Categories > Games > Final Fantasy X
Strength
She was broken inside, dashed upon the rocks of the Djose Shore and left to pick up the pieces of her fallen troops. She feared to enter the temple, her faith shaken, her mind screaming blasphemies. How could Yevon allow such destruction? How could she be so powerless to stop it? Her troops, her comrades, relied on her for guidance and hope, but how could she lead them when she had no hope left herself? She had always stood upright, eyes focused on the road ahead. Now she could barely keep up the facade, wanted to fling herself on the ground and scream, or just let herself cry a little. But she couldn't, she had to remain dignified and strong, because that's what Elma and Clasko and everyone else expected of her.
He was fresh on his journey, eyes filled with memories of pyreflies and ancient waters. He'd left Bevelle, the home of his childhood, and traveled the paths of the great summoners before him. He dreamed of vast plains and ruined cities, and a covenant of death which one day he must fulfill. His looming mortality made him ever more attentive to the moment, to live while he still could. There was a deep ache inside, when he thought of one day leaving his brothers. They were his only family, the only guardians he would ever need, and yet he would never see Pacce reach adolescence, or Maroda marry. He was their constant, the single stabilizing rock in the constantly changing tides of life. He was their big brother, and he knew they relied on him to never change.
She was waiting outside the temple, running her fingers soothingly through the feathers of the last chocobo, in an attempt to calm her own fears. Footsteps behind her alerted her to a vistor. She turned to meet the gaze of a man, tall and elegant, and she knew him immediately as a summoner by the sash tied beneath his green and blue robes.
"Please allow me to heal you," he said, and extended a hand.
He didn't know that her injury was too deep to be touched by white magic. Still, her left ankle was aching, so she sat on the ground in aquiescence while he crouched next to her. It was uncertain exactly why she allowed this strange quiet man to heal her, though perhaps she was simply tired of never letting herself show weakness. She would rather let her guard down before a stranger, than slip in front of her own troops.
He examined her leg, his hands cool and gentle against her skin as he whispered a healing spell. "Praise be to Yevon," he said, as the swelling diminished and the cuts turned pink and closed up.
"I will never pray again," she found herself saying, startled at her words. Why should she confide in this man, especially as he was involved with the temples? Yet she stared at him defiantly, blue eyes gazing into blue, part of her wishing he would admonish her for speaking blasphemy.
Yet he only nodded, a strange and sad smile on his lips, as he rose to his feet. She ignored his offered hand and got up herself.
"You will once again find your strength," he said. She watched him walk away, perhaps feeling that there was more to his words than it seemed. She felt lighter somehow, yet she didn't think it was the spell. His words had renewed whatever faith that was still left in her heart, and the next morning she felt ready to face whatever the day would bring her.
The next time they met was at the Luca Stadium. All of Spira was gathered to hear High Summoner Yuna's speech after her defeat of Sin. The young girl, barely a woman, had overcome all odds, not only bringing peace to the world, but also truth. Lucil smiled as the High Summoner spoke of memories, and her eyes turned from Yuna to search the crowd. Somehow, her glance fell on a familiar pair of blue eyes, not far away. This time she approached him as he stood with what could only be his younger brothers.
He leaned down to speak in her ear, his breath warm and smelling of clean soap and freshly-tilled earth. "The Church was nothing but lies," he said, and she could barely hear him over the noise of the crowd. "You were right to stop praying to it." His voice was grim, and she realized that he must have been deeply shaken by discovering that all he had believed in was false.
"What will you do now?" she asked.
"I am a summoner," he said. "My only purpose was to die so that I could bring peace to the people of Spira. Even that I failed." There was sorrow in his voice, a bitterness which confused her. "Now I am not sure where my road will lead."
She wanted to know this man, to glimpse into the darkness of his heart and learn of the secret there, and see if the magic that rested in those fingers was enough to heal her own spirit.
"It seems we're both a little lost. I too, lost what I was fighting for."
"Never forget them," the High Summoner was saying, and for a moment they stood together in silence. Then his brothers called to him, and he turned to leave.
"Wait!" she called, feeling strangly desperate and foolish and hopeful. "My name is Lucil." He looked back at her, his expression amused.
"Isaaru," he replied, and they shook hands, though she felt as though she had known him for much longer than that short meeting only months before.
She smiled then, the first real smile on her face since that terrible day on the shore of Djose, when she had lost all hope. He smiled back, and it was beautiful.
"Isaaru," she said, "I have found my strength." She only hoped he would let her help him find his.
She was broken inside, dashed upon the rocks of the Djose Shore and left to pick up the pieces of her fallen troops. She feared to enter the temple, her faith shaken, her mind screaming blasphemies. How could Yevon allow such destruction? How could she be so powerless to stop it? Her troops, her comrades, relied on her for guidance and hope, but how could she lead them when she had no hope left herself? She had always stood upright, eyes focused on the road ahead. Now she could barely keep up the facade, wanted to fling herself on the ground and scream, or just let herself cry a little. But she couldn't, she had to remain dignified and strong, because that's what Elma and Clasko and everyone else expected of her.
He was fresh on his journey, eyes filled with memories of pyreflies and ancient waters. He'd left Bevelle, the home of his childhood, and traveled the paths of the great summoners before him. He dreamed of vast plains and ruined cities, and a covenant of death which one day he must fulfill. His looming mortality made him ever more attentive to the moment, to live while he still could. There was a deep ache inside, when he thought of one day leaving his brothers. They were his only family, the only guardians he would ever need, and yet he would never see Pacce reach adolescence, or Maroda marry. He was their constant, the single stabilizing rock in the constantly changing tides of life. He was their big brother, and he knew they relied on him to never change.
She was waiting outside the temple, running her fingers soothingly through the feathers of the last chocobo, in an attempt to calm her own fears. Footsteps behind her alerted her to a vistor. She turned to meet the gaze of a man, tall and elegant, and she knew him immediately as a summoner by the sash tied beneath his green and blue robes.
"Please allow me to heal you," he said, and extended a hand.
He didn't know that her injury was too deep to be touched by white magic. Still, her left ankle was aching, so she sat on the ground in aquiescence while he crouched next to her. It was uncertain exactly why she allowed this strange quiet man to heal her, though perhaps she was simply tired of never letting herself show weakness. She would rather let her guard down before a stranger, than slip in front of her own troops.
He examined her leg, his hands cool and gentle against her skin as he whispered a healing spell. "Praise be to Yevon," he said, as the swelling diminished and the cuts turned pink and closed up.
"I will never pray again," she found herself saying, startled at her words. Why should she confide in this man, especially as he was involved with the temples? Yet she stared at him defiantly, blue eyes gazing into blue, part of her wishing he would admonish her for speaking blasphemy.
Yet he only nodded, a strange and sad smile on his lips, as he rose to his feet. She ignored his offered hand and got up herself.
"You will once again find your strength," he said. She watched him walk away, perhaps feeling that there was more to his words than it seemed. She felt lighter somehow, yet she didn't think it was the spell. His words had renewed whatever faith that was still left in her heart, and the next morning she felt ready to face whatever the day would bring her.
The next time they met was at the Luca Stadium. All of Spira was gathered to hear High Summoner Yuna's speech after her defeat of Sin. The young girl, barely a woman, had overcome all odds, not only bringing peace to the world, but also truth. Lucil smiled as the High Summoner spoke of memories, and her eyes turned from Yuna to search the crowd. Somehow, her glance fell on a familiar pair of blue eyes, not far away. This time she approached him as he stood with what could only be his younger brothers.
He leaned down to speak in her ear, his breath warm and smelling of clean soap and freshly-tilled earth. "The Church was nothing but lies," he said, and she could barely hear him over the noise of the crowd. "You were right to stop praying to it." His voice was grim, and she realized that he must have been deeply shaken by discovering that all he had believed in was false.
"What will you do now?" she asked.
"I am a summoner," he said. "My only purpose was to die so that I could bring peace to the people of Spira. Even that I failed." There was sorrow in his voice, a bitterness which confused her. "Now I am not sure where my road will lead."
She wanted to know this man, to glimpse into the darkness of his heart and learn of the secret there, and see if the magic that rested in those fingers was enough to heal her own spirit.
"It seems we're both a little lost. I too, lost what I was fighting for."
"Never forget them," the High Summoner was saying, and for a moment they stood together in silence. Then his brothers called to him, and he turned to leave.
"Wait!" she called, feeling strangly desperate and foolish and hopeful. "My name is Lucil." He looked back at her, his expression amused.
"Isaaru," he replied, and they shook hands, though she felt as though she had known him for much longer than that short meeting only months before.
She smiled then, the first real smile on her face since that terrible day on the shore of Djose, when she had lost all hope. He smiled back, and it was beautiful.
"Isaaru," she said, "I have found my strength." She only hoped he would let her help him find his.
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