Unconditional Love Prologue
By Alkazar
“Spira’s hope dies with me,” Yunalesca spoke softly as the amount of pyreflies around her grew. Even though she was already dead, she was dying an unsent’s death. She murmured softly as the pyre flies thickened around her.
The children who had defeated her walked away. One of them remained beside her, looking down at her. He spoke, “It was different this time, Yunalesca. This time, I avenged Braska and Jecht.”
Yunalesca looked up, “You…you were the one with the last summoner to come for the Final Aeon. I killed you after… after… you’re an unsent, like me…”
He nodded, and stepped away, leaving Yunalesca to deteriorate. She lay quietly, thinking of the time that had passed since she had become unsent.
So much time, Yunalesca thought. Zaon, has it really been a millennium since our voyage across Spira? Have I really sent countless individuals to a useless death? She sighed.
No, she assured herself, I have been right all these years. The only way to stop Yu Yevon is to use these souls to become the Final Aeon. There is no other way to defeat him, I’m sure. But… when I first fought Yu Yevon, the being my father became, I couldn’t stand to see him die. Is it my fault that Sin still plagues the people of Spira?
The pyreflies gathered around her again and she smiled, remembering her trip with Zaon. Zaon, she thought, I can still remember our trip to visit the fayths; the first time the Aeons saw true light since the destruction of Zanarkand. It was far too long ago. And now, at last, I can rest.
Smiling, she laid her head down, “Yes, Zaon. I can finally rest.”
Zanarkand was a beautiful city, a city that never slept. Yunalesca stood
on the top of a tall building, looking down onto the city. She smiled as
she looked down in the canyon like streets, then she grimaced as she looked
to the south, towards Mt. Gagazet. To the south of that mountain, in the
Al Bhed inhabited land beyond it, the people of Zanarkand now fought with
the soldiers and the machina of the warriors of Bevelle. She shook her head;
fighting was a horrible solution to all of life’s problems, no matter
how great.
Not a single person in Zanarkand, maybe not even her father Yevon, knew how the conflict with Bevelle had started. The conflict hadn’t started too long ago, but it had been a small spark that had blown up fast. The conflict had spread quickly, and, before long, there had been full blown war.
Yunalesca sighed.
“A beautiful view, isn’t it?” Yunalesca jumped and turned to face the voice. It was her father, Yevon. He smiled, then frowned as he saw her face, “You were worrying about the Conflict again, weren’t you?”
Reluctantly, Yunalesca nodded her head, “Yes, father.”
He smiled, “You should not concern yourself with such things, dear.” She nodded, and he stepped forward, “Now…now… daughter…” He trailed off, the smiling disappearing from his face. He stepped towards the railing that Yunalesca leaned over. Gathering his words, he spoke.
“My daughter, Yunalesca,” he began, “I have a request to make of you.”
She looked up, staring at her father, “I’ll do anything you ask, father.”
He nodded, “Yes, of course you would.” He sighed, “My daughter, I fear the conflict is coming too close to our city of Zanarkand. I ask you to leave our city at once. I ask you to go visit the temple at Baaj. Stay there until I send someone with word that it is safe to return to Zanarkand.”
She was shocked. She shook her head, “No, father! I can’t go and leave you here alone! I won’t!”
“Daughter, I don’t feel it is safe for you here. You must go. Please. It is not an order… it is a request.”
Yunalesca sighed; she could not outlast her father in an argument, “Yes, father. I shall go to Baaj at once. And I shall await your word so that I may return to a victorious Zanarkand.”
She began to walk away. Yevon raised his hand to her shoulder, “Yunalesca?”
She turned, “Yes, father?”
He smiled, “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, father.” She walked away.
Yevon sighed; he didn’t expect to see his daughter again, not in this life. He sighed and retreated to his study to begin his preparations for the final strike of the war.