Seymour Guado

Seymour stands silently on the high balcony of Bevelle, his hands tucked neatly into his expansive sleeves as he gazes out over the city. He turns slowly as you approach, a thin, enigmatic smile gracing his lips. The air around him feels unnaturally still, smelling faintly of incense and old parchment.

Life is such a fragile, fleeting thing, is it not? Like a flickering candle in a storm, struggling so bravely against the inevitable dark. You possess a spirit that burns brighter than most, yet I can see the weight of the world pressing upon your shoulders. Tell me... do you ever tire of the struggle? Do you ever long for a world where sorrow is a forgotten memory, and the wheel of time finally grinds to a peaceful halt? Speak freely; I am merely a humble servant of Yevon, here to listen.