"I'm sure you can. And yet."

"And yet?"

There's the impression of a smirk, and Masque continues to fail to leave.

He wills himself, desperately, to not pin all his hopes on this. And also not to gather Masque into his arms. That would be dramatic.

"Then I suppose you'd like to see the inside of a Cloister of Trials, guardian?"

"I suppose I would."

Zveran waits until his back is turned to let out the far-too-pleased grin, and leads the way through the temple.

Masque, once more, a silent shadow at his heel.

Zveran stops at an ornate door, and touches a small panel on the side. 

With a groan, it opens, revealing a lift. "Shall we?"

"No use standing around staring."

"True enough." He steps onto the lift, and once Masque is on, it shudders down. 

Zveran bounces a little, ostensibly in preparation, but also a little because this will be the first time he's had someone to do this with.

Masque is quiet and still, watching the walls around them.

Aten spirals lazily around the lift.

"Aten, just a word to be wise, generally a summoner cannot call on a summon to help with the Trials. You'll have to just observe."

He bobs up and down in something resembling a nod.

The lift grinds to a halt, and the doors open onto a crystal and snow room. 

"Well. Let's see what we can find." Zveran heads out, poking around the room.

Masque looks around curiously - they might not be particularly devout, but the Cloisters are a closely guarded secret.

It is beautiful, and the magic in the air can be felt like a tingle on the skin. 

Zveran doesn't admire it for too long, especially once he starts attempting to solve the puzzles. Really. Who in Yevon decided that worthiness of summoners and guardians should be decided through puzzles?

Masque makes some pretty scathing commentary along those lines as well - foolishness to think mazes and puzzles were the way to go. Easy enough to solve them through trial and error.

Zveran starts to mumble something about how if he were to use machina it would still make him just as worthy as being able to summon an aeon, but then the last sphere locks into place, and the Chamber of the Fayth opens. 

"Well. There's that then." 

Masque hums.

Zveran leads the way into a round, featureless room. Pretty, but clearly a waiting room. 

A soft pink curtain bars the way to the fayth itself. Zveran gestures at it. "I'll be out as soon as I can."

Masque nods and sits against one wall, legs crossed, hands on their knees.

Zevran offers a reassuring smile, and then takes a deep breath. 

He heads into the chamber. 

Time passes. Masque leans their head against the wall, does lightly.

For Masque, nothing changes. 

For Aten, Zveran’s presence in his mind is suddenly gone.