Most of the warriors of light had returned to their worlds, leaving those like Kuja who had nothing to go back to, and several others who preferred this kind of rest(lessness) to their ordinary lives.Īnd he heard none of their voices, choosing the loneliest valleys to hide his face in its shadows. Indeed, no hunger or thirst, no birdsong to greet the sun, no storms to break the monotony of summer, no voices-even though he had chosen this solitary path himself, ages ago.
In the absence of all other life, there was no meaning to the passage of time. It felt like time didn't pass at all in this world day and night was a farce to keep its inhabitants more or less satisfied. Was that respite? It was a foolish notion.
It was such a waste of a beautiful world, to sit and gaze and repent for your sins for eternity with no hope of pardon. Kuja asked because there was nothing but remnants of fire that ill fitted this idyllic landscape. His will, weak?! Spiritus could not be more wrong. Kuja stormed out of the god's throne room-it took an agonizingly long time on two legs. Kuja turned away and raised his hand to open a torsion, but nothing happened.
Spiritus regarded him wordlessly for some time, but ultimately decided, "No, not if only your shadow is asking." Immediately, Kuja answered, "Completely." "Do you understand what you are asking of me?" Spiritus eyed the mage standing before him.
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