Part I: The Beginning
Chapter I: ZanarkandI sat among my friends, around a campfire. I got up, put my hand on her shoulder, and slowly walked up a small incline. The sun was setting and it unleashed a golden touch among the sky and the ruins of a city, one thousand years gone.
We were telling stories from our past, trying to keep the horribleness of the future from reaching us. But we all knew that it would eventually get us.
It is now my turn to tell the story. To tell you how I, Tidus, ended up here, about to face the unexplainable.
Listen to my story. This may be our last chance.
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Zanarkand was an enormous city that never sleeped. The lights shined day and night, never going out. Heck, sometimes I wondered how you could even see the stars at night.
On this particular night, I was getting ready for the big blitzball game of the season. Blitzball, the greatest underwater game ever created. The air depriving, ball hogging, body banging action of blitzball. Fans turned out every night to cheer us—the Zanarkand Abes—on. Not trying to boast, but I was the best one on the team.
I walked outside my front door apartment, only to find a horde of fans there to greet me.
"Can I have your autograph?" A cute brunette said, and then shoving the blitzball into my hands. "Of course!" I said. Hey, I'm not gonna deny a girl my signature.
"Good luck tonight, Tidus!" Another cute girl said, and then I signed hers, too.
"Nothing to worry about!" I assured her. "Oh, if I score a goal . . . I'll do this," I held up two fingers on both of my hands, shaping an "L".
"That means it was for you, okay?" Both of the girls giggled. "What seat," I asked.
"East block, in the front row! Fifth from the right!" They both announced, ecstatic that I would actually acknowledge them during the game.
"Got it!" I said. Man, I never seen two girls blush like that before.
I tried to move on, but three little kids ambushed me.
"Can you sign this?" A kid with a handkerchief asked. "No prob!" I said, and then I signed his blitzball. Another kid with a yellow toboggan held up his ball and asked, "Please?"
"Alrighty!" I said and I then signed his too.
"Me too!" Another little kid with dreadlocks screamed. "Take it easy!" I said, and then signed his ball.
After getting tired of all the fans begging for autographs I said, "Well, gotta go! Cheer for me!" Then I gave them a wink.
" . . .Two, three," the kid with the handkerchief counted.
"Teach us how to blitz!" The three hoodlums ordered in unison.
"Hey, I got a game to play!" I said.
"Then teach us after!" The kid with the yellow toboggan begged.
"Maybe tonight . . . um . . . well . . ." I said reluctantly.
"You can't tonight," said a kid. He was wearing a purple hood over his face with a golden design on his back. I was sure I had seen him from somewhere before.
"I mean . . . tomorrow," I said. I was happy that I didn't have to waste my time that night teaching three hyper kids to do plays and kicks, which would probably break their necks.
"Promise?" Asked the kid with dreadlocks.
"Promise!" I lied. I then escaped from the annoying crowd and down the street I ran.
Zanarkand's roads were laid out like intersections through the city. The roads had lights built into them, and the buildings surrounding the roads spewed water from their side, like a waterfall. I quickly ran down the road and suddenly I stopped for a moment. On one of the buildings was a picture of my old man, Jecht; he was the greatest blitzball player in all of Zanarkand, but he had disappeared ten years ago. Since then, they held the "Jecht Memorial Cup Tournament" to honor him. This was gonna be a huge game.
"Hmph." I grunted, and then ran on down the long road, towards the blitzball stadium. I never really liked my old man anyways . . .
"Make way, make way!" I shouted through the sea of fans. It seemed like all of Zanarkand turned out just to see me. "Coming through," I said, pushing through the mobs of people. Fans were everywhere.
"Sorry!" I apologized when I accidentally knocked a fan down. He got back up and started cheering again.
"Hey! I'm gonna be late . . . Hey, let go of me!" Someone had grabbed my arm and tried to get me to sign another autograph. I ran quickly by the two statues of blitzball players and into the translucent wall that supposedly keep the fans from getting into the dressing rooms and the playing field. I waved to them-- really taunting them--and walked away from my admirers.
