@toghairm
There is a quiet sadness looming over the Djose temple. The way the Yevonites attend their duties without saying a word is perhaps residue of O p e r a t i o n M i ‘ i h e n in more ways than one. Firstly, they are surrounded by m u c h d e a t h and secondly, the sounds of the battle could be heard across the distance, roaring like a rogue wave from the ocean as it comes to sweep away their peace. Staying silent helps to decipher the sounds and understand what is happening. That is what they must have told themselves. In the end, it did not prepare them to see Crusaders arrive only to d i e regardless of help.
Novus sits several meters away from anyone at the temple in a patch of grass. A bandage reddened with splotches of blood covers his left shoulder and arm. His eyes are nevertheless full of life. Awake unlike the others. Strong. Inside, he is aware that h e i s n o t a t f a u l t but something about t h e w a y t h e y l o o k a t h i m creates small pangs of f u r y. Sometimes he can’t help but to feel the urge to speak his truth to them. To spring onto the flats of his feet and challenge them with what the motivations of the Al Bhed were. Tell them that they wanted to kill Sin and behold the happiness on children’s faces as they learn to live without fear and to listen as the summoners breathe when the weight of Spira is lifted from their shoulders.
Instead he keeps it inside, understanding that the b u r n i n g p a s s i o n in the heart of someone different to them r i n g s h o l l o w, no matter how f i e r c e l y and c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y it burns. Taking a breath of his own, he reaches to his left to retrieve what marks him different. A s w i t c h a x e, a weapon that morphs between axe and sword using mechanical parts and is capable of explosive destruction. It will be what grants him food and drink on this night, he believes. The Yevonites here have begrudgingly granted him medical attention but he is certain that was the end of their charity where an Al Bhed is concerned.
But before he can depart, a group passes his p e r i p h e r y. He sees f l o w i n g w h i t e s a n d b l u e s w i t h f l o w e r s a n d a s t a f f. Turning his eyes sharply, his gaze lands on a summoner.
﮴ Lady Summoner, ﮴ he calls, holding one hand up to capture her attention. ﮴ I am Novus. ﮴ An interrupting silence consumes him, stunting the river of words seeking to flow from his lips. Suddenly, his shoulders slouch. Gives in. Decides that something that he wants so f e r v e n t l y to say is better left unspoken. Replaces it with something else, a statement that is not the same but is nevertheless honest.
﮴ I wish you a good pilgrimage. We understand the weight of your journey and will not forget. ﮴
