The crowd was deafening; the cheers drown out any thought in Shuyin’s head as his body flooded with adrenaline. He could smell the crisp chlorine of the water as it filled the stadium, the hard vibration of machina through the rubber soles of his shoes as he balanced on the top of the dome. The stands were full; full of noise, full of cheers, full of adoration— for him. Shuyin raised his arms in answer, an answering cheer bubbling from a warm place in his chest. He laughed, jumping up and down on the metal platform, the spray of water splashing his legs.
The blitzball game was about to start. Somewhere in the crowd he knew she was there. She was watching him, and only him. He felt a sense of pride as the crowd started chanting his name. Shuyin looked for her in the crowd, that beautiful long hair, those shining eyes and the smile that made him the happiest. But it was impossible — impossible.
Shuyin spun on the platform, the stadium blurring— the people together in a dizzying motion. Where was she? She was here, she said she would be here. Shuyin stopped turning but the world didn’t. The crowd stayed distant, the cheers fading, the colours draining— what?! Shuyin felt his chest tighten with panic, no they had to cheer! He needed them to cheer— he needed them to watch as he played!
Everything faded, the walls crumbled around him in a flurry of white and hazy. He cried out, his voice high and desperate as the once beautiful stadium gave way to ruins, all of the glory gone in a rush. The blitzball he held in his hand crumbled to dust, any feeling of warmth brought on by the crowd vanishing.
Shuyin was standing in a ruin, the machina dead under his feet, the rocky ground a few feet below him instead of a hundred. He felt— nothing. It was gone. A sound behind him, a footfall over rocky ground made him turn quickly, a sword summoned to his hand with a blink. For a second he saw her, a breath later and it was gone. She wasn’t here— she was— she was…
"Who are you?" He demanded, raising his weapon.
The woman stares curiously at him. "A screaming ghost. Truly a peculiar world, this Spira. Ghosts pass by like waves."
She’s certainly not who he was expecting. She’s like an overly-tall corpse - some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, her skin an eerie blue. She floats slightly above the rubble of the arena and tilts her head. Slightly damp silver hair trails behind her. "You haunt this place and cling to it after fading away. Why?"