Rhea'li had been strangely compliant when Azem bundled him up, sleepy, as though he was hit by a sudden bout of exhaustion. The miqo'te, were he in full control of himself, would have wriggled out of such a thing.

When they dive into Rhea'li's soul, gone is the peaceful and pleasant environs of the Western Paradise. Instead, they are thrust headlong onto the shores of riverbank, an abundance of grass carpeting the land nearby. The wind carries the scent of the sea to the ancients, the white stone of Limsa Lominsa visible over cliffs. Gigantic crabs scuttle amongst the shore slugs, the river leading towards the ocean while the other direction leads towards tall cliffs that surround the river's mouth. It would be a rather pleasant sight, were it not for the sight of the huge red moon hanging low in the sky, clouds painted a sickly orange. If one were to look carefully at the silhouette of the moon, there appear to be several rectangular objects speared into it.

Rhea'li himself is suddenly no longer anywhere to be found.