's fingers twitched around a stack of papers on his desk. "I dislike leaving people with bad news, so before you go might I share this?"

"Certainly." Whatever it was put color in Baralai's cheeks, and it fit him well. Isaaru was only a little embarrassed with himself for thinking so, and smoothed his features even though his face was warm.

"The Chocobo Knights have reformed." He had not yet looked up from where his eyes were trained on his desk. "They are recruiting new members and sent a communication asking whether they might visit Bevelle soon." He raised his head, and the tilt gave the next question a teasing note, which surprised Isaaru, for it was a rare gesture. "A piece of the past that seems to be defying change, wouldn't you say?"

"That is good news." It wasn't surprising to Isaaru—he had heard murmurs of it from Maroda—but hearing it was decided made him think back on days gone by when the Chocobo Knights had been prosperous. It warmed him.

"I agree—you would have seen the notice, of course. It requires your approval, but I wished—" Baralai's eyes, usually so unreadable, seemed to be saying a hundred different things to Isaaru, none which he could understand. "Good news of this type is more pleasurable face-to-face."

"Thank you." Isaaru felt a little off-center as he bowed and departed. Inside the sleeves of his robes, he clasped his hands together fiercely as he passed through the arching doors of Baralai's space. It was those moments with Baralai—so few and far between, surprising when they came—that made Isaaru marvel, and recognize why the people of Bevelle cared for the young praetor.

It made him wish that all their conversations were not so masked in pleasantries. Isaaru approached his office, feet stuttering against the carpet. He was around the corner of the hallway—there was no use looking back, for he wouldn't see anything but the curve of wood and stone.

He looked back, anyway—and wished.

------------

Baralai stayed fast on his decision to stand against the threats. His choice brought with it a New Yevon council that was aloof to both Baralai and Isaaru, for Isaaru had stood beside Baralai in front of the council and announced that he would not wish to leave his people over simple words.

Once, he would have been afraid of the seven pairs of eyes that watched him. Once, he would have caved. Those days were gone, mere memories that couldn't even be brought forth to bear in pale pyrefly echoes. He counted himself the stronger for it.

As the summer heat spread over Bevelle, bringing with it quick showers that soaked and flattened everything but the thick humidity covering the city, so did the tension. Isaaru rarely saw Baralai amid his meetings—his paperwork did not dwindle but his listening ear grew more and more weary as Bevelle citizens sought him out to spill their fears that New Yevon was caught in a power struggle that would break it apart.

Isaaru wondered, as he slipped into the chair behind his desk one night, if that wasn't true.

The weeks had passed, dragging by, and Baralai had been gone for days, leaving his affairs in Isaaru's hands. It was very well for Baralai to care enough to go among his people but it stung in ways he couldn't quite explain. Isaaru closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. Baralai's absence only spoke of how slowly the council moved. Baralai had left a list of things to be approved by today, but Isaaru had seen none of those documents. Men that were so concerned with shallow methods like holding off documents for food increases made Isaaru feel as if he could get genuinely angry. He reached out a hand and fingered the list on his desk, the script upon it in Baralai's neat handwriting—no frills there, of course.

Isaaru felt alone and that was a very uncomfortable feeling indeed.

"Isaaru."

Isaaru's head snapped forward and he stood slowly. "Lord Soren."

Soren stepped into the office, gaze raking across the small space. Isaaru shifted on his feet as the councilman browsed around—unsure what Soren was looking for. He started as Soren pulled a set of papers from his robe and placed them on the edge of Isaaru's desk. "Baralai expected these today."

"Thank you." Isaaru very much regretted the camaraderie and trust he had lost with Soren. He had enjoyed his company very much. The disappointment over a lapsed friendship and the revelation of things Isaaru wished weren't true was fierce, but it served no purpose for Isaaru to be petty in return.

"You seem to have come around to Baralai's plot." Soren took a seat in one of the plush chairs Isaaru had replaced the high-backed single chair with weeks before—he wasn't politician enough to curse all his visitors to discomfort.

"Plot? If you mean the new council, I am still reserving judgment." Isaaru took his seat as well, bothered that he felt challenged in his own space. "It is asking unique communities to come together and agree when in the past we have all served our own. I cannot judge a large change of this nature until it has taken place."

"So you have said in the council meetings you have attended." Soren waved Isaaru's words away like so much smoke. "I mean, of course, why you sit here—not the new council."

"I sit here because of the new council," Isaaru said, confused. "The praetor asked it of me and I agreed."

"Do you think so?" Soren crossed his arms, material rustling in the tense silence that followed.

"I do not believe Praetor Baralai would have asked me to do this work with the people of Bevelle if he did not think I was capable of it." His voice was tight—revealing too much. He would never be as adept at hiding emotion as Baralai was.

"I do not mean to insinuate you are incapable." Soren's eyes were bright—too excited, Isaaru decided, to be anything but worrisome. "I mean to say that you are... overqualified."

Isaaru stared at Soren for a moment. It was a niggling worry, one he had shoved to the side weeks—even months—ago, when he had been called to see Baralai. It had felt irresponsible once it had crossed his mind to think such things and it felt even more so now. Baralai had given him his confidence. It had been hard earned, he assumed, through qualifications only Baralai could know. It felt unfair to let Soren lead him back to those musings.

"I think the position I am in fits my skills well," Isaaru said. Soren's smile was bright—even friendly. Isaaru told himself that it didn't matter. He would not be tempted with things and statuses he had never wanted.

"Perhaps it does." Soren leaned forward. "But have you never—"

"Lord Isaaru."

The surprises of the night continued, but Isaaru's annoyance faded when his eyes met Baralai's.

"Praetor Baralai, you have returned." Soren had reached the praetor before Isaaru could even rise from his chair. "I trust your trip went well."

"It did, in fact." Baralai's expression was cool and he stepped to the side, sliding into Isaaru's office as he did so. "If it is acceptable to you for me to request a council gathering tomorrow morning, I would very much appreciate it. I know it is after hours."

"Of course," Soren said, bowing by less than an inch in Baralai's direction. Isaaru was amazed by the little ways in which the council insulted others with no words at all.

"Well, please do not let me keep you from notifying the other council members. I must speak to Lord Isaaru." Baralai's tone was mild but Isaaru didn't miss how it caused Soren's back to straighten. No more words were exchanged as he left, the sound of his robes the only tell to his anger.

Isaaru took to his feet as Baralai approached his desk. "Welcome back to Bevelle, Praetor."

"It seems you have kept the wolves at bay," Baralai said. "Come dine with me and we can exchange stories."

The invitation was unexpected. Isaaru floundered for a moment. Baralai had never invited him anywhere after hours before. Isaaru was unsure of how to take the offer—how did one deny the praetor politely? He couldn't do it, and said, "O-Of course, yes. I would be honored."

Baralai always took his evening meals in his personal chambers, and Isaaru had never ventured into the living quarters in the temple. It was a quick walk from Isaaru's office, Baralai stopping an acolyte to murmur in her ear. Baralai seemed in a chipper mood, Isaaru noted, and wondered what had caused it.

The living area of Baralai's suite had had a wide window looking into Bevelle, the sun so low in the sky through the glass that the sky was turned pink and orange, giving the room a slight glow. Isaaru went to look out over the city as several acolytes brought in the dinner, the trays rattling as much as his knees would have if he hadn't been standing straight.

"Lord Isaaru and I will be conducting a meeting," Baralai told the two acolytes Isaaru could hear setting up the small table. "We are not to be disturbed."

The snick of the heavy door closing was his cue to turn, and he was greeted with Baralai's eyes on him. Isaaru was warmed in the attention from Baralai's gaze—he had not realized how much he missed that habit.

"Thank you for inviting me," he said.

"Please sit. I have news for you." Baralai gestured to the chair. He spoke as they settled. "I have spoken with both Nooj and Gippal—they are facing some opposition from various people over whether to trust New Yevon."

"It seems people easily forget your speech," Isaaru said. "Do inspiring words only last if they come from Lady Yuna?" Baralai smiled, and Isaaru flushed. "That is not an insult to her, however."

"Lady Yuna is special to Spira in ways I'm afraid three faction leaders will never be." Baralai lifted his glass, shrugging. "For the moment, she supports us, and that has been a great help in guiding all the communities to us—even the Ronso."

"They've accepted, then?" It pleased Isaaru to hear that the communities were coming together, risk or no.

"With some conditions, but it is no trouble."

The silence as they ate set Isaaru at ease. The room was warm from the day, but not uncomfortably so, and it was a great comfort to Isaaru that Baralai was home.

"I didn't expect you to return so soon." Isaaru risked the statement, not wanting to pry but still curious that Baralai had arrived so suddenly.

"The people I wished to speak to saw me quickly. I was lucky," Baralai admitted. "I had assumed that the various communities would spend my time making me wait, but they were all pleased to speak with me."

"Is New Yevon faring well?"

"Very much so where it remains. The New Yevon headquarters in Kilika has adopted our example here—several former summoners are counseling those unsure about the changes in Spira." Baralai stared at Isaaru over his glass. "Tell me, Isaaru—did you feel you had no purpose in Spira when the Eternal Calm came?"

Isaaru froze, hands tangled in his napkins. "I suppose," and he was proud that his voice did not shake as he spoke, "I felt lost."

Baralai cast his eyes down. "Forgive me. It is private and I should not ask it of you."

"No," Isaaru said, and was surprised that he wanted to tell Baralai what he had told no one else. "I have made my peace with it." Baralai didn't prompt him again, so he continued. "The loss of the aeons—we all felt it. All summoners felt it and perhaps Lady Yuna felt it the worst. There was a—it was like discovering an emptiness where before there had been great warmth."

Baralai's features softened, but it was not with pity.

"I spent much of my time feeling useless." Isaaru laughed, a dry, humorless noise in the quiet Baralai had given to speak. He kept his eyes on the empty plate in front of him. "I was not used to feeling that way, nor feeling selfish for wishing that my purpose was not gone, even if that purpose was always a lie."

Baralai sat his glass down, the liquid within quaking. "So was it simply the loss of the aeons?"

Isaaru shook his head. "It was the loss of everything. The aeons were the worst, the magic second—I have still not been able to follow in the path of Lady Yuna to relearn the magic. My gua—my brothers," he said. "Perhaps it was that knowledge that made me run from the changes sweeping Spira. I did not want to face them and accept for it meant I would have to accept something I was not ready for."

"You only have two brothers," Baralai said. "They both accompanied you on the pilgrimage—even the younger one? They are living with you here in Bevelle, aren't they?"

"Yes." Isaaru took a moment to replenish his glass and drink to wet his throat. "Accepting the knowledge that had I faced the Final Summoning I would have also faced the death of Maroda—because of my choices—was too hard. That was something I hid from for a very long time."

They were silent together for a long moment; the only sound their breathing. Isaaru drank again, a little shocked he had been so open and concerned Baralai had not wanted to know quite that much.

"We all had to face the changes after the Eternal Calm." Baralai placed his elbows on the table. "If I had to judge I would not place you among those who handled it badly, Isaaru. You were simply human. You have found your place here in New Yevon, haven't you? Does it not fit you well?"

"It does," Isaaru said, wondering if Baralai was leading them back to less personal subjects on purpose. He felt his face warming at the thought that he had been so free with his words and had made Baralai uncomfortable.

"Please, I am—" Baralai smiled again; it was warm and inviting. "I am simply trying to say I am thankful that you are not afraid to face the changes. I am quite lucky to have you."

"I do not feel running from the changes is appropriate," Isaaru said, pleased. "But I do not wish to forget the way things were. I do not want to lose the good things we had."

"As long as we remember them and find new ways to adapt them to our world," said Baralai, raising his glass, "I do not feel we have to worry."

------------

The sun beat down on Bevelle with a righteous fury as Isaaru headed toward the temple a week later. Beside him, his monk guard was silent as always—he appeared outside the small apartment Isaaru shared with his brothers every morning and was present outside the temple when Isaaru departed every night. Isaaru had not attempted to speak with him but to thank him—the monks were even more resistant to the change Baralai brought onto the city of Bevelle than the council was. Isaaru didn't wish to pressure anyone into false politeness.

Isaaru imagined that their concern was quite a bit less about their power within New Yevon and more about their feelings. He knew no other way to respect the difference of opinion with the monks but to stay silent.

The temple was hot and also deserted as Isaaru entered. The emptiness was a marked difference—more and more followers of New Yevon had been pouring into the city since Baralai's announcement last week that the council only lacked agreement of the other two factions before it could move forward.

It had been clever of Baralai to back them into a corner so effectively.

Baralai's door was open as it had been the past week. It had been a pleasurable thing to find that Baralai seemed happy every morning to see him and would invite him inside to speak and give him the day's papers and notices himself.

Isaaru only knocked twice before stepping in, but faltered at the scene inside.

"Baralai, I—"

"Lord Isaaru." One of the monks—so many of them, in one space, a space that was devastated, Isaaru saw—came forward. "Please step outside."

"Where is Baralai?"

"I'm here." And he was—the monks towered over him. He stepped out but did not come forward. "I am fine, Lord Isaaru." The name rankled on Isaaru's nerves, but it was necessary, it was proper. He could only stare at Baralai, his coat missing, his face tired and his office looking looking like it had been torn to pieces.

"What has happened?" But Isaaru didn't need to ask to know. The mess and the monks and the mask of Baralai's face, the expression Isaaru could never read told him everything.

"Please, Lord Isaaru, leave for now," Baralai said, his tone cold. He offered no explanations and Isaaru swallowed, no longer just warm inside his robes, but burning up.

"Of course," he said, and bowed before leaving. It would not do to get angry, he told himself as he turned to go. He had stepped over some boundary between his position and the office of praetor. It had been improper and Baralai had been justified in putting him in his place, however much it bothered him. It would not do to be angry. But he was.

He was disappointed when he turned the corner. Shelinda was leaning against the wall and stood when she saw him. This was his job, he reminded himself, disappointed by his reaction. Surprise visits were always a possibility. He stepped forward and sighed as she approached him.

"Lord Isaaru!"

"I wasn't aware we had a meeting," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I haven't forgotten, have I?"

Shelinda shook her head and looked past him down the hall. "The monks tried to force me out after the news, but I told them I had an appointment with you so I could stay."

"The news?"

Shelinda's eye widened. "You—you haven't heard? The monks cleared the temple completely—except for me, I guess—because someone broke in and destroyed Baralai's office. They attacked two acolytes, too."

Isaaru went cold and then warm again, feeling dizzy for it. "Attacked?"

Shelinda nodded. "With a sleep spell, or maybe powder—they don't know yet. I happened to be here to get a quote from the praetor about his latest announcement and they tried to usher me out, but then..." She looked at the floor. Her voice sounded faint now, but Isaaru wasn't sure it was her or the fact that blood was rushing through his ears, his heart pounding to distraction.

Isaaru's mouth went dry as the thought occurred to him: had Baralai been attacked, as well?

Guilt tore into him first, then anger that Baralai had sent him away without telling him the truth. Shelinda was gesturing, speaking, but Isaaru had tuned her out. The number of monks in Baralai's office, Baralai's missing jacket, his weary appearance—Isaaru took deep breaths to calm himself.

"I'm sorry," he said, interrupting Shelinda's rapid-fire words. "I don't know anything at this time. Excuse me."

He spun before he could feel bad about brushing her off. Baralai's office door was still open when he approached, but the monks were gone, two nervous acolytes having replaced them. They were picking up the mess of papers and books carefully, and jumped when Isaaru entered the room.

"When were you going to tell me?" Isaaru asked. His voice was not loud enough, but he couldn't find it in himself to yell at Baralai.

Baralai stood at his window, arms crossed. "I thought I told them to escort her out," he said.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You're asking the wrong questions!" Baralai said, spinning around. "My office was torn apart, I clearly only missed those who did so and attacked two of my people by minutes, and now you're standing here telling me you have the right to know everything right this second?" He huffed and went to lean against his desk. "The monks hover, you hover, the council hovers—I would like some peace. Just for a little while."

The acolytes were frozen to their spots. Isaaru gestured them out with a twitch of his head, squeezing his hands together inside the sleeves of his robes. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you cannot claim this attack as your own."

"But it is mine, very much so." Baralai's headband was missing, his hair falling into his eyes. "My idea, my plans, my everything. You are only here because of me." He laughed, and smacked of sarcasm. "What a kink that threw into their plans, me getting to you first."

Isaaru opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. The heat of the morning was creeping into the temple, competing with the flush Isaaru knew was spreading across his face. "Excuse me?"

Baralai stayed still. "They couldn't get to you by scaring you away indirectly, so they've resorted to measures they feel they can control."

"Please explain what you mean," Isaaru said. He was dreading the answer but at the same time already aware that it was what he had wondered at his first weeks here—what the smile on Soren's face had meant.

Baralai threw up his hands. "Please tell me that your usefulness extends past paperwork to know how New Yevon works as a government. Do you think I wished for this council only for Spira's sake only? The benefits do not extend only to the communities, Isaaru."

"I don't understand." But he did understand. He understood what it meant to be used with good intentions.

Baralai grew still and stared at him, seconds upon seconds, as Isaaru stood and met his gaze. He would not back down—not this time.

"Tell me, if the council had come to you and asked you to replace me as praetor, would you have accepted?"

Isaaru shook his head, but didn't answer. It was no matter that he kept silent; Baralai was turning away. "I knew from the moment I returned that they regretted it. My reunion with Nooj and Gippal only sealed it. If this new council succeeds, what do you think that means for the current one? They will cease to have the control they do throughout Spira—except in New Yevon. Hands in every pot, you might say, and they'll have to remove them."

Isaaru tightened his stance so he didn't shake, whispers in his head of old voices and old orders making him want to turn and walk away. "I have never spoken against your change, Praetor."

"But you still haven't answered the question," Baralai said.

"No," Isaaru said. "I am not fit for the office of praetor. I would have declined. It seems," and he chose his words like he would choose sharp rocks for skipping into water— he was tired of this game, "that you have wasted your money placing me in this position."

"You knew I wanted your name."

"I knew you wanted my name for Spira," Isaaru said, angry that he could not control the cut to his words. "Not for yourself."

"This is change, Isaaru." Baralai gestured to the mess around him. "Involving people in governing themselves means no, there will likely never be any unity between us but for the words we bind each other with to always be fair." He kicked at a book, its spine creaking as it landed. "With true unity there is a false sense of peace, and it allows frustration to fester and boil over. I would rather know," Baralai said, "so I can plan my strategy to compensate so it never has to end up as dark secrets that hurt when you pull them into the light."

"Then New Yevon is really not new at all," Isaaru said, reaching a place of calm during Baralai's tirade. "It is men and women still concerned with themselves and protecting the ground on which they stand instead of the people." He frowned up at Baralai. "Yevon used me and now New Yevon has as well—you have. Who am I to trust in any kind of change? The old ways prosper under your hand as well as they have for the last one thousand years."

Baralai gave him no answer, eyes as dark as the truths he had shadowed from him. Isaaru wanted to shout at him about friendship, and trust, and why he so feared that there would be no change—only different manifestations of the same doomed spiral.

Instead, he turned, and left Baralai alone with his mess.

------------

The heat over the city did not abate in the coming week, nor did the workload, even as blitzball season opened to grand success in Luca. Bevelle's notoriety after Baralai's announcements had faded, leaving its streets nearly deserted.

Isaaru's home was empty for a different reason.

Bad news in threes, Isaaru always thought—and it worked without fail time after time. He wished he could have counted Baralai's trespasses against him as two, because he was still angry. However, Maroda's departure from Bevelle to join the reforming Crusaders under the Youth League warred with his problems and reservations over Baralai in his heart as to which hurt worse. He was waiting for the third to fall, resigned to the inevitable.

His past was coming to be reborn at every turn. Isaaru did not quite know how to handle it. He had not begrudged Maroda's leaving. Once upon a time he had asked his brother to do a great deed for him—one greater than either of them had known until after the need for it had passed. He couldn't hold Maroda back.

It did not mean he wasn't sad to see him go. Once, Isaaru had admired the Crusaders, even after their excommunication. It had been so long since their ranks had been demolished that Isaaru had been surprised to get the notice of their reformation from Lucil—Nooj's second in the Youth League. He wondered if the Crusaders that formed now would be like the Crusaders he remembered. Old ways seemed to refuse being cast into history.

It had been days since Maroda had departed and Isaaru had seen Pacce in passing only in the past few weeks. His youngest brother had left just that morning for Luca—Isaaru wondered if he would come back at all. It was a cruel thought and a selfish one. Pacce was still hopeful of becoming a sphere hunter and Isaaru wished to be supportive of him—of both his brothers, as they had once been supportive of him.

He was alone in a city where he no longer felt quite at home.

Isaaru stared at the document on his desk, one of many Baralai had sent him through messengers the last few days. With the clean-up of the new council headquarters almost completed, Baralai had been pressing through requests to bring more machina into the city. It was simple fare, lights and technical machines Isaaru didn't even understand the words for. He had been signing them all—even if he doubted Baralai's judgment in personal matters he did not doubt them in council business.

The machina had brought a new presence to the temple, as well. Isaaru had caught glimpses of Baralai and the Machine Faction leader together. His anger might have abated somewhat, if it hadn't been clear that Baralai was avoiding him and the man—Gippal—was assisting him in doing so.

Isaaru was tired of seeing sarcastic smiles with no humor before a door closed or Baralai and his guest rounded a corner. It was so frustrating. He couldn't even be angry properly because Baralai would do no more than cast his eyes over Isaaru's face quickly when they were forced to speak.

Anger without an outlet could destroy a man, his trainer would have said—the man was long gone, split into pyreflies—and over the years Isaaru had wished for his counsel. These days, he wished he had someone to seek counsel from, rather than being the one others seeked it of. He had posessed that once in Soren, but with tensions between Baralai and the council so high, it was foolish to even think of old times.

Selfishness was a trait that was coming too easily for him as of late.

Outside the temple walls, he could hear the bells tolling. It late and he had been here four hours past the time he usually left, his door closed to finish his reading. He wasn't accomplishing enough: all words blurred together as he let his mind wander.

Isaaru wished to fix too many things and he knew it. Making other people happy had been ingrained in him from such a young age—he had forgotten how to make himself happy.

He brushed his papers into piles to be handled later—it was no use sitting here stewing if he wasn't going to finish. He had never stayed quite this late before. His escort was likely long gone, off to other duties. Isaaru had learned to be afraid, after Baralai's office had been ransacked for what seemed no purpose but to destroy the room and make one man nervous in his own space.

The knock on the door as Isaaru was walking toward it made him pause. In the silence of his office it jarred and made him step backwards. His hands shook a bit until he reminded himself that any attackers would not knock first.

He opened the door and was shocked to see Baralai standing at the threshold as casually as he had before—before. Isaaru stopped the train of thought before it could continue and upset him.

"Praetor, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Baralai frowned. "I wish to speak with you, if you wouldn't mind."

Yes, he did mind, but he said, "Of course not. Would you like to come in?"

"No, I have been cooped up all day, I would rather walk." Baralai's words were clipped. Isaaru hated the fact that things between them could never recover to the state they had been before—at least on Baralai's part. Isaaru knew his words had hit their mark, and hurt—he had meant them to. But now, remembering how Baralai could surprise him with a smile or laughter, he regretted them. He regretted them and he hated that he did.

"Certainly." The door closed behind Isaaru and he followed Baralai into the hallway to the private quarters. He was unsure why Baralai wished to walk this way, into a dead end, but perhaps he meant to have an escape route. If he spoke and retired quickly to his rooms, it would be easier for him. Perhaps Isaaru should make it easy for him, in case he meant to apologize.

He settled into a slow step beside Baralai, but Baralai didn't speak. His head was lowered and Isaaru couldn't even begin to guess what he was thinking.

"The Youth League has accepted." Baralai cast a searching look at him. "It seems Nooj will be a heavyweight in Spira. Chocobo Knights, Crusaders—he has placed himself in a prime position to dominate the council."

"Possibly." Politics, politics, it was always the same—Isaaru had known they would accept, but he was stunned that it was the Youth League first. Isaaru had been sure, with Gippal in Baralai's pocket all week long, that it would be the Machine Faction.

"That's not why I wished to speak with you." Baralai stopped short, several feet away from the door to his bedchamber.

"Why did you want to speak with me?"

"We have come up against a misunderstanding," Baralai said, and caught him off guard. "Do you believe I think you incapable of your work?"

"No, because you know I do my work well," he said. He spat the words out to the floor before he could talk himself out of being honest, eyes trained on Baralai's shoes. "I believe my usefulness extends beyond your original purpose for me and this works well for you." Isaaru lifted a shoulder. "It is no matter. As long as I am helping the people."

"And thus you speak of the misunderstanding." Baralai stepped forward; Isaaru stepped back. He found his back against the wall. Baralai's eyes were angry, but his voice was serene. "I have always considered you capable, Isaaru. Please do not insult us both by insinuating I would leave you in a position you didn't do well for political gain."

"Very well." He was dazed when Baralai held out a hand to him. "Praetor?"

"A sign of agreement that is not of New Yevon—or the Yevon before it." Baralai raised his hand more—it brushed the ties of Isaaru's robes. Isaaru lifted his and clasped the offered one before all the reasons he shouldn't flooded his head.

"What are we agreeing to?" Isaaru asked. He was not imagining it—Baralai had moved yet closer. It was a wash of warmth across his face as Baralai penned him in with his body. The realization swept over him like a hard wave, knocking his heart about in his chest about and then dragging away his defenses as it left. Isaaru's eyes flickered from Baralai's to the door he could see directly across from him. This was impossible in every way except in the reality that Baralai was in front of him—had brought him here.

"No more bickering or secrets, I think." Baralai gripped hard, fingertips pressing into skin when Isaaru attempted to pull it back, proving Isaaru's thoughts. "Especially in the vein of secrets. I have had three hard lessons now with them—twice I lost something precious to me."

"The third?"

"The third is in front of me," Baralai said, "and I am debating whether the truth is more dangerous than we can both handle." Isaaru gazed at him, feeling as if he wouldn't be able to get his breath back if he didn't calm down. He relaxed his hand, which Baralai had not released.

"I have weathered worse truths than yours, Praetor." Isaaru took a deep breath as Baralai slid his palm up the inside of Isaaru's arm, into his sleeve. His fingers were a cool, light touch on Isaaru's warm skin.

"I should not have created a situation in which you needed to weather anything from me," Baralai said. his free hand traced the lapel of Isaaru's robes, knuckles firm down Isaaru's chest. Isaaru could only stare as Baralai let his hand wander, expression unreadble.

"What do you want from me?" Isaaru's voice broke as Baralai's fingers swept into his inner robes, the cool pads of his fingers stroking the hot skin over his heart.

"To apologize," Baralai said, "and to ask if we cannot return to where we were before." His hand slid back down his arm to trace his thumb over the quickening pulse at Isaaru's wrist as his other slipped to untangle the knotted bow at Isaaru's waist. Baralai pulled as if he were unraveling Isaaru with the movement, methodically. Isaaru did not move to stop him.

"Praetor—" His voice broke in earnest as the wrapping around his waist slackened, held up only by the weight of Isaaru's outer robes.

"Baralai." He said it as a whisper as his hand pushed apart inner robes, warm palm dragging over the skin he revealed. Fingers brushed across a nipple, stopped and circled slowly, making Isaaru arch off the wall. "My name is Baralai."

Isaaru was dazed when Baralai suddenly withdrew the wandering palm. His other hand still gripped Isaaru's wrist; the pulse was wild under his light caress, thumb moving back and forth.

"Baralai—"

Baralai only turned away, not releasing his hold, voice quiet. "That wasn't so hard." When he looked back Isaaru was graced with a smile that the public never saw. It was an invitation, it was an apology; he tilted his head. "Isaaru?"

The few feet to Baralai's doors seemed much farther as Baralai tugged him along, grip gentle. Isaaru knew he could stop and could turn away by only removing his wrist. He didn't have to trust Baralai again—had no reason to do so.

Except for the fact that he very much wanted to.

Baralai's room was cool, dark except for candles glowing in sconces on the walls. He shut the door and pulled Isaaru towards the wide expanse of his bed, stopping short of pushing him onto it.

"I made mistakes," Baralai said, moving his hands back to push Isaaru's heavy outer robe off his shoulders. It hit the floor behind his trembling legs as Baralai shifted his hips closer and pulled at the remaining ties on the wrap to let it drop as well. "I would like you not to be one of them."

Baralai's fingers were twitching through the remaining buttons in his inner robes. He plucked them free with a speed Isaaru might have been impressed with if he could think of anything but the tease of Baralai's hands over his thighs. "I am here, am I not?" Isaaru asked the question on an exhale, voice shaky. He was rewarded with a deep laugh and a daring caress of hot, hidden skin as Baralai's hand dipped into underclothes. Lucky, he thought when he cried out, the sound shocking in the silent room. He was lucky and foolish and he didn't care at all.

Nothing more was taken slowly as Baralai traced one hand inside loosened robes to shove them off and the other onto his neck, tugging him forward. He was smiling when he kissed Isaaru, and Isaaru flushed hot with the pleasure of the smile and Baralai's lips tracing over his mouth down to his jaw. His free hand roamed inside the thin fabric of his underclothes, along the skin of Isaaru's hip.

Isaaru's breath stuttered as Baralai pressed his open mouth against the pulse in his throat. His hands found purchase in Baralai's shirt, gripping as he was pressed backward, almost tripping over his robes as he went.

"Not quite as smooth as intended," Baralai said, voice husky and amused, the rich sound not masked from Isaaru any longer. It made him ache.

He would have spoken but for being shoved backwards onto a mattress so soft he sunk into it, blinking up at Baralai, who looked smug and pleased with himself. He was shocked to find his throat robbed of words as Baralai discarded his robe and shirt, the sound of the neck cords hitting the floor almost as loud as he imagined his heartbeat was. The candlelight flickered and threw shadows across Baralai's skin. Isaaru could only stare.

"You are so quiet," Baralai said, as if Isaaru was being a bad guest and wasn't half naked on Baralai's bed. "I don't wish to force you."

The words didn't feel like his own when Isaaru said, "I don't wish to beg for what I have already agreed to."

Isaaru had been trained for control his whole life, but Baralai undid everything as his hands traveled with slow purpose up Isaaru's thighs, the light material doing nothing to mask the heat from his palms. They swept along his hips and brushed lightly over straining fabric. When Isaaru closed his eyes and groaned he was rewarded as Baralai slid above him, body pressing him down. His headband was gone when Isaaru looked again, hair wild and unruly, like a halo around his face.

"You know how long I've wanted to see you like this?" Baralai anchored his hands into the mattress beside Isaaru's head but didn't bother letting him answer before his mouth came back to Isaaru's, demanding and hot.

Baralai kissed like he meant it, dragging Isaaru with him with lips and tongue and teeth. Isaaru ran his hands tentatively onto the exposed skin of Baralai's shoulders and into the soft hair on his neck. This, just this, Baralai's mouth on his—connection, he marveled, and he hadn't imagined it. Baralai had always seemed so untouchable. It was hard to reconcile his mind's image of Baralai with the man above him, face flushed and eyes heavy with need.

Isaaru dragged his damp palms down Baralai's back to his hips and arched into him, shuddering. He sucked in a breath when Baralai pulled away to stare down at him, arms trembling and breathing ragged. Isaru could feel one of them shaking, but it no longer mattered who it was. He wondered if he had crossed some line. He caught his fingers in the material of Baralai's pants and squeezed down. His hands gripped as if he could stop Baralai from lifting up if Isaaru had gone too far, leaving behind the sensations he had teased out of them both.

"No, don't get that look—of course you can, of course." Baralai's swiped his lips across Isaaru's and grinned, looking the more beautiful for it. "You're a genius, we don't have to—" and Baralai was pressing his hips into Isaaru's, hands on his face to hold him still for kissing, wet and messy.

Baralai ducked his head and moaned something that might have been words. Isaaru couldn't understand, ears roaring as they moved together. Baralai's mouth traced over the sensitive skin of Isaaru's neck. It was all too easy now for Isaaru to let his hands roam all over hot skin because he could, doubts gone.

It was easy to grind up, his hands pulling Baralai's hips hard against his, over and over, until Baralai quaked and bore down on him. Isaaru rocked up again, once, twice, three times, and his voice was harsh as he muffled himself on Baralai's shoulder, muscles twitching as they stilled, heartbeats mingling.

Seconds passed and Isaaru breathed in the scent of lavender and sweat. "Baralai," he said, throat dry. Baralai's skin was damp from his hands. He wanted to retreat and he wanted to stay—he was wet and felt awkward but still shivered with pleasure.

Baralai raised his head and smiled, hair in his eyes. Isaaru breathed in. No, he thought. He didn't didn't need to run anymore.

"I think," Baralai said, voice lazy and pleased, as he kissed the corner of Isaaru's mouth, "that next time we'll take off the rest of our clothes."

The line of Baralai's mouth was curved and soft; and Isaaru gave in, touching his face with shaking fingers, and laughed.

------------

A cool hand on Isaaru's bare shoulder woke him. Disorientation reigned for a moment until his eyes focused. He saw Baralai sitting on the bed beside him, face masked half in darkness.

"Baralai?" He lifted himself on his elbows and blinked in the black of the room but for the handlight Baralai held, casting odd, ominous shadows around them. Something was wrong.

"I am sorry to wake you." Baralai's voice was subdued. "We have need of you to Send."

"Send?" Isaaru's dreams were clearing, fading from his memory as he sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, cool air making him shiver. "I have not—" His hands were beginning to shake. "I have not Sent anyone in over two years, Baralai. Not without—"

The aeons, he wanted to say, but the aeons were gone. He had stopped listening to the pyreflies when they had faded. He stared at his hands, and wondered if he would even be able to make the pyreflies hear him after ignoring their songs for so long.

Baralai's hand curved around his neck, forced his head up so he could look into Isaaru's eyes. "This has not gone, Isaaru. The need for this is still here. Will you try?"

"Who?"

Baralai opened his mouth, hesitant. His expression was no longer the happy one he had worn as they had slipped into his bed and pressed together, slick skin against slick skin. Isaaru's breath quickened, but the sadness in Baralai's voice brought him down.

"It is Soren. He is failing."

Isaaru raised his hand to Baralai's wrist. "Of course I will try." At one time, Soren had been a friend to him. He did not deserve to be Unsent.

Baralai pulled away and stood, the ray of light careening around the room as he stooped to pick up Isaaru's rumpled inner robe and shake it. His hair was a mess, he noticed and then—

"Did they wake you first?"

Baralai's lips twitched. "No, one of the other councilmen sent an acolyte to request you here, and found you missing. They came for me then."

Isaaru swallowed, his mouth dry. "They know, then—"

"Two councilmen know." Baralai held out the garment in his hand, just out of Isaaru's reach. "It doesn't matter," he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Not right now."

Isaaru flushed and pushed the sheets back, trying to ignore Baralai's eyes on him. The room was cold and he cast his gaze down as he took his robe from Isaaru and slipped it on, not speaking. It didn't matter—Baralai was correct. But he had been here and others besides Baralai knew it now. He had no idea what it meant for him. Or, for that matter, what it meant for Baralai. Consorting with the praetor—was there a punishment for that in New Yevon? His fingers fumbled with his robe as he settled it.

"Isaaru, please." Baralai touched his hands that were pushing buttons through loops with clumsy fingers. "I do not mean to be short with you." He surprised Isaaru by pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. "This is unexpected. Soren is not that old."

"Older than most," Isaaru said.

"But we do not measure time in terms of Sin anymore," Baralai said, his breath teasing gooseflesh on Isaaru neck. "Our healers can do nothing for him. The magic will not touch him."

"He was important to you."

"He was one who wanted me to be in this position. He believed in me, and how many ways have I let him down?" Baralai turned his face away. "Come—we should not keep them waiting."

The council was on the floor above, an almost hidden staircase down the hall from Baralai's rooms leading them upstairs. Baralai's manufactured light bounced ahead of them in the darkness, and Isaaru followed silently, his bare feet brushing along the plush carpets.

Isaaru had been scared in the past, of Sending. He had preferred the power of the aeons, the burst of it in his heart and mind, focused. Pyrefly energy was harder to control, their songs hard to learn, their language—such as it was—almost impossible to discern.

He had been expecting a crowd when they approached the room. He saw no acolytes hovering, only two of the other councilmen—the only two that supported Baralai. He was stunned to find that he felt it already—the hum, low in the air, like a vibration. He stopped when Baralai did.

"Is he ready?" Baralai asked.

Izak gave Isaaru a reproachful look but Pertal only nodded, his expression haggard. Isaaru had spent a great deal of time with Soren with Pertal present. The two had been close friends. "He is. We have said our goodbyes." His voice cracked. "He is having trouble drawing breath." He had addressed Isaaru. "Please ease him gently."

Isaaru inclined his head. "I will care for him."

The door was ajar—he stared at it, the feeling so strong he felt like everyone should be able to hear the hum. He imagined Lord Soren felt it—he had once been a summoner, too. Long ago.

"Isaaru, do you—" Baralai caught his fingers, drawing them down his palm before pulling back. "What can I do?"

"It helps us to be among friends," Isaaru said. "You are free to come in if it does not displease him."

"No," Izak said. "He will not disapprove."

Baralai's light went out as Isaaru entered Soren's chambers. Candles were lit, throwing shadows across the modest room. Soren lay on his small bed, propped up on pillows. He opened his eyes when Isaaru approached and knelt beside his bed.

"Isaaru, my young friend." His voice was weak, rattling like old leaves. "They have brought you to me as I asked. Good."

"Greetings to you." Isaaru bowed his head. He could see the glow of the man's skin, though he knew the others did not. Soren coughed, and a small pyrefly drifted from his mouth. Behind him, Isaaru heard Pertal make a noise of distress and Baralai's quiet tone, words he could no longer make out over the song.

"You have done well," Soren said, as Isaaru took his hand. It was dry, like old paper, and Isaaru returned the firm grip. "Better than a man too foolish to see—" He coughed again, and the murmur of the pyreflies that Isaaru could not yet see changed tone.

"It is time for you to rest now," Isaaru said. "We will care for Bevelle in your stead. You do not have to worry."

Pyreflies were a terrible beauty. They came up slowly, one at a time, floating in glowing, irridescent spirals. The tones in his head matched the tone of each single pyrefly he touched and spoke to, flashes of old memories and days long gone in and out of his mind in mere moments.

He could no longer feel anything but the fading solidity of Soren's hand as it squeezed one last time. "Care for each other," Soren said. "No more fighting."

Isaaru smiled and on his exhale of breath, blew a clump of pyreflies into the air. "We will fight enough, but we will remember to love. Do not worry. Rest." It was as he had never turned his back on the songs. Pyreflies passed through him as he urged them to go.

"That is good. I can live with—" It was like an explosion, Isaaru's nails digging into his own palm as the burst of pyreflies swirled around him. Go, he told them—hummed, sang, he still didn't know what to call the connection. Go, he thought, and be at rest.

He closed his eyes against the brightness, soaking in memories left behind and let his hand go slack—and breathed.

He did not move from his place until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head from the empty bed. Baralai crouched beside him, eyes worried.

"You have been here for a long time," he said. "Surely ten minutes of reflection on your knees is enough."

Isaaru blinked—the light was back on in Baralai's hand, the other two men nowhere in sight. The candles had been extinguished in the rush of air, he supposed. "I'm sorry."

"No need for apology. You look pale and I was starting to get worried."

Isaaru managed a smile, and it was coming back—the price of the Sending, both physical and mental. He wondered, as he rose unsteadily to his feet, how long he would dream the dreams of Soren's life. His memories.

"It had been a long time." Isaaru looked at the bed again. "I was lucky. He was ready to go."

"I have seen too many Sendings." Baralai snaked his arm around Isaaru's shoulders. "But I have never seen a summoner speak to the pyreflies. I was not aware they could listen."

"They—" Isaaru faltered as Baralai guided him out of the room and down the hall. He had not been aware he had spoken aloud. "It is hard to explain. Did you not try yourself, as a child?"

Baralai ducked his head. "I am afraid I was not good at listening."

"One day I will try to find the words to tell you," Isaaru said. "It is both good and bad to be able to hear them. Not tonight, if you don't mind."

Baralai didn't say anything more, leading them back the way they had come, through the darkness. The feeling Isaaru had had when he awoke was gone, and it was a shock to him to realize he had already been somehow aware of the fitful pyreflies before Baralai even woke him.

Baralai had been back—or one of the acolytes had—to relight the candles in Baralai's room. Isaaru was suddenly self-conscious and tired. He stood looking over the rumpled bed, his clothes in a heap on the floor and wavered.

"I should go."

Baralai laughed and put his light on his dresser. "So concerned about the impropriety you would rouse a guard to walk you home?" The tone was teasing, and Isaaru flushed at it, as well the hands that sneaked suddenly inside his robe. "Think of the scandal if some wandering acolyte happened to see you leaving my quarters at such an hour."

"This is a big step." Isaaru said.

"I do not need to be told." Baralai murmured into his ear as he pulled open buttons, slow and deliberate, sliding in to touch skin he revealed. "Hours ago we weren't even speaking. I am thankful for my extreme luck."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." Baralai slipped his hands under fabric to Isaaru's shoulders. He brought them up to Isaaru's neck, pulling back to study him as if he were a problem to be solved. "I welcome this change. As a people, we cannot take huge leaps of faith. We are larger and must move gradually, or fall. I am not a large amount of people." He traced his thumbs over Isaaru's cheeks. "I am just one man. I am no longer afraid of those leaps when the prize I see is worth it."

"It is good to be cautious." Isaaru felt his lips curving. "Jumping can be dangerous."

"I put quite a bit of stock in the art," Baralai said. His eyebrows narrowed to a sharp point. "You might not be here with me if not for the ability of people to believe in them."

Isaaru inhaled at Baralai's tone, trying to be lighthearted but failing—quite spectacularly, in fact. Old ways, change, new ways—and everything in between. He considered Soren and his death, and how there was, in truth, no death on Spira any longer—just a change to a new way of existing. What was change, anyway, he wondered, if not leaps of faith.

"I do not wish to leave." Isaaru said it in a mild tone. He was not worried that Baralai thought he wanted to. When Baralai put a warm hand on his back and guided him closer to press their mouths together—Isaaru reached out and touched in return.

Baralai did not have to leap alone.

------------

"Baralai, I—man, you're not Baralai."

Isaaru looked up from his place at the window, trying very hard to not roll his eyes at the voice. "Baralai is currently conducting an interview with Shelinda." He turned to face Gippal. "Aren't you part of it, being the last leader to join the council?"

Gippal waved a hand. "That girl drives me nuts, it's like she's been chewing on gyshal greens. No one is that perky naturally. Well, unless you're Rikku."

Isaaru smiled. "She is standing behind you." And she was, shooting a harsh look at Gippal.

"I work, and I slave, and I get no thanks!" Rikku shoved the box she was carrying into Gippal's arms. "And now I've got you making fun of me, too."

Gippal dropped the box at his feet. "I was sure Baralai'd be out of that thing by now."

Rikku grinned at Isaaru and plopped down in Baralai's chair behind his desk. "It's pretty snazzy at New Yevon. You like it here? Really?" Her voice told Isaaru just how likely she found it.

"It's enjoyable work," he said. "I am helping my people."

"If you ask me, they need less counselors and more parties." She inclined her legs on the desk. Isaaru was at least thankful her boots seemed to be clean. "Well, I guess in like, a hundred years or something when Baralai actually starts allowing more machina in the city besides just in the council headquarters they'll get their chance."

"Baralai actually desires more," Isaaru said. "It is I who am denying it."

Rikku sat up and gaped at him. "Are you kidding? Isaaru, you can't seriously still be freaked out about machina, can you?"

"I am not." Isaaru watched Gippal study him out of the corner of his eyes, and was amused. "The people of Bevelle are still adjusting to living in a city on top of machina—seeing it everywhere, regardless of functionality, is not something we want to force on them."

"I guess!" Rikku shot Gippal a look. He shrugged.

"I've told them, Rikku, don't give me that look."

"I didn't give you a look!"

"There was a definite look there, I saw it."

"Was not!"

Isaaru shook his head twisted his hands together inside his robes, tuning their bickering out. The last few days had been a whirlwind, with Baralai announcing the Machine Faction's official acceptance and the date of the first council meeting. Isaaru had been surprised to learn that the Machine Faction had been aboard the entire time, but with Nooj behind the largest military force in Spira, they had felt it better to let the Machine Faction be the one to go last, to make it seem like the power had tilted in their favor.

Isaaru still didn't care for politics much—he doubted that would ever change. But Baralai's plan had worked, and in two weeks Bevelle would be flooded with representatives from every corner of Spira, in two's or three's, depending on the size of their community. If he was honest with himself, it made him nervous—but he hoped for the best. Baralai was confident, so he could be confident as well.

"See you later, Isaaru!" Rikku said, startling him out of his thoughts. "The old slave driver here is making me go check the lights in the headquarters again."

"I'll show you slave driver later." Gippal smirked at her.

"You think I won't throw this wrench at your head, just try me," she said, waving it in her hand. It only turned into a farewell for Isaaru as she dunked out.

"Does she always work alone?" Isaaru asked.

"She knows her stuff." Gippal crossed his arms. "No better girl to handle your business. But, then again—" He scratched his head. "Guess you've upgraded so you don't need a girl to handle anything, do you?"

Isaaru stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Perhaps he means you've found your center and can handle your affairs well on your own."

Isaaru was still embarrassed that even after weeks, Baralai's voice could still send his heart speeding. He smiled as Baralai entered the room. "I would have to say that is true."

"Sure, whatever you say!" Gippal's tone was sarcastic as he addressed Baralai. "I came to tell you that I wasn't going to make the interview."

"Except you will," Baralai said. "I rescheduled it for my office in fifteen minutes."

"That girl is scary, man, and last time she asked for me to autograph her—" Gippal stepped back and forth in a strange half circle. "Whatever, I already did the whole thing when we made the announcement. All this word dance stuff isn't for me."

"Just be your normal, charming self." Baralai smiled as Gippal snorted. "I'm quite sure that every sphere recorder in the city will be rich by next week, selling spheres of you. Isaaru tells me you're quite the rage in the younger market."

Gippal shot Isaaru a curious look. "Okay, well, how about I go check on Rikku real quick like and be back here." He didn't even give Baralai time to answer before darting out.

"Well, he won't be returning," Isaaru said.

"Of course not." Baralai crossed to the door and shut it. "But it was an effective way to get rid of him." They didn't touch but in passing—shoulder to shoulder—as Baralai crossed back to his desk and Isaaru sat in front of him. "But I can lie just as well as he can. Interview is in the headquarters."

Isaaru grinned. "Never underestimate the praetor when he wants something."

Baralai only shifted a few papers before coming to the other side of his desk to lean in front of Isaaru. "You haven't said anything about tomorrow's council meeting."

Isaaru shrugged. "They can feel free to nominate me for the empty position. I will not take it."

"Happy where you are?" Baralai asked, his tone warm.

"More than." Isaaru felt sorry—if he were not in his current position, he might consider it, but it did no good to dwell. He belonged, for all intents and purposes, to Baralai, and Baralai's council.

Isaaru was a little bewildered when Baralai leaned forward and drew him up by the edges of his robe. "Baralai—"

"Oh, screw the rules for a moment, if you please." Baralai didn't sound annoyed, so Isaaru relaxed as he rested his forehead on Isaaru's shoulder. "I think after today I would like a small vacation, in a quiet room."

"I could take care of that for you," Isaaru said, allowing his fingers to brush along Baralai's neck. "You have been working hard."

"Oh, good." Baralai leaned back and smiled. "You're a soft touch."

"Someone has to be."

Baralai stood and straightened the shoulders of Isaaru's robes. "Ready to go give Gippal the bad news?"

Isaaru nodded solemnly. He traced his palm along Baralai's fingertips and smiling, said, "Just lead the way."

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Story Notes

Thanks to Ira, Della, KJ and Kim for beta!

Written for Round One of Final Fantasy Exchange.