The Hymn of the Faith

You've heard me before. I've given you hope and something to have faith in. I am the Prayer to Yevon, a Musical Comfort… I am the Hymn of the Faith.

Rated Teen… For being a little depressing.


Note: I know I should be updating another story rather than posting yet another one up, but this one begs to be released…And may haps it shall find a home in your soul.

The Hymn of the Faith

The priests gathered themselves around Kilika Port, each one with his own definitive colors. Their heavy footsteps pad solemnly on the damp and rotting planks, occasionally disappearing under a red hem or a blue bit of robe. Serious, but not dispassionate eyes shift up from their dark shoes and watch the desolate homes around them. A depressing silence crowds around the port, an atmosphere to the pain and suffering after the Sin attacked.

What an atmosphere it revealed to be. Houses were crumbling around them, supporting beams unable to hold back the wood above it as the dark wood beneath them begin to give in to the calm, silent waters. The waters, too, held their weight. Planks and signs became a decoration for the blue mistress, clothing her with the debris and hard work of centuries. Here and there, a dark shape would be quietly pushed to shore, waves receding as quietly as they came. A mother, father, sibling, or child would approach the body with rigid backs and suddenly cold hands, desperately hoping against hope. The shape, more often than not, became a family member or a friend they hoped were simply lost in the attack. Some dropped to their knees, letting their distress hit the heavens and reach throughout the world, crying their agony and despair. Some couldn't find the strength to say their sorrows, and drop listlessly next to their loved ones. They were taken away, after a time, by a living family member with tears in their eyes, or by a child in need of explanation or love and comfort. The blank look in their mother or father's eyes, however, did little to elevate the child's fears.

Yes, the complete decimation of Kilika was a tragedy indeed, one that could only be compared to Zanarkand. Still, something had to be done. One priest, clad in a soothing blue robe stood up before the mourning city. Replacing his emotional expression with one of a stony and rigid statue, the man took a breath. The new sound of life drew everyone's woeful faces toward him expectantly.

Every single one of those people needed his help. They needed him to be a leader, a passionate seer, and a benevolent shepherd… And by Yevon, he would take the mantle of responsibility as best as he could.

"My people," he began, searching the tired faces of tragedy, "I have come to comfort you, guide you, love you and so much more. I will see to it that we shall make it through this disaster, in the name of the great Yevon!" The people still looked weary of their pain, after nothing but darkness. Nothing he said roused them. "It will be difficult, tiring, and a struggle, but we will rise up from the ashes to eternal life. But don't allow me to interrupt your mourning, for with no one to mourn for them, the dead will anger. There is hope for us yet, Kilika. Nothing shall stop us."

The townspeople cheered not at this proclamation, instead deciding to set their jaws and push through the calamity. Hardy men of strong arm and large chests waded into the water to search for more dead and any survivors. Within a few hours, the beach was lined with rotting corpses, flies galloping along their bodies to reach the soft flesh within. The shore smelled of death and blood, but dutiful relatives walked amongst them, finding the narrow path between bodies to identify and pray silently for the trip to the Farplane. More than one person broke into tears, but another- sometimes a friend, sometimes a stranger- put an arm around them and gave support. As the last person reached the line of widows and widowers, someone began to hum. The sound rose and dove, through high notes and low, gently beating out a well-known melody. As the beautiful sound reached its last note, another voice chipped in their baritone, and the cycle moved on, swirling and melding in every person until the whole town was loudly humming the soothingly solemn tune.

It was the Hymn.

The song rose up from despair, their own phoenix of sound, and placated the souls of the dead. The hundreds that lost to death were now placid, their spirits comforted of their sorrows. The friends and loved ones they left behind, the strangers they never met… They mourned for them, and the dead ones were grateful. The burden was kindly lifted, and until a Summoner comes to show them the path to the Farplane, they would be peaceful in their temporary purgatory. The townspeople remained together, humming the melody for their own benefit as well as theirs. The sound rose up from its deed, and spoke to them in their silence, a voice in the dome against the storm of depression knocking at their doors.

I will forever be here, to take away your burdens and undo your yokes of hardship. I shall chase away your fears and whisk you away to safety. I will be your blanket against the cold reality of the world; a shield against the fiends of life. I am your protection, the one thing you can count on, something to bring everyone together in unity. When the world ends and there seems to be no hope, I will be there, forever watching you. I am the sound of hope, the trumpet of redemption, the melody of good. I am the Hymn, as I always shall be.

Slowly, the notes faded, and so did the fears and worry. The townspeople, dirty and ragged, would find the strength in themselves to build again, and go on with their daily lives. And so, the Hymn watched over them, ready to give hope as it had time and time again. As long as the people of Spira suffered, the Hymn would always be there to save them…

Ending Thoughts…

The story was meant to symbolize how the Hymn seemed to give the people as much hope as the Yevonites did, perhaps even more so. It united races all across Spira, to bring them together in their diversity for a single purpose: to pray. Then again, your view is your own, so tell me what you though. Goodbye, reviewers!