"No, don't let her do it! Please━don't take my mother away!" The child is an unruly mess of red skin and endless tears. To his mother's dismay, he has rudely placed himself between the two women and has stretched his arms out, as if they could provide a wall of security.
IN BETWEEN THE VOICES OF THE FAYTH, she could not ignore the young boy and his cries. It was loud and lawless — sour to the ears of the thousand year old unsent. In this place where the Fayth sang its loudest, to have it interrupted and accented with the small boy’s uncontrollable wails was almost a disrespect to her and this holy place. It made the situation more unpleasant than it was, than it needed to be. But soon, he could be free from that pain that brings him to tears, if only he would allow it.
In the midst of his mother’s testament of sacrifice, they were interrupted — if his cries weren’t enough, he’d placed himself between them, pleading for her to not “take his mother away.” There was part of her that felt some remorse — it was her first encounter with a child as small as he in this chamber. Most summoners who had completed a pilgrimage were much older, more wise and seasoned in life. They sought an answer to bring an end to Sin and she delivered it. But this child… she knew that this is not what he had sought out with his pilgrimage.
❛ You poor child, don’t you see? I am not taking your mother away. ❜ Something within her softens as she addresses him. Her voice lowers, as does her gaze, her eyes locking onto his swollen red eyes. Perhaps it was because he was only a child, feeling confusion and sadness as the truth of what was to come had begun to dawn on him, that caused her to act this way. A hand reaches out to him, caressing his small face. His tears wet her bare hand, but she does not flinch. She will make him understand.
❛ She will forever be with you, connected to you by the bond you share as mother and child. It is by this bond that will allow you, little summoner, to defeat Sin. To bring an end to Spira’s pain and sorrow. ❜ She hold his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head toward her as she speaks. Her grip is gentle, yet firm — like her words. ❛ The people will rejoice and cheer your name. They will call you hero — a high summoner. Their tears will become songs of your bravery. ❜
Yunalesca lets go of him, returning her attention to the mother who stood behind him. As the pyre flies move about her, she walks through Seymour and places a hand against her face.
❛ Your mother has already decided her fate, little one. Now, tell me — don’t you wish to stop crying, too? ❜