2019-05-12: Melodies of Life: Difference between revisions

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*'''Log: Melodies of Life'''
*'''Log: Melodies of Life'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuna]], [[Character :: Leon Albus]], [[Character :: Lunata Croze]], [[Character :: Elhaym van Houten]], [[Character :: Jacqueline Barber]], [[Character :: Ashton Anchors]], [[Character :: Ethius Hesiod]], [[Character :: Lulu]], [[Character :: Rikku]], [[Character :: Fei Fong Wong]], [[Character :: Zed]], [[Character :: Ida Everstead-Rey]], [[Character :: Shalune Amira]], [[Character :: Kaguya Alathfar]], [[Character :: Lemina Ausa]], [[Character :: Violet Salazar]], [[Character :: Riesenlied]]
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuna]], [[Character :: Leon Albus]], [[Character :: Lunata Croze]], [[Character :: Elhaym van Houten]], [[Character :: Jacqueline Barber]], [[Character :: Ashton Anchors]], [[Character :: Ethius Hesiod]], [[Character :: Lulu]], [[Character :: Rikku]], [[Character :: Fei Fong Wong]], [[Character :: Zed]], [[Character :: Ida Everstead-Rey]], [[Character :: Shalune Amira]], [[Character :: Kaguya Alathfar]], [[Character :: Lemina Ausa]], [[Character :: Violet Salazar]], [[Character :: Riesenlied]]
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[[Category:Chapter 2]]
[[Category:Chapter 2]]
[[Category:Chapter 2, Act 1]]
[[Category:Chapter 2, Act 1]]
[[Category:(Plot) Operation Mi'ihen]]

Revision as of 03:21, 2 September 2020



<Pose Tracker> Yuna has posed.

The hours in the immediate aftermath of Operation Mi'ihen are extraordinarily vital, life-and-death, even for Spira.

"Lady Yuna!"

There are so few survivors compared to the original tally, but virtually all of them are in critical condition -- creating an overwhelming and immediate need for aid.

"Quickly, over here!"

Everyone with the strength to stand is called into service.

Those with healing skills, doubly so.

"This way, milady summoner!"

Those with healing magic, triply.

Laying hands on a legless Al Bhed.

Brow-sweat beading as a Crusader's massive chest wound begins to close, one inch at a time.

Tears on the face of a woman who begs to die, to join her wife.

Tears on the face of a child who begs to live, but dies anyway.

"Lady Yuna!"

No tears on Yuna's face.

She could be chiseled from marble, more an idea than a person than ever, as she moves with the robotic jerkiness of someone exhausted beyond sleepiness, going where she's called, doing as she's bid. Her expression is frozen into something like focus, exactly one layer above something like agony, something like grief.

Anyone who looks at her closely can see all three.

Few do.

"Lady Yuna!"

Her lips shape prayers to Yevon, but it is her heart that moves the magic. Every single victim is its own battle for her.

To not break down.
To not escape.
To not let go.
To not succumb.

"Lady Yuna!"

She draws the light of her heart out, where it kindles softly in her hands, and then in their bodies.

One battle at a time, she brings them life.

"LADY YUNA!"

---

Torches have been lit, that the work may continue, and the beach has long since become a complex tapestry of black night, orange flame, and gray shadow.

Gradually, over the course of the grueling hours, there were fewer hands needed for healing, and more needed for grieving.

There may not be enough fabric in the world to give them all shrouds, but... those that are able to be easily retrieved -- some are strewn among the rocks, it will take weeks to get them all -- are, at least, given some facsimile, some textile token. Those who are not Spiran who wish to help are taught. It can be a bandage, though there's little to spare. A piece of skirt. A scrap of bandana.

Clothes of the living become more and more tattered as the night goes on, as they're sacrificed, a bit at a time, to clothe the dead.

One at a time, remains are adorned -- taken to the edge of the water -- and released to the embrace of the sea.

<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.

It has been a long, exhausting night.

There are shadows flickering in the dead of night. Althenan priests have joined the effort; their focus on healing is for all those wounded, but their rites are saved for Althena's fateful. Here and there, distant from the beach, acrid smoke from funeral pyres rises upward. The Althenans keep their distance.

Leon Albus watches them from a distance. He is wearing Spiran clothing: a loose-fitting, buttoned up dark green shirt with an open neck and a few strands of cord across the front. The bandages from his broken collarbone are off, but he still has his arm in a sling.

He has spent much of the night directing efforts. He was unwilling to commit the Black Wolves en masse to an assault on Sin -- he saw Azado, and cynical pragmatism has been his modus operandi. But, he could come help, even with one arm.

Wounds had to be bound. Stitches had to be sewn. Bodies had to be held down, when the bloody work of amputation was necessary. Leon could help with that much.

Now, in the dead of night, he looks exhausted. His blonde hair is longer than it used to be, and the stubble on his cheeks and chin is days-old. It is nearly a beard. His clothing is worn, splattered with mud and blood in places, and he looks at the water with an exhausted, drained curiosity as the Spirans prepare bodies for the sea.

<Pose Tracker> Lunata Croze has posed.

        Leon can, at the very least, know one familiar and relieving sight in the distance--

        The Fereshte.

        The Dragon-headed ship has pulled up to the shore; much like Leon, Riesenlied didn't feel it right for the Outreach to join the battle with Sin when they have so many Azadians, children and other folks amidst their mix; yet her heartstrings are pulled, and she knew that the battle would leave a lot of people bereaved -- and wounded.

        She can do so little for the departed, save what she has learnt. So the Outreach is there; a mixture of Tainted Hyadean, Azadians from Meribia, Filgaian Outcasts... and they are laying the cloths as directed, upon them.

        And Riesenlied herself has been spotted frantically healing those that she can; she's begging quietly, "Please... stay with us."

        The shine of the grafted Medium of Life is wan and diminished, so far away from the Ley is she. But as her body continues to burn with what little life emits...

        She continues to shed life that others may live.

        Yet where one desperately offers life...

        CW: Thoughts of death and assisted suicide.

        Another is seeking death.

        Because Lunata Croze is thinking: Do people know when they are to die?

        How many people get to have that knowledge? For Lunata, her first death was abrupt and unknowable. She begged from the bottom of her heart for her mother's soul, her mother's life to be saved. And paying the price for that... that was abrupt, and unplanned. Everything happened in a rush of spikes and blood and ritual and pacting.

        Now...

        Now it's different.

        As part of the Maester Seymour's retinue, Lunata has been working for hours now; at some point she'd become an old hand for triage and first aid, yet she knows it's something of a distraction for what she seeks as the midnight oil burns and she continues onward towards, possibly...

        An end for herself. Tonight.

        Seymour has told her to sit in on a Sending. Because it's worth seeing if it'll work for her. They're both skeptical. But skepticism doesn't mean that the chance is zero. She may get the final release she is so desperately seeking now. And that there is a non-zero chance of that...

        That's gotten her thinking. A lot.

        It turns out that getting ready to die makes her hypersensitive. Because she's taking in every single detail. The sensation of the Yggdrasil jacket on her back; the strips of cloth she's tearing to cover the head of a deceased Crusader. The sweat and grime and growing beard on Leon's face as she helps him tug someone away towards a restful position on the rocks. The individual crabs scuttling along the sand at her feet. The ebb and recede of each wave upon Mushroom Rock's shore.

        Everything.

        Because... she might not be feeling anything soon.

<Pose Tracker> Elhaym van Houten has posed.

 
Elly van Houten did not participate in the Operation. She, and several others, came in the close aftermath. They had helped to move some people - found a friend, thankfully unspared - and moved to clear out one of the routes from the sea-side to the Spiran road network.

After this... they took a moment... and then they had more labor to do.

Elly had a straw hat which she gave to a Crusader somewhere around two in the afternoon. She didn't need it as badly as he did.

Elly had a bag full of odds and ends that she had collected, some of them from another world far away. There are now exactly two lingering anti-poison phials and a single paper-wrapped and slightly stale (if still effective) gummy candy meant to deal with muscle paralysis. Everything else in that leather bag was spent. She is also down to a chest wrap, having - with only a brief apologetic look to Fei - torn up her blouse for decorations and wound bindings. (She isn't alone, either. An actual doctor joined them, as did a long green coat. His work has been grim and elsewhere, and it is not yet finished.)

But for now, Elly sits on the sand. Her legs are splayed a little. Her weapon and her supplies rest in the sand next to her. She is not far from Leon, having sat down... a while ago.

"... Leon," Elly asks him, "are you alright? I can--" She shifts herself on the sand, as if preparing to rise but not quite doing it, not yet. One more go will do it, but that one go isn't there yet. "I can... get you something if you need it."

It's better than watching the funeral, Elly feels but doesn't quite think and certainly doesn't say.

"... Do you think," Elly says, mostly to the sand but also to Leon and perhaps to Fei nearby, "that we really are bad luck?"

<Pose Tracker> Jacqueline Barber has posed.

The Caravan Kinship had been hard at work - ferrying supplies for the treatment and care of the survivors. They had their share of hardship in their efforts, but they had help, as well.

They had chosen not to participate in Operation Mi'ihen, instead electing to stay out of it so they would be at full power to tend to the survivors. There were far, far fewer of those than Jacqueline had hoped. It had been heartwrenching, to look upon the devastation afterward.

There was so much pain, so much loss. How could anyone go on, after this?

...But, they had to.

And so, she worked. Directing those who needed direction, and treating whoever she could - whoever they were, regardless of where they came from. She worked tirelessly - though now, as it draws late, she is starting to show signs of fatigue, no longer able to hide them.

She's quiet now, standing off somewhere and considering...

well, everything.

There was a lot to consider. She is wholly absorbed in her thoughts, though alert enough to listen for signs of any who may need her help with something.

<Pose Tracker> Ashton Anchors has posed.

Not all who are here count as Spiran or Althenan. There are relatively few of Filgaia among the dead - perhaps because of who precisely and how few were taken from there to this distant land.
 
Some of Filgaia brought their own traditions - and quietly share them now.
 
Ashton Anchors is little good when it comes to medicine. The most he's been able to do there is provide Creepy's assistance in lighting fires - both for pyres and for light. Let those more capable with magic save their strength for the more important tasks.
 
At this moment, he's knelt in the sand beside one of those cloth-draped bodies before it's released out to the sea. The man under it was smith more than soldier - a Crusader who's primary duty was to forge and ready weapons. Weapons that Ashton wields, replacements for the Operation bought to replace his lost (damn it Claude) blade.

His words are quiet - the sellsword speaks a prayer from his homeland for the body beside him. A Granasian prayer, asking God to watch over the fallen and for the Sword-Magess to safeguard their souls on the journey ahead. And a promise to remember the warrior-smith by both naming the pair of fish-hook blades and using them to prove their worth and quality.
 
It is very little, and perhaps more to assuage Ashton's own heart than placate the dead. But in the aftermath of all that's happened, who would begrudge either?

<Pose Tracker> Ethius Hesiod has posed.

        Ethius has a distinction - the concept of which he hates having applied to him - as being one of the very first to venture out to the fallen in the hours that followed the Operation. He had a near-death experience where he had to come behind the shield with others. He saw the destruction first-hand. The uncountable loss of life. Death. Despair. Ruin. A staunch reminder that the cultural institutions and beliefs of what can or cannot defeat Sin would be upheld, no matter the previous power and victories the 'Otherworlders' had against incredible odds.
        This doesn't seem to dissuade him overly much, but he has a mask on his face. He is among the first to go out to locate and survey the dead, the wounded. He is, however, no healer. Him being among the first to discover someone does little to change their fates in the course of Spiran history, as he seems intent to collect debris to some criteria or another.
        He seems tireless. Detached, in a way, from the loss of life surrounding him.
        In time, as more and more surround and start better coordinating who's doing what, Ethius dutifully does as asked - with no deviation or creativity on his part. The only difficulty that comes is when it is time to see to giving shards to the dead in preparation for the Sending that follows. In this, Ethius could be seen as selfish - he does not tear any scraps of clothing off of him. He is even wearing a little more than he ought to, in this climate, as though the desire to obscure parts of his body were of importance.
        This is because he has drawn cloth scraps from the Hot Air Sack instead, but he is choosy about which pieces of fabric he does use. The patchy former loot sack is constantly re-sewn back together with local cloth scraps to start. Meticulously, he only picks out the intact cloth scraps that correspond to having come from this part of Lunar at all. It's not very much.
        He offers no words of comfort. He's just there, as a pair of hands, all but disappearing into the gathered crowds as just another person here.

<Pose Tracker> Lulu has posed.

Few are looking closely at the Summoner Yuna, in all of this. This does not mean none, however. The marble statue of an idea, the exhausted figure, frozen, acting, helping--

Her Guardian watches her, as always. Lulu is there, close by. She is no healer; her capabilities in the matter of disaster are altogether less mystical when the time of battle ends. But she does have some skills; stitching, directing the confused, applying potions.

But it is no secret, really; she is here, not making a point of her presence, quiet, but she is watching. To chronicle, one could say... But not, really, just that. Who would argue?

As she said: she has but one mission.

---

Here, now, that work continues. Lulu has been part of handling fabrics, making them stretch, but now, she stands. She waits. The black mage looks out to the sea, far beyond, and...

Shakes her head. Maybe Rikku can see the trouble in her eyes in that moment, as they stand together--but Lulu pushes it away, far, far away, from the tasks left to them tonight. The past is gone.

It will never return.

<Pose Tracker> Rikku has posed.

 
Compared to Yuna. Rikku's role was relatively small. Some people saw her go off in a separate direction after the battle with Vinsfeld.
 
To think any of the Al Bhed that manned the machina weapon survived after. Well... some might argue it was pointless from the start. However Rikku is used to not having a Summoner in their community to deal with the dead. She did not want that to happen to them because it took too long to dig them out. They deserved that much.
 
So their bodies are among the shrouded, and adorned. One in particular had something folded into his hand before he was shrouded. Just a small bolt from the machina weapon he manned.
 
His name was Temrood. She knew him. She knew why he was so determined to take down Sin here. It's a story common to many Spirans. It is simply that he had an uncommon determination to try and do something about it.
 
There is more she knows. Small moments - and more besides from the tight knit people.
 
They're private though. She'll keep those memories on the inside. Thank you.
 
She was discrete with the few words and potions she gave to the Al Bhed survivors.
 
Normally she wouldn't be so keen to watch this part. She'd sit off to the side. Keep to herself for a while - then come back - as cheery as ever.
 
She's a Guardian though now. She's Yuna's Guardian.
 
She stands near Lulu as the corpses are floated out. It's a useful sleight of hand to skim the back of her hand across her eyes when she thinks noone is looking. There's a slow blink of her eyes as she catches the look in Lulu's.
 
"I want to tell her she should rest..." It is a soft comment, murmured quietly to Lulu, "...but I'm too grateful that she's doing this now rather than later."
 
In that sense, she's just like everyone else. She thinks. All Spirans...
 
...they love their Summoners.
 

<Pose Tracker> Fei Fong Wong has posed.

Marivel took some time to lend a hand with the wounded and the head, time to reassure her team, time to talk with Auron, and then? And then she left with aRMS in a hurry. She hadn't had the chance to speak with Yuna and with everybody wishing for her hand, well, there wasn't a great opportunity to exchange a quick word.

But she has left something behind. A strange floating object with an eye and a spike on top of its head is hovering near Rikku chirping at her. It is red colored and it takes a moment before floating on her shoulder.

"Chrp?" Hob inquires inquisitively before hopping a little closer and rubs against her cheek. "Chrrrp?" It shakes a little and looks up at her face. It's intelligent enough to sense something is wrong but not intelligent enough to figure out what.

Fei Fong Wong is suitably horrified by what he has found at the Operation Mi'ihen battlegrounds. To him it feels less like the aftermath of a battlefield and more like a massacre even though the armor and wear of the dead are of different makeup and affiliations. He has nothing beyond his supplies and the clothes on his back with him.

Fei is near Leon. He frankly can look like your average Spiran without even changing his outfit. He does not look like a foreigner despite being one and he has no technology on him. He rests a hand on Leon's shoulder. "You're doin' everything you can, man. If I came out to something like this, it might've been even worse."

He looks to Elly as she asks, essentially, if that they are essentially cursed. Not so long ago, all of Fei would've been affirmative about that. Of course they were cursed. Have they even yet managed a happy ending for all their trying? Id would've been even more adamant and would say that the only way to shatter such a curse is to wipe the slate clean.

Fei can't say they aren't bad luck, but he can't say they are either. Right now he can only say, "I don't know." to Elly. "I've always thought so. But... This happened even though we weren't here." He looks at the floor. His fists tighten. This didn't have to happen...did it? Even if the pilgrimage had its flaws...

"But I think, really, maybe the worlds we've shared all have one thing in common. Every problem, every tragedy..." He looks towards Leon.

"The world as it is accepted to be...it's falling apart. Poison beneath the surface cannot be contained any more. This is just one more example. Tragedies like this, I think, are a sign that something has to change. I only wish I could tell you what it had to be."

<Pose Tracker> Zed has posed.

When you're in the business of war, this kind of thing is a far too common sight. No, that's a bit misleading. When you see losses like these, it's rare for there to be anyone around to suffer or mourn in the aftermath. The eradication is often so complete that the dying have barely any time to suffer before they become th dead. But here, there is no marauding army to distribute the mercy of the battlefield. The monsters that came to the shore did not occupy the land when the fight was done. The horrors left behind in their wake were abandoned to the ministrations of the living. To struggle. To live.

...For however long they might still have.

Zed has not been resting on his laurels. He has no skill at healing, besides what cauterization his blade can bring, but what he does have is an abundance of strength. The Hyadean Physiology thrives on battle; there is weariness in his bones, in the steel-shod cords of his musculature, but it's tempered by the untold aeons of careful engineering and biological modifications that saw the children of Lost Hyades transformed into living weapons.

He can still move, he can still carry, his body is stronger than most-- and so he puts it to use, working and hauling tirelessly to assemble the grave-rafts and carry bodies both living and dead to where they must be.

And always-- always-- he keeps a fierce grin on his face. In a time like this, a defiant smile is a rare sight, but if it can make even one person keep on fighting, then it's worth the lie.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

        Althena's Guard has taken heavy losses. Leo did not commit the entirety of his force to this attack, and their position near the rear of the formation meant more of them were able to get to safety. It's cold comfort for the survivors. Many of the broken bodies on the beach wear Althenan tabards. A broken pole sticks out of the sand near the tide-line, a ragged banner flapping in the breeze--the Guard's aegis is splattered with mud and gore. Further inland, medics hurry back and forth between rows of patients in the makeshift field hospital--little more than four earthen walls, drawn from the ground by Leo himself. Some of the Guard's healers have been helping the Crusaders with their wounded, but there are just too many.

        White Knight Leo retreated to the command tent, carrying with him all he has left of Dragonmaster Ghaleon. He hasn't been seen since.

        
        Ida Everstead-Rey kept her anxieties about this operation to herself. The morning it happened, she showed up at the Caravan Kinship's wagon, and offered her assistance with small, important tasks--sterilizing potion vials, and preparing dressings. When word finally came in, the dull, distant anxiety turned into creeping dread. Ida rode to the beach with Jay, moving almost robotically as she prepared for what awaited her.

        As it turns out, nothing could.

        . . .

        The woman on the ground is barely a teenager. Both of her legs are gone fron the knee down, shorn off by Sin's blast. Ida kneels next to her, teeth gritted, knuckles white--she ties a tourniquet around what's left of the Crusader's right knee. Beside her, another woman of about the same age pleads with the fallen soldier, begs her not to die. Ida doesn't know if they're sisters, or childhood friends. What's clear is that the woman's face is as pale as a sheet of paper, and her breath is shallow.

        When she stops breathing altogether, Ida's face twists in a snarl, as if she's ready to tear the young soldier free from Death's grasp. She uncorks a potion bottle with record speed, tips it onto the woman's wounds.

        Nothing happens.

        "Senna?" the surviving Crusader whispers. It hits her. It hits her, and there's nothing Ida can do to stop it. She watches as a young warrior gets her first taste of what heroism really means, and her heart feels like a pit in her chest.

        "I'm sorry," Ida whispers. Her face falls, and that last flash of adrenaline is gone as quickly as it appeared. She's too numb to cry. She rests a hand on the woman's shoulder as she doubles over Senna's body, sobbing.

        Ida feels for her. She envies her. She feels wretched.

        How many more of them are you going to fail before this is through?

        . . .

        Ida carries Senna's body towards the others. The young woman's corpse is half-covered by part of Ida's shirt--other bits of it have gone to clothe other bodies, other people Ida couldn't save. Kirra, Senna's friend, helps her, but none of them have said anything to each other. All Ida's wearing from the waist up is a long binding-cloth, and it doesn't hide any of her scars. Ida looks the part of the shell-shocked warrior as she stands by Kirra, Senna's friend.

        The two of them lay Senna to rest not far from where Yuna tends to the other dead. Ida rests a hand on Kirra's shoulder, again, and the young soldier breaks down. Ida embraces her, because that's all she can do. It seems like so little.

        Nothing you do will change anything.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

        Althena's Guard has taken heavy losses. Leo did not commit the entirety of his force to this attack, and their position near the rear of the formation meant more of them were able to get to safety. It's cold comfort for the survivors. Many of the broken bodies on the beach wear Althenan tabards. A broken pole sticks out of the sand near the tide-line, a ragged banner flapping in the breeze--the Guard's aegis is splattered with mud and gore. Further inland, medics hurry back and forth between rows of patients in the makeshift field hospital--little more than four earthen walls, drawn from the ground by Leo himself. Some of the Guard's healers have been helping the Crusaders with their wounded, but there are just too many.

        White Knight Leo retreated to the command tent, carrying with him all he has left of Dragonmaster Ghaleon. He hasn't been seen since.

        
        Ida Everstead-Rey kept her anxieties about this operation to herself. The morning it happened, she showed up at the Caravan Kinship's wagon, and offered her assistance with small, important tasks--sterilizing potion vials, and preparing dressings. When word finally came in, the dull, distant anxiety turned into creeping dread. Ida rode to the beach with Jay, moving almost robotically as she prepared for what awaited her.

        As it turns out, nothing could.

        . . .

        The woman on the ground is barely a teenager. Both of her legs are gone fron the knee down, shorn off by Sin's blast. Ida kneels next to her, teeth gritted, knuckles white--she ties a tourniquet around what's left of the Crusader's right knee. Beside her, another woman of about the same age pleads with the fallen soldier, begs her not to die. Ida doesn't know if they're sisters, or childhood friends. What's clear is that the woman's face is as pale as a sheet of paper, and her breath is shallow.

        When she stops breathing altogether, Ida's face twists in a snarl, as if she's ready to tear the young soldier free from Death's grasp. She uncorks a potion bottle with record speed, tips it onto the woman's wounds.

        Nothing happens.

        "Senna?" the surviving Crusader whispers. It hits her. It hits her, and there's nothing Ida can do to stop it. She watches as a young warrior gets her first taste of what heroism really means, and her heart feels like a pit in her chest.

        "I'm sorry," Ida whispers. Her face falls, and that last flash of adrenaline is gone as quickly as it appeared. She's too numb to cry. She rests a hand on the woman's shoulder as she doubles over Senna's body, sobbing.

        Ida feels for her. She envies her. She feels wretched.

        How many more of them are you going to fail before this is through?

        . . .

        Ida carries Senna's body towards the others. The young woman's corpse is half-covered by part of Ida's shirt--other bits of it have gone to clothe other bodies, other people Ida couldn't save. Kirra, Senna's friend, helps her, but none of them have said anything to each other. All Ida's wearing from the waist up is a long binding-cloth, and it doesn't hide any of her scars. Ida looks the part of the shell-shocked warrior as she stands by Kirra, Senna's friend.

        The two of them lay Senna to rest not far from where Yuna tends to the other dead. Ida rests a hand on Kirra's shoulder, again, and the young soldier breaks down. Ida embraces her, because that's all she can do. It seems like so little.

        Nothing you do will change anything.

<Pose Tracker> Shalune Amira has posed.

        As Riesenlied kneels by the fallen, Noeline initially remains standing - calling orders to the rest of the Outreach as their numbers start to filter through the crowds, grimacing at the sight of the destruction that Sin had wrought. Once upon a time she might have approached this with a pragmatic nature - now she can only bow her head in a silent prayer, then move to Riesenlied's side to support her. To offer her own power in hopes of supplementing Riesenlied's. To let life continue just a little longer.

        * * *

        Shalune's upbeat nature has seen her through a great deal. It's seen her through the destruction of Adlehyde, as she watched her hometown burn. It's seen her through the Kislevi army, blasting through its defences to rescue a friend. It's seen her through the power of a Summoner as she faced down Ifrit, not even knowing what that creature was until just recently. It's seen her through the Photosphere as it crashed down towards Elru's seas, disintegrating into so much debris as its progenitor wailed and thrashed.

        She's still not sure if it can see her through this.

        The thought of what might happen to Lunata tonight makes her gut twist and her hands shake. A year ago, or even less, she wouldn't have even tried to deal with the situation - the urge to just run away from everything and hide still looms at the back of her mind, fuelled by anxiety and nervousness. A large part of her still isn't sure what she's doing here, so far away from home, so lost as to what she could possibly do to help.

        But... she owes it to too many people to try.

        She's sat with her childhood friend as they both poured their hearts out, as they cleared the air between them. For what feels like the very first time, she let her own feelings slip clear - and in the wake of it all, made a resolution to herself that she'd see this out to the end. Not just for herself, but so that Lunata can go without regrets, and so that she can face Jay and Mrs. Croze and everyone else afterwards. And perhaps so that she can face her own mother's death properly, this time.

        "C'mon," she encourages the Crusader she's knelt next to, helping him sit up enough to be able to drink from one of the supply of potions she's stashed in her bag. Her tone is muted, of course, and she feels desperately tired - but she still clings to her own nature like a protective blanket wrapped around her. "You're still here with us. Take some of this and you'll feel better in no time, okay? It tastes terrible, but anything good for you does, right?"

        She makes sure to glance at Lunata every so often. "... just in case," she mumbles to herself.

<Pose Tracker> Kaguya Alathfar has posed.

Some of those up on the broken cliffs have been brought down. Some. The wreckage of the great cannon has been emptied of those trapped within it. And others...

The members of the Oasis Free Company--long since disbanded, becoming the Green Guard. They were not all in the battle. But some were. There were losses. And their commander has dragged herself from wreckage to see to each one of them. She is seen, now and then, jumping, moving, impossibly in places. Kaguya Alathfar is wounded, bruised, bleeding. And she carries bodies out, until she has found those she sent, in addition to those first two. Her finery is gone, shredded as shrouds, revealing strange green armor of a metal that glints in unsettling ways, too-smooth, too strange... and too-thin arms.

---

The Duchess is disappearing down the Highroad, now, as bodies are set to sea, her packs full, her strange green eyes forward. She does not look back.

<Pose Tracker> Lemina Ausa has posed.

Once she managed to pry herself out of her cower, Lemina set to work. Sometimes, that's all you can do -- get back to it. She doesn't have any real talent for healing, though -- and there is so much to be done...

She's settled for serving as escort to a lay healer with the Crusaders. She provides heat and cold, warmth and strength and -- as needed -- cauterization. She doesn't even have the heart in her to demand payment, which is how you can tell she's singularly miserable.

Not as much is demanded of her as of others, but she's still tired; she didn't eat *before* the operation, out of fear of seeing something unpalatable and throwing up (though she'd never admit that), and certainly hasn't had time to since.

After about the tenth life and death operation, she starts to sag. Finally, she just admits: "I'm mega-spent."

<Pose Tracker> Yuna has posed.

It is not yet dawn.

The dead can wait no longer; and as for those who were in question, the better part of them have been answered, one way or the other. Yuna rises from kneeling beside another victim -- now another survivor, just one more miracle in a night that contains multitudes -- at a gentle touch upon her shoulder.

She sways for a moment, as though she's forgotten how to stand upright, then nods her understanding. Matter-of-factly, she shucks off her sturdy black boots, and leaves them on the beach beside Keyakku.

The summoner is summoned, and as obediently as her aeons, she, too, comes forth.

She walks quietly down to the water's edge, and a grave silence follows her.

With the casual ease of experience -- though there is nothing casual about even her slightest motion, roboticism replaced by ritual -- Yuna places her bare foot upon the surface of the ocean, and it ripples beneath her light, careful pressure. She takes a second step. A third.

After Sin's departure the cove had already become placid, as though wearied from its earlier mistreatment at the fins of the titan in its midst. But somehow the girl's little feet tame the water further with their touch.

At first it becomes a mirror, distorted only by each momentary footpress, and it reflects the torchlight around and the starless sky above, as though the beach has extended outwards, as though the summoner isn't walking on water at all.

When it stills even further, to the critical point, it becomes completely transparent -- which means that it goes completely black.

 For a moment, no one can see anything upon the sea at all.

And then...

...the first pyrefly emerges from the water.

Its cold light is mostly orange, and as it bobs near Yuna, she becomes visible in silhouette.

She is dancing.
Beckoning.
Guiding.

Yuna's face has long since lost its focus. Now it knows nothing but pain.

But it isn't just her own pain that she's feeling.

...I wanted to see my daughter again, one more time...

She swirls to the left, and a purplish pyrefly is next.

...I just turned twenty-one...

They start trickling upwards a little bit faster...

...I'm not ready to die...
...they need me...
...I never even really got to live!

...and then the entire ocean seems to explode with light.

Every released corpse comes into starkly clear view, bobbing just beneath the surface, gathered by unseen force into something like a vast, layered flower of underwater flesh, with the summoner at the center.

But they're illuminated by not only their own lost souls but far, far, far more: the unseen majority of the dead, reduced to less than ash by Sin, lingering on, are abruptly present.

She will count them all.

Yuna, too, is extremely visible now, and she looks like she's been stabbed, her lips parted involuntarily from the cacophany now passing through the conduit of her own soul, the bridge that she's become, from death to final death.

Her limbs shake a little, through the next gesture, and the next, motion magnified by the quivering of her sleeves, as she struggles beneath an enormous strain of grief and pain and rage--

YUNA
YUNA

--all the torches on the beach suddenly burn blue, as though the air they consume is no longer merely that of Mushroom Rock Cove--

--as though it isn't just that she's Sending the dead beyond, but meeting them halfway there--

--and, over the hump with a tiny gasp, Yuna continues more gracefully. Pyreflies dance all around her, and she dances with them, and now the ocean dances, too, a liquid platform beneath her feet that swirls higher and higher with every one of her spins.

Yuna spins and spins, but she does not apologize to the dead.

She listens -- she acknowledges -- and most of all she feels.

STAY HELP FURY
LOVE PLEASE WON'T
NEED HOME HURT
WANT HATE MISSING
PREGNANT ALONE NO
BETRAYED FAR CAN'T
GIL BUT LEAVE
SICK FEED PLAY
PAIN LIE NO
NO NO NO
NO NO NO
NO NO NO

...I know...

 and pyreflies follow her gesture, flickering upwards --

-- away --

...goodbye...

-- and out.

...I'll see you again soon...

Just when it feel like it can't possibly go on any longer, it doesn't.

The last of these pyreflies begin their final journey, and Yuna's rod is held in both hands, pointed downwards, in a symbol of finality. The ocean begins to lower her back down to its surface.

But there's still a mystical tension in the air.

And the flames are still burning blue.

Yuna lifts her head and stares at nothing, or perhaps at something only she can see, and takes a scant handful of shallow breaths that belong to her alone.

Though the cartharsis still rippling through her veins -- that was shared.

She is not afforded the privacy of darkness; the sun's edge kisses the horizon, allowing everyone to see as she takes about a hundred steps to the west...

...and begins again.

There are so very many dead.

She's going to be here for a long time.

Flourishing her rod, again and again, Yuna dances...

<Pose Tracker> Violet Salazar has posed.

Violet has been too busy tending the wounded to observe the finer points of Spiran funerary rites; there are so many injured, so many. She moves brusquely, applying bandages, splints, improvised slings, putting in stitches. She does what she can, without access to healing magic. It never seems like enough. She spares a quick, odd glance at Ashton, hoping he doesn't notice. Are those dragons? She has no time to spare to answer that question. She is needed!

<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.

Leon has worked with Lunata in quiet, but not silence. There is not much to say; this is grisly work, carting about cadavers, and he is a few years past the point that he treated the dead with a cavalier attitude. Now, he handles things in a business-like manner. Move one body to the shore. Give it a look, move to the next body.

There is, of course, something wrong.

His eyes don't have the determination they did, before Gryndille died and before Vinsfeld Rhadamanthus shattered his sword. A slow, dawning realization has crept up on him:

Life isn't simple.

When Gryndille had to be destroyed, life was simple. When Mother required elimination, life was simple. When the power of the Metal Demons had to be broken, life was simple. His goals were clear -- there was a moral clarity, too, that Leon Albus at first balked at and then came to rely upon. He liked to tell people that he was a bad person, deep down.

But, now, Leon sees few clear answers and ample confusion. His nose wrinkles, a little, at Elly's question, though he looks somewhat alleviated by Fei's hand on his shoulder. "I am... it's fine, Elly. But I do appreciate your offer. I don't think we're bad luck. I think..."

He is supposed to have an answer. He doesn't. He looks, instead, to Fei. And then, he says: "...You may be right. I've no bloody clue what has to change, though."

He falls quiet, though, as the Sending starts. Leon watches for a long time, his silver eyes pale and nearly colorless; they reflect the swirl of many-colored pyreflies, with Yuna standing out on the water. He watches it ripple, and the rod swirling in the air. Leon's expression shifts, slowly, into a frown.

It deepens, as another Sending starts. Leon feels that strange sensation -- that knowledge that he is watching a culture and a practice he doesn't understand.

In his typical understatement, but sounding clearly affected, he says: "Quite the sight."

<Pose Tracker> Lunata Croze has posed.

        Riesenlied sees them. The Summoner Yuna, whose name she only scant knows from Luca when she got blitzed by an incoming crowd; Leon, Fei, Elly, Ashton, Jacqueline... even Ethius. She sees that woman from the gathering at Luca, Lulu. She doesn't recognise Rikku. She understands that she's watching over the Summoner as she goes about her task, in ways similar to what they're all doing... but she knows there is above all else.

        She hasn't approached the Wolves quite yet; because her duty, right now-- as her hand trembles from where the last lick of the flames of the Ley touch her, as the Al Bhed breathes a little bit easier--

        But then it happens.

        As the first of the Pyreflies rise from the water. As she moves to the edge of the water. As all the voices--

        All the voices--

        Every single one. Speaking at her. Screaming at her. Murmuring in whisper and in shouts and everything inbetween. All those that had been reduced to little more than ash has gathered them--

        "No... no, I'm so sorry, I... I can't... I can't..." Riesenlied, empath as she is, is experiencing the exact same thing she did in Azado. "I'm so sorry..."

        She sees her in her duty. Could she ever be as strong a person as Yuna is? She can scarce imagine the steel will required.

        Her own flame is dying out. She's coughing deeper and harder. She's blaming herself. She wasn't here. She didn't do more. She couldn't-- she hears Noeline's voice amidst them. Guiding her. She slumps against her, tears softly flowing as consciousness begins to flicker away from her.

        * * *

        Lunata notices several members of the Carakin present. She spots Jacqueline and Ethius. The Wolves, too... what will they say if she really did disappear? Will they even talk about her at all? Lunata was this and that...

        Will they... all talk about me in the past tense? Like I was some kind of clinical list of adjectives? Lunata was grumpy and incredibly extra and can't tan worth a noodle in the sun and not actually that great at soup or taco and likes girls and should just shout it out where are my thoughts going?? ...

        The thought swells within her and she has to suppress it. She looks at Ida nearby as she carries a teenager towards the gathered and departed. There are a lot of extremely young people who died at her own age. 'Senna', she gathers as a name.

        I had a second chance and these people do not. And all I want to do... is find my rest...

        It's a deeply complicated feeling. A potent mixture of survivors' guilt and trauma are all crashing against each other into an emotion she can't put a name or words to.

        "... Shalune... Shalune come to me," Lunata finds herself dryly stammering, as she finishes up. She's walking towards the beach once they've finished their lot; it feels once more clinical to think of it as a 'lot'. As she quietly watches as every single pyrefly, every single person joins them;

        It's time.

        "I uh--"

        Lunata walks closer towards the beach as she holds onto the little tinkerer's hand. She's now noticing how warm her hand is; she's noticing every little callous and nick she's gotten from all the years of messing around with machines and Big Shal and the Little Dipper. She's noticing how nice the swordsman get-up she's wearing is, every little intricate pattern--

        "I think... I think-- I want--" Lunata is finding words hard. "I kinda feel like-- being hugged when I go. Let's... let's sit down."

        She looks back at Shalune.

        She can't cry, because dead bodies can't cry. Her voice can sure still warble, though.

        She hasn't noticed the necromantic smoke starting to come out of unobservable seams in her body, as the Sending starts. The sensation is not unlike starting to get cooked from the inside out.

        Something is happening.

        "I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna be hugged when, if I go, Shhhalune."

<Pose Tracker> Ashton Anchors has posed.

Those are indeed dragons - in the moment, Ashton has not held back his companions and their apperance. There is too much in the air for such frivolity and self-image. The whole beach is raw emotion, and he's as raw as the many wounds. Perhaps even if he noticed the glance from Violet, he wouldn't be on the defensive.
 
But as Yuna begins...
 
This is the first time Ashton has observed a Sending. His own background - of Meria Boule and of the Granasian faith - holds nothing like this. Death and mourning are a sober and sombre affair yes, but the Sending is.... there are no words for it.
 
The swordsman's expression at first is confusion as Yuna walks out across the water. It becomes awe as she begins her dance. By the time the pyreflies rise from the water and swarm about, Ashton is in tears. He weeps openly, feeling the power both behind Yuna's actions and the emotional overflow of the living and the dead.
 
There is nothing to be said - no words would do it justice. Just quiet tears in the sand.

<Pose Tracker> Lulu has posed.

People die, and the Summoners send them. It is an old cycle. Lulu has seen it, again and again and again, and now, she sees it in Yuna, again. Every time Yuna does it, it is a reminder of the space she has chosen. Every time...

"She wouldn't," Lulu says quietly to Rikku, at her soft murmur. "She will give everything she has."

Her voice is quiet, and there is the barest hint of a feeling in it, something hard to tease out, something buried beenath layers of required behavior. It is something that hints--the truth...

The truth would be too hard for her to voice.

"All we can do..."

Yuna dances.

"We can only be there for her," Lulu tells Rikku, her sister now in sworn duty. "Until the end."

Lulu does not look away from Yuna for a long time.

<Pose Tracker> Elhaym van Houten has posed.

 
Elly leans against Fei.

What he says resonates with her as she watches the ritual in the distance. The world is poisoned - the system is breaking down. They see this before them. Maybe, Elly thinks, we bring it with us to some extent, but the only people who came here in any force were the Althenans, who were -- were probably trying to avenge Azado, Elly reasons.

Her toes curl. She thinks of the sight of that great creature through the screens of Vierge. She thinks of when she ejected deVriese. At least she had a chance that way, to make it to land, or back to the Tzadkiel.

Something in her struggles, even now.

She can see the pain out here. The wreckage of war. War against something rather than someone. It should be glorious. Pure, even.

And of course it is none of those things. As Elly watches the Summoner - Yuna, isn't she? Elly thinks - she muses without clear words.

"It's a kind thing to do," Elly says, then. "All we do is keep a memorial tablet. The body is just..."

Elly trails off.

If I had been born here, Elly thinks: Would I be doing anything differently from that woman?

Something about this, Elly thinks. Something about this feels strange. New. Something here is important. Elly has had this impression before. More often about Lunar - or at least on Lunar, when she resolved to try to be more gentle, more caring, less *murderous* with her Ether. There is a connection there.

But what?

Elly's brow knits. She will forget this. No she won't, she tells herself. Commit to memory. The world seems to brighten slightly. The pyreflies. The flames. The sense of something passing. Footsteps over a cove filled with the dead. Remember. Remember...

The effort succeeds, though it is exhausting. Elly sags a little in her lean. That sense of intensity fades and she looks towards Leon again. "...Thank you, Leon. For trusting me."

<Pose Tracker> Shalune Amira has posed.

        "I wonder about that myself," Noeline comments with a remarkably thoughtful and quiet tone from where she stands next to Leon and Fei; she's left Riesenlied's side, if only for a little while, to get a better glimpse of the summoner as she steps out onto the plane of water. Even now, she can't help a little natural curiosity, watching as the surface ripples.

        "I don't strictly think you're wrong - but if you're not careful, that line of thought can easily lead to Vinsfeld's raging against the infirm and the powerless as if it were their fault all along. At the very least, remember to keep some compassion in mind," she adds, not unkindly - and then offers a rare and quiet smile. "We have your back," she manages to say in the instant before she stiffens urgently, her spiritual senses picking up the first flutter of pyreflies.

        As quickly as she came, she's flitted back to Riesenlied's side, knowing that this is going to be rough on her partner; without a thought for herself she's on her knees, her arms around Riesenlied, fingers clenched around her ring as she does her best to envelop the Hyadean with her presence. "It was not your fault," she whispers fiercely, head bowed onto the other woman's shoulder, maintaining contact with her. Her voice drops into whispers and quiet noises, and then dies out into a solemn silence, cradling Riesenlied tighter against her.

        * * *

        Shalune is nowhere near as composed as the Wayside second-in-command. She swallows back a terrified gulp of air as Lunata calls for her - and the moment she's sure the Crusader she's tending to will be alright, she scrabbles up so fast that she almost slips, lunging for the other girl's hand to cling to it as tightly as she can. For a moment, she feels herself blink back tears, and then grimaces unhappily against them; she doesn't want to cry, not yet.

        "I'm here," she mumbles instead, doing her best to put on a brave face past the growing lump in her throat as they walk down to the beachfront. Full of nervous tension, she finds a laugh of all things bubbling up, even if it's tinged by an underlying sob. "Y-y'know, that might be the first time you've asked me for a hug," she burbles, and ends with a hiccup - and before she can embarrass herself further, practically drops to her seat as she envelops Lunata in her arms, trying not to give away how much she's quaking.

        As far as 'reasons to stop' go, necromantic smoke doesn't even rate. "It'll be okay," she mutters thickly past a sob against Lunata's shoulder. "It'll be okay, right?" Once upon a time, it was her mantra for soothing problems; she knows there's no soothing this problem, but still does her best to put genuine feeling behind the words, despite the way she still desperately wishes there was another way. Because maybe, maybe, this will be the release that Lunata needs.

<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.

        Ida just holds Kirra for a long moment, and the warmth of another soul, grieving though it may be, keeps the emptiness at arm's-length. It does nothing against the grief, which claws at her as Senna's body sinks beneath the waves. As horrific as this was for her, no one she knew died on this beach. No one she loved was consigned to the waves. That doesn't stop her from wondering.

        Yuna steps forwards. At first, Ida thinks she's going to walk into the sea, but then the Summoner sets a foot atop the water, and Ida's heart skips a beat. Like Ashton, she was raised in the Church of Granas, and its funerary rituals are solemn affairs. Guild Galad has no room for burials, not even at sea. The dead are cremated. Those who still have families are enshrined in the ancestors' memorial, whatever form it takes. Those who don't are scattered.

        It has nothing like this. The very world seems to be an active participant in the ritual. The water holds Yuna up as though it were solid ground. The torch at Ida's right flickers an otherworldly blue. It reminds her of Xibalba. It didn't occur to Ida that this could be a thing of wonder. "Yuna," Ida whispers, as she focuses on the young woman's face. Here she is, barely an adult herself--and Ida can only imagine what she must feel right now. She wants to help.

        You'll fail her, too. Just like you failed Senna.

        Ida looks into the sea. She can't see Senna's body anymore. It's lost amongst all the others. Warmth coils in the palm of her right hand.

<Pose Tracker> Lemina Ausa has posed.

Lemina's always been a little sensitive to the supernatural -- though not nearly so much as those so steeped in death, something about this place does tease at the edge of her senses. The exhaustion makes it a little worse, a little harder to ignore --

-- and then Yuna begins to dance. Lemina watches, at first, but the longer she does the harder it gets, the more she feels inclined to think about what the dance implies, what it means -- and about all the souls it sends on.

She doesn't stick around. No one wants to see what comes next -- or, at least, that's what Lemina tells herself.

She looks back at Shalune and Lunata for one brief moment. ... Then she picks up the pace a little.

<Pose Tracker> Violet Salazar has posed.

Violet's eyes dart up occasionally as Yuna dances on the water. She notices the swarms of pyreflies, gathering, glinting, obeying Yuna's siren song. So that's what the Spiran afterlife is like... She grimaces in distaste. Without the Sending the pyreflies would turn into monsters and prey on the living. With it, they move on...somewhere. She might ask a Spiran about it later, but right now she's too occupied. Too many wounds to bind or stitch, bones to set. Her bite-stick gets more use than she'd like, and by this point she's been reduced to scavenging bandages from cloth strips donated or torn off corpses, washed hastily if necessary in the sea. They're better than nothing.

<Pose Tracker> Jacqueline Barber has posed.

The work will never quite be finished, and there is still yet more that must be done. But, the Sending must begin.

She hears requests - people who wish to see it, but are too weak or injured to do so. To those who can be moved safely, she helps move them. The Sending is not one of her traditions, but it is theirs - if she can help them find something in it, she'll do what she can for them.

Soon, however, she finds herself by the water, staring out at the lights rising upward.

She thinks back to everyone she's helped...and everyone she couldn't. She had never really become accustomed to it. She knew it was possible, and yet...it hurt, each and every time, someone in her care passed.

And each and every time, she wondered the same thing. Was it her fault? Was there something she could've done, or not done? It was...difficult. Impossibly difficult.

And as she gazes into the distance, she spots two familiar shapes, ones she could never mistake. Lunata and Shalune, close together in an embrace.

She notices the smoke emitting from the former, and she wonders. ...What will happen to Lunata?

Her blood runs cold, and her breath catches in her throat. A thousand thoughts rush through her mind at once but her body freezes in place.

Should she do, say something? She takes a step forward, reaches out for a moment, but freezes in place. Her hand returns to her side.

She couldn't do anything. ...She felt like she had failed both of them, too.

<Pose Tracker> Ethius Hesiod has posed.

        The Sending begins, at a volume and scale that has not been seen for some time. The Otherworlders present may not be fully aware of what it is they're truly seeing, as the famed Summoner Yuna helps see so many to their final rest. The swirling waters, the trailing prismatic colors, the emotional toll of the Summoner as she takes in the feelings of the departed. The only relief to be found is that those who fell will not haunt Spira as envious, angry Fiends.
        Almost any pair of eyes that aren't on this, might be gazing downwards, clouded in tears. For all intents and purposes, only small parts of the world can be acknowledged to exist within one's focus.
        Ethius manages to look away from Yuna's ritual. He looks over to where he sees smoke rise - some minute difference in coloration in the air that used to mean so many different possibilities he can't put into words - as Lunata pleads to her childhood friend. He's too far to hear the words, but the clarity of the situation is as clear as it is going to be for a man who seems on the outside of it all.
        He turns away.
        He looks now, instead, to a set of 'prepared' bodies on the water - among many - that he caught sight of only because of the association of a certain person in green armor. By the looks of things, they were indeed fallen soldiers under their command... but he, too, had noticed how she took her leave before it all began.
        Every so often, he comes closer to that part of the gathering. It will be a while before Yuna can get to this set of bodies to send them. For all the situations and contexts that seem to elude him against his understanding of what he must do, he holds fast to at least this much.
 
        You will not find it so easy this time. It is a comforting sentiment. That anyone could find anything resembling that, surrounded by so much anger, disappointment, and sorrow. That detachment of his. I will see to that.
 
        When it is the 'turn' of those of the Green Guard bodies to see themselves Sent, Ethius draws himself the closest he can. He will watch those bodies carefully with a caution that is unnecessary. Unneeded. For what he's witnessed, he does not let himself be at rest, because he cannot.
        He will not be at rest until the Sending is complete, until the Summoner is safely away from the site of the failed Operation.
        Even then, he has work to do.

<Pose Tracker> Rikku has posed.

 
Rikku has only known Yuna for a short time. Lulu is the authority on Yuna as far as she's concerned. However, everything Lulu says confirms what she already thought she knew. "Everything." It's a faint echo, it is somber. Sad. And she knows - Lulu doesn't want that either.
 
There is a chirruping little goblin near her. And Rikku realizes it is Hob or Nob, but not which. The moment it lands near her shoulder she eyes it. As it chrrps comfort. And her eyes close for a moment, as it rubs against her cheek before she scratches its chin with a finger.
 
"I'm okay...I'm okay." She says mutely. It doesn't quite bring a smile, but it almost does, "Thanks... it's about to start." She says in warning, though it's not harsh or reproving to Marivel's friend. More matter of fact.
 
There is Yuna dancing. Rikku does not know what to believe of the Sending itself. If she had to speak on it academically. She'd perhaps only unanswered questions.
 
Yet she knows what to believe of the one doing the Sending. Yuna is beautiful out there. And she believes in her.
 
The pyreflies dance amongst the blue torches. And there is a swell of emotion in Rikku. She cannot feel the emotions that Yuna is sensing. She doesn't know if they are souls are not.
 
All she knows is she feels something. It feels like memories. An Aunt that never made it home. A mother who died before she got to know her. A young man she grew up knowing.
 
        Family
 
She keeps those on the inside.
 
Lulu says 'To the end.'
 
        Yuna
 
And her throat catches. And there are tears in her eyes anyhow. She doesn't have Lulu's composure.
 
"I will be."
 
That is her vow to Lulu. She absolutely means it. She will be with Yuna to the end. It is simply that in her head - 'Until the End' is seventy - eighty years from now when they're both old and grey, and have the privilege of no longer having to hold their tongues about anything at all.
 

<Pose Tracker> Fei Fong Wong has posed.

Fei isn't sure either. There is a certain voice within him, even now, but listening to that voice is the one thing he can't do.

Right?

...Right. But how many more times will he be able to say 'no' to a voice like that, he wonders, when he keeps seeing scenes like this? Maybe it was foolish of him to think it would be over with one great fight, one loss, one ending. But the thing about endings is that there are many of them, countless, and you can see as many ends as there are lives...and in tragic moments like these, well, they are the one thing that doesn't seem to end.

He wraps an arm around Elly and presses it against her body. It's a hug. A one armed hug. He has seen many ceremonies, of course, and this one is one of the more saddest and most beautiful yet. Even those half remembered fragments deeper than his concious mind will not forget this. "Yeah," He says. "Me neither." He tells Leon. "And yeah." Pause. "It is."

His eyes widen at Elly's words, then he manages a small, sad smile. "He's a weirdly trusting guy, huh?" He looks to Leon. "But... I appreciate it, man. I really do. If it weren't for you, I don't think we'd...really have a place. I guess maybe we'd still be pirates but... I doubt they'd want to hang around with me after learning about me, heh."

MEANWHILE

The Farplane has a new visitor. The blonde haired crimson noble steps in on her own, exhausted from frantic medical care and a heavy forced march. Nob floats nearby, chirping inquisitively as she examines the swirling pyreflies in the distance. She lets out a long exhaled breath as she steps in the rest of the way.

"Mom?" She asks. "Dad?"

Nothing happens, even when she stares her hardest about. It's unsurprising but, of course, she had to check.

She thinks of all the people whom she has lost over the years. She has countless names to send out there. The first she tries next is, strangely, not Anastasia but, "Dr. Lumen?" But still nothing.

She shakes her head slowly and sits herself down on the floor. "Only those collected by the pyreflies then. Or perhaps only Spirans." She closes her eyes. "Then..." She turns to look towards the pyreflies again. "Luzzu?" Still nothing. "Senna?" She offers name after name but none appear to her.

She must have beaten the dead here...just like she had wanted ARMS to do all along. And if they beat the dead, then they might be able to move on to their destination yet. She holds Nob close to her body and gives the drone a small hug.

"Chirp?" An inquisitive chirp.

"She's stable." Marivel says. "We will give it a little bit of time yet."

"Chirp?" another inquisitive noise from the drone.

"I'm waiting," Marivel says. "For the spirits to arrive." She sets the little drone to the side which hops a few times before turning back to look at Marivel with one last 'Chirp'? The crimson noble doesn't budge from her spot. She waits.

She nearly lost a friend, but that is nothing compared to what those who had believed had lost. Friends. Loved ones. Someone would have to take the blame. She stared into the swirling mists that would not respond to her mind or spirit waiting for a sign as if taking all the time in the world for a watched pot to boil.

"When Yuna sends them," Marivel says to Nob. "Then they move from the kingdom of the living to mine. And when they arrive, I will make a promise to them. I cannot take care of their unfinished business, but I can at least promise one thing."

Her eyes narrow.

"I will not allow the dream they died for to be left unfulfilled."

HERE

Hob chirps happily at getting its chin rubbed. It nuzzles in the crook between Rikku's chin and shoulds and half closes its eyes.

It will keep Rikku company throughout the Sending...and beyond.

<Pose Tracker> Leon Albus has posed.

Leon looks away from the Sending. He doesn't see Lunata's state, from where he stands. He keeps quiet for a moment to look at Noeline for a moment. "I know, Carver," he says. "It's not a careful line of thought to pursue. But... I understand why Rhadamanthus would say and feel the things he does.

Fei and Elly thank him. Leon opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. His arm in the sling sags, for a moment. Then, the former soldier looks back up at the two of them. He smiles, if briefly.

"I never made a good pirate," he says. "I'm glad -- glad to have the lot of you here with me. Maybe the world isn't what we would like. But..." He looks back as Yuna works through her second Sending.

"We'll make the best of it," he concludes.

<Pose Tracker> Zed has posed.

What afterlife is promised to his people?

The question of life after death isn't one that's really had much time to percolate in Zed's mind. But as the Summoner weaves a quiet eye into the storm of the world and all the suffering seems to go silent, it's impossible for thoughts not to drift toward matters of the dead.

It's funny. They'd been so busy fighting, so worried about the here and now, that matters of what come afterwards were always someone else's problem. They'd relied on the Quarter Knights to decide how they would live in the aftermath of their great struggle, but now they're gone and the Hyadeans are adrift. They'd relied on the Mother as the center of their spiritual and cultural world, and she was revealed to be a deceitful parasite.

And now she was dead.

But what happens to them when they die? If Zed were to meet his end in Spira, would he dissolve into these lights too? If he did, what would that say about him? What would that mean for the rest of the Spiran dead? The nature of the Hyadean soul is largely anathema to the Ley, and vise-versa. If he died here, would the results poison the well?

Hmn.

All the more reason that he can't afford to.

Zed's grip on the next wagon of bodies tightens. He gets moving again- always moving, even in the awe-inspiring calm of the endless sending. It's better that way-- they might be part of this world, but there's always something useful about someone just a half-step removed from the Way Things Are.

<Pose Tracker> Lunata Croze has posed.

        It's strange.

        Lunata thought it might hurt more than this.

        'Being cooked alive' isn't exactly a pleasant descriptor, but it more feels like every little thing, every little trick in the book -- whatever black necromantic book sourced the arts that allowed the Wheel to even compose the thing that is now her -- is starting to melt away, be wiped away like old chalk on a chalkboard, like the illusion is starting to come undone.

        "T-that's because-- I'm a-- disaster girl now," Lunata manages to joke even though she's kind of not feeling any feeling from the left side of her jaw.

        "Disaster girls can ask for hugs wheneverrr they fffant.... ehee...."

        She doesn't speak up much more because her voice honestly sounds like a legit disaster and she isn't sure if that'll make it worse for Shalune.

        It'll be okay.

        It'll be okay...

        It'll be okay... ... ...

        Lunata Croze begins to close her eyes. As she starts to believe that everything that makes her her starts to feel like it's dissolving. She can't help but think it's really not that bad, being hugged from behind by Shalune. Perhaps the one person who's been with her all her life who really knows how she feels. As she glances to her left--

        --she catches Jay's glance towards them.

        o no, goes her emergency internal voice.

<Pose Tracker> Shalune Amira has posed.

        "I-I swear," Shalune mumbles thickly after a bit of a false and terrified start, not sure how her own voice is still working, hoarse and shaky as it is. "If you keep calling yourself that I'm going to bite you." She desperately tries to keep her voice light, despite the way her stomach is heaving in noiseless coughs and sobs; her arms tighten, as much as she keeps trying to tell herself she shouldn't hold on so hard she keeps Lunata here against her wishes.

        Lunata is limper and limper in her arms, slowly becoming unresponsive bit by bit. The fear creeps up Shalune's spine, but she forces herself to watch - to stay where she is, to not drag Lunata bodily away. She's not sure she could anyway, her legs feeling leaden and unresponsive. But in such close proximity she can feel the moment when what's left of the girl in her arms stiffens, and follow Lunata's sightline towards the alchemist.

        There and then, she has a choice to make, and a split second within which to make it, and all she's got is her own instincts to go off. "--Jay-- Jay, come here," she finds herself blurting in a stronger voice, coming back to herself with a determined gaze. "Whatever else, I don't-- I don't want this regret at the end. Whatever else has happened, we all mean that much to each other. Come here already," she urges desperately, tightening her hug on Lunata..

<Pose Tracker> Ashton Anchors has posed.

Forward. Have to go forward.
 
It isn't easy for Ashton, but he does gather himself up. The tears are still in his eyes, but he manages to rise from the sand. Everything feel so raw right now, but just watching and crying will save no lives nor improve no lots.
 
It's to Zed that Ashton goes first - the Hyadean who still does not stop working. Who does not stop fighting in his own way. % r
To him, Ashton holds out a hand. "It was an honor to fight by your side, sir. Perhaps not the best of circumstances--" He pauses at that, voice cracking just a little. It takes a moment to once again rally himself. "But you were a wonder to see in motion. Should you need it, I would gladly lend you my sword-arm again."
 
There will be a next time. There has to be. And if it must - Mother Anchors said long ago that it was always best to have as many friends as possible.

<Pose Tracker> Jacqueline Barber has posed.

Jacqueline's eyes meet Lunata's. Her eyes open wide, and for a second, she can't even think - her train of thought brought to a screeching halt.

And then she hears Shalune's voice, loud and strong. Jacqueline walks toward her, unconsciously at first, and then she breaks into a run, tears streaming from her eyes.

She collapses near the both of them, on her hands and knees.

"L-L-Lunata...I...I-I don't..." Jacqueline stammers, in between sobs. "I-I'm...I'm not r-ready... I don't..."

She has to take a moment to catch her breath in between.

"I-I don't want you to g-go..." She says. She feels like, given some time, she could've worded things a lot more eloquently, but she's in no real condition for that now.

<Pose Tracker> Lunata Croze has posed.

        "But I like it. S-so nyah," Lunata gasps out as she finds herself less and less able to speak. She's feeling limper and limper, but she's not quite certain how it feel for Shalune; her vision's starting to blur as she stares up towards the tinkerer girl and for a moment she utterly believes, with all her heart, whatever's left of her heart, that it might just work.

        Even when some part of her is internally terrorised as Shalune begs for Jay to come here because she doesn't want that regret.

        Does she want that regret? Does she want Jay to have that regret?

        Jacqueline comes forward. Her lips are pursed extremely thin, as she sucks in a faint and useless breath. She swears in the moment like she doesn't even have inert, dead lungs to draw air in anymore.

        Shalune's embrace on her is tighter than ever.

        What does she even say at a time like this? All that she ever wanted to say she wrote into a letter and threw it into the ocean. If Shalune knew she'd smack her head to go: "Lunata you know you have to let other people know what you want out of a will or it beats the whole purpose, right??"

        "... I know. But... but this has been simmering for too long," she mumbles. She's forcing herself to keep speaking. "I've left so much unsaid for too long. It could've all been done better, but... let me... let me be a bit selfish for just a bit longer, okay? I..."

        Something within her, internally, feels the end coming. Something within the flow of the Sending that's interacting with... whatever it is composes her. The smoke around her billows ever harder, inky and black.

        "... I love the both of you ..."

        And Lunata Croze finally closes her eyes...

        ...

        ...

        ...

        ...

        ... and realises, as energies pass and the smoke viscously warps into ink and dissolves into nothingness, that she's still conscious.

        ......... this is mega-awkward and i have egg on my face, her internal monologue facepalms.

<Pose Tracker> Zed has posed.

Something interrupts Zed's almost meditative work-ethic. "Eh?" He asks, blinking once, and then again as his mental clockwork re-engages. "Oh!"

An extended hand, from a person he recognizes.

Zed grins and clasps Ashton's hand with a boisterously tight grip. "Hahahaha! Yes, indeed! It was an honor on my end, too. Rarely do I see a twin swordsman fight with quite as much skill as yourself! Usually they just end up... Flailing really, really hard with sharp, pointy objects and hoping that they end up hitting something."

In Zed's defense, he has until relatively recently had a lot of experience doing exactly that, but with half as many sharp, pointy objects. He knows how that is. "I look forward to the next time. Hopefully we won't have to be fighting an unstoppable doom whale that next time, but even if it does! It'll be fun! We can't control circumstance, so it's best if we try to look at what was done instead of what wasn't. If not for us, a lot more would have died to those sinspawn, yes? Then they wouldn't have even had the opportunity to flee!"

"So don't be too hard on yourself," Zed says, a little more grounded now. "As long as we do all we can, then it doesn't matter if it 'wasn't enough.' It was enough for someone, and we can hope that someday it'll be enough for everybody."

<Pose Tracker> Ashton Anchors has posed.

It's been said before. It still bears true. Zed is an infection, and Ashton has no defenses.
 
In spite of everything - the horrors of the battle, the wash-over emotions of the dead and the survivors, the raw power of Yuna's dance - Ashton is unable to suppress a smile from his face. Even with the tears, he smiles a genuine smile.
 
"We do all we can," he repeats with as much meaning as he can manage. "And we shall continue to. Be well, Zed. And I look forward to the next."
 
The swordsman glances around, locking eyes for a moment on the older woman still tending to the wounded that cling to the edge. "If you'll excuse me, friend, I still have a bit more to give." A little laugh slips from his lips. "As they say, it's time to give the shirt off my back."

<Pose Tracker> Violet Salazar has posed.

Violet blinkblinks as Ashton approaches her, tearing off his shirt. "Hello...and hello...and hello," she says awkwardly. Yes, those DO look like dragons! She's seen some unusual medical conditions in her time, but nothing quite like this.... "Yes, I need that!" Then after a pause, "Thank you!" as she wraps a lad's cut and bleeding leg in the remnants of Ashton's shirt. "I'm Violet, by the way. Some people call me Mother Vi." She waits for the swordsman to introduce himself. She seems brusque and hasty, but then again she's swamped with injuries to treat. Maybe they can have a more pleasant conversation later!

<Pose Tracker> Ashton Anchors has posed.

Ashton gives a gentle little bow to Mother Vi and a smile. "Ashton Anchors. A pleasure."
 
Then - he does step away, as she's busy and the scene is ending.

<Pose Tracker> Jacqueline Barber has posed.

It could've all been done better.

Jacqueline agrees with this. She hadn't realized how much she was hurting Lunata. It had never occurred to her that anyone could think of her that way...but Lunata had, for so, so long. And while a part of her knew that Lunata wasn't comfortable with all the danger she put herself in, she still continued doing it anyway.

If she had a chance to do it all over again, to do things differently, would she...? She doesn't know. It's all too much.

So, in what may be these final moments...Jacqueline can't say anything. With a sob of grief she hurls herself at Lunata and Shalune, wrapping her arms tightly around both of them, and letting her tears flow freely.

...Even as time passes, the smoke dissipates...and Lunata is still there. ...Jacqueline doesn't seem to have noticed this yet, though.

...Yup, awkward...

<Pose Tracker> Fei Fong Wong has posed.

Hey I think Lunata is dying over there

Fei spins around eyes wide. There is a moment. Then it seems like Lunata's fine.

Oh nevermind. Guess not.

Fei frowns deeply.

<Pose Tracker> Shalune Amira has posed.

        Shalune reaches for Jay as she comes closer, encompassing Lunata in their combined embrace. "That's not right, Jay," she burbles, her face streaked with her own tears as they brim and her voice quivering. "We can't let her go with that hanging over her. It wouldn't be right," she whimpers. "I know you're scared, I am too, but-- but we have to see her off properly--"

        Her voice hitches, and she buries her head back onto Lunata's shoulder, not trusting herself to speak any longer, Around her, the black mist billows thickly with a distressing finality; her fingers find one of Lunata's hands to lace with hers, tightly squeezing her hand as she fervently hopes in the last moments that their feelings can properly reach however far away their childhood friend is going.

        She doesn't want to move afterwards, can't bring herself to lift her head. Maybe if she stays hiding her face, she can forget about the world and the empty pit of her stomach a little longer, put off the realization that Lunata is gone just a little longer--

        --but that isn't what she promised Lunata she'd do, and the soft sob of the alchemist just in front of her reminds her that wouldn't be fair. There are people to look after. Wishes to pass on. Things to do. A life of her own to lead, even if she has no real idea where to start. So, as much as it might feel impossibly hard, she slowly lifts her head to drag in a long, long breath, and opens her eyes.

        And stares right at the still-conscious Lunata. "Eh?" she blurts.

        "Eh--?!"

<Pose Tracker> Lunata Croze has posed.

        ...

        ...

        There's a quiet grimace from Lunata as she lets out the lowest and most urrp-y groan of her life. "That really, really, really... hurts," she speaks, with the voice of Lunata Croze integrated with a combine harvester.

        And she'll have to reflect on all this in the next twenty four hours. Of what it really meant to her to have a very real chance to pass on and... not. As she still now feels Shalune's hand laced upon hers, as she feels Jacqueline's arms tightly wrapped around her in turn, as she sees them all shed their tears for each other.

        "... words... thoughts'll... have to come later. Right now--"

        Those still-dead arms move.

        And that they can move is all that matters to her--

        Because she needs to hug the two most important people in her life right now.