"You need the help."

"You aren't incorrect in that," Zveran admits, somewhat ruefully. 

"And I can help. So."

"Thank you, Aten. I'm honoured you chose to come with me."

...The aeon flickers shyly.

"Well, I suppose we should keep moving? We have the entire Thunder Plains to traverse."

"That will be a trial in and of itself."

"Ah, it won't be so bad. I've heard there's a Rin's in the middle."

"Hm," Masque says, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

Zveran smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way, and stands, brushing off his knees. 

He spares a look for the boy in the fayth, his heart aching a little, and then heads back the way they came.

This time, he has two people following him.

They pick their way through the forest, Zveran trying to commit the path to memory for when they return, and soon the Thunder Plains are visible in the near distance. 

"Well. Doesn't that just look inviting."

"Incredibly," Masque says dryly.

"Times like these I wish there were a faster, safer way to travel between temples."

Masque hums.

"-Would it be a pilgrimmage then?"

"True, but that would really only matter if I were actually devout. I'm possibly the most blasphemous non-Al Bhed there is."

"You say that like I'm any more devout."

"I doubt you had much chance to even consider it. I was raised in it."

"I find that familiarity tends to breed contempt."

Zveran laughs. "On that, dear Masque, you are correct."

He braces himself. "Onwards."

Onwards indeed. At least there's the lightning rods to move between?

Yes, and Zveran is very confident in moving between them, though he does search about between flashes of lightning for fiends.

Aten seems to be watching as well, and immolates a handful of fiends before they're ever a threat.

To say he's impressed by that would be a severe understatement. 

Eventually, despite the progress they've made, Zveran does call for a stop. He sits next to the lightning rod, slumping against it. "Ugh."