Blood spilt on the Altar of HOLY Prayer. for argeios
The casting of the great spell was not like simply loading a materia into a staff and calling on the power of crystalized magic and energy. HOLY was not a toy, nor was it anything but a last resort. It was not a guarantee, either. It was a request. A request from the planet. From the Lifestream. From her Ancestors. And so, in her last effort, Aerith prayed. She prayed for the conviction to help a boy who was shattered by the past he didn't remember, and for the strength of the girl trying to save him. She begged the unseen for the sheer determination of a young princess trying to save her nation through whatever means necessary, for the courage of the former Turk awake to face his demons at last, and for a man raising a daughter who was his by pure love in a world that sorely lacked it. The wit of the strange creature with the heavy accent whose efforts to bring cheer to the group shouted from his microphone, the intelligence of the one whom everyone saw as a beast but who would outlive them all, and for the dreams of a man who couldn't wait to see the earth from above the skies instead of below. She prayed for the pure power of heart that belonged to a man who she'd once known before but hadn't seen in what felt like forever, and for the blessings of any who had ever loved her for the ability to save these people who she loved now. She could feel it, in the very sense of her bones and essence, the planet's response. It would take a precious amount of time for Holy to succeed, and as her prayers were hushed from the whispers of her mind, she was aware of movement in the Inner Sanctum. Had the others come? She had few seconds to conclude her prayers, but she knew of the dangerous of this place. Of her plan. 'Keep them safe,' she pleaded, though this time she wasn't necessarily sure who she was begging to, because she hadn't said it aloud. '...just a little longer.'
Aerith prayed for the ability to save the world, no matter what the cost.
