Provo. It was the first city Seymour had stumbled into after arriving in this strange new world. It didn’t strike him as too strange compared to the great cities of Spira, like Luca and Bevelle. It was a vast and sprawling city, full of farmers and traders. Some of the citizens spoke of a great city of machina far to the north called Sonora. It sounded much like the stories of Old Zanarkand, before the coming of Sin. There was no Sin here, not so far as he could tell. Maybe there would be, sometime, but for now the great machina city existed unhindered. Seymour very much wanted to go there, but it was a journey for later. Now, he was trying to figure out his life in Provo after being ripped brutally away from Spira.

He walked through the bustling streets, paying little mind to the others around him. There were people that looked like they’d come from dozens of different worlds, all mingling together. He’d yet to see another Guado, but there were other inhuman species here and there. He drew no attention. No one cared that he was merely half-human. No one really seemed to care about him at all, past a casual glance or a whisper about his hair. No one knew him. No one blamed him for not bringing the calm. No one knew anything about him, not past what he had told the few he’d spoken with.

It was honestly such a relief. The first day in the Headstone Forest had been confusing and disorienting. He’d been lost, alone, and afraid. The meeting with Yuna had been beyond unexpected. The meeting with the ghost of his mother had been traumatizing. But since then, after making his way to the city he’d felt much lighter. Calmer than he had since he could remember. He’d lived his whole life as a forgotten exile, an unwanted monster. None of that mattered here in Serentestra. He let his arrogant, silver-tongued mask slip day by day here. There was no one he had to prove himself to. No maester father always judging his son’s actions. No priests or summoners shunning him. No commonfolk, hating him for the very sin of his mixed heritage. Provo was a strange city and Serentestra a stranger land. But Seymour would be lying if he said he wanted to return to Spira. He never wanted to go back. If he could spend the rest of his days in this new world, he’d be much happier for it.

Seymour pushed back his blue hair, trying to tame the long blue locks in hopes they would stay behind his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd. Thankfully, he’d had a respectable amount of gil in his pockets that day he’d gone to Zanarkand. It had been enough to find a place to stay and buy food. That was all that really mattered, for now. And to make more gil? He’d decided to use the talents he’d cultivated during his time at Baaj Temple. He offered healing through white magic, for a fee. There was always an injury or illness needing attention. And it didn’t take much effort to throw out a cura or esuna.

The sun was high in the sky. It was already shaping up to be a hot day when Seymour found the small stall with the bright orange awning he’d taken to using. It had been abandoned when he got to the city and no one had claimed it yet. He set the sign up proclaiming the pricing:
Cure - 50g | Cura - 70g | Esuna - 50g.

Then he had only to sit and wait for business, inwardly cursing the midday heat.

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