Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Final Fantasy X. This
story contains major SPOILERS!
Author's Note: I have not yet seen the end of the game at the time of writing this, so I apologize if it violates continuity. If it does, then just consider this an AU. It's the first thing that came to mind after that scene in Zanarkand where they saw the image of young Seymour and his mother.
SUCH PAIN
He had come to me at last… My child, nearly a man now. When I left him to become one of the Fayth, Seymour had been young, though big for his age. The youth that knelt before me in the chamber of the Macalania Temple was tall and regal, with none of the awkwardness common in a human youth his age. His voice was lower, soft and gentle. The prayers he spoke to call me to him were fervent, and his vows to stop Sin were genuine. I should have been proud of him.
But what was it about him that made me uneasy? There was… something about him, something subtle I couldn't define that made me wary of binding myself to him. The other Fayth around me could sense it too; their suspicion could be felt in the slightly discordant pitch of their hymn. Seymour seemed unaware of the feelings he invoked, for he continued the traditional prayers without wavering, his eyes closed and face lowered.
I gathered myself together, separating my being from the rest of the Fayth as I prepared to join with my son and become an aeon. I wondered if he would choose Shiva as my form, for the powerful ice maiden was the most common to come out of Macalania. Or maybe he'd want me to become Valefore, and grant me the freedom of the skies.
I formed above the stone, my spectral body matching the one I forfeited so many years ago, and gazed down at my son, actually seeing him for the first time in years.
Then his eyes met mine. They were a clear sky blue, but there was something there that felt… wrong. There was a feeling of corruption there, festering like an infected wound. As Seymour continued the bonding, his mind reached for me, drawing me towards him, and I almost cried out at the touch of his thoughts.
There was a blackness there, a hole in his soul created when I left him with his father to become a weapon against Sin. His hurt had become anger, and then hatred. He had lost what he valued most in life, and no longer thought life worth living. He wanted to end his suffering, and all of Spira's by any means necessary.
He wanted Sin destroyed, that feeling was genuine, but not for the reason I would have wanted; Seymour had discovered the truth about Sin, and wanted to become it.
"Seymour," I pleaded, "don't do this."
"You became a Fayth so I could use you, Mother," he said in that deceptively gentle voice. "I won't disappoint you." He continued to draw me in, but now I fought him.
"This isn't the way!" I said desperately. "Go on a pilgrimage. Summon the Final Aeon. I will help you."
"You will help me," he agreed. "As you planned. But I can't allow this sham to continue. Sin will only return again and again. My way will end it. Sin will return again but this time, when it's defeated, I will take its place."
There was nothing I could do to stop him. But, perhaps, I could help him in another way. He wanted the power to stand up against Sin? Then I would give him power. And I would show him what power could do…
Before he could choose my form, I chose for him. His lips moved to form the chosen name, but my spectral limbs were already contorting, my phantom body suddenly alive with the pain and anguish that accompanied the form. Rusty chains bound my arms, biting into my flesh. Blood spurted from wounds on my face, bound only by a dirty cloth. My lower torso was engulfed in something half-seen and horrible, and massive jaws lined with serrated teeth completed my captivity. No words could come from my mouth; I could only scream at the pain of this existence.
Seymour gasped and backed away, his eyes suddenly wide with horror. "Anima," he breathed the name of the most powerful of aeons, rare because of the suffering that came with the form. "Mother, why?" He looked pale and shaken, and one large hand reached towards me. "Why?"
I couldn't answer. Instead, I faded away, bonding to him and ready to come at his call. My pain remained, however, and I knew Seymour could feel it through the bond. Perhaps my torment would make him rethink what he had planned.
Or maybe he would be unable to resist the power I offered him, and would continue his foolish plan and cause the inhabitants of Spira further suffering.
I prayed to Yevon that Seymour would make the right decision, or my pain – our pain – would have only just begun.
The End
Author's Note: I have not yet seen the end of the game at the time of writing this, so I apologize if it violates continuity. If it does, then just consider this an AU. It's the first thing that came to mind after that scene in Zanarkand where they saw the image of young Seymour and his mother.
SUCH PAIN
He had come to me at last… My child, nearly a man now. When I left him to become one of the Fayth, Seymour had been young, though big for his age. The youth that knelt before me in the chamber of the Macalania Temple was tall and regal, with none of the awkwardness common in a human youth his age. His voice was lower, soft and gentle. The prayers he spoke to call me to him were fervent, and his vows to stop Sin were genuine. I should have been proud of him.
But what was it about him that made me uneasy? There was… something about him, something subtle I couldn't define that made me wary of binding myself to him. The other Fayth around me could sense it too; their suspicion could be felt in the slightly discordant pitch of their hymn. Seymour seemed unaware of the feelings he invoked, for he continued the traditional prayers without wavering, his eyes closed and face lowered.
I gathered myself together, separating my being from the rest of the Fayth as I prepared to join with my son and become an aeon. I wondered if he would choose Shiva as my form, for the powerful ice maiden was the most common to come out of Macalania. Or maybe he'd want me to become Valefore, and grant me the freedom of the skies.
I formed above the stone, my spectral body matching the one I forfeited so many years ago, and gazed down at my son, actually seeing him for the first time in years.
Then his eyes met mine. They were a clear sky blue, but there was something there that felt… wrong. There was a feeling of corruption there, festering like an infected wound. As Seymour continued the bonding, his mind reached for me, drawing me towards him, and I almost cried out at the touch of his thoughts.
There was a blackness there, a hole in his soul created when I left him with his father to become a weapon against Sin. His hurt had become anger, and then hatred. He had lost what he valued most in life, and no longer thought life worth living. He wanted to end his suffering, and all of Spira's by any means necessary.
He wanted Sin destroyed, that feeling was genuine, but not for the reason I would have wanted; Seymour had discovered the truth about Sin, and wanted to become it.
"Seymour," I pleaded, "don't do this."
"You became a Fayth so I could use you, Mother," he said in that deceptively gentle voice. "I won't disappoint you." He continued to draw me in, but now I fought him.
"This isn't the way!" I said desperately. "Go on a pilgrimage. Summon the Final Aeon. I will help you."
"You will help me," he agreed. "As you planned. But I can't allow this sham to continue. Sin will only return again and again. My way will end it. Sin will return again but this time, when it's defeated, I will take its place."
There was nothing I could do to stop him. But, perhaps, I could help him in another way. He wanted the power to stand up against Sin? Then I would give him power. And I would show him what power could do…
Before he could choose my form, I chose for him. His lips moved to form the chosen name, but my spectral limbs were already contorting, my phantom body suddenly alive with the pain and anguish that accompanied the form. Rusty chains bound my arms, biting into my flesh. Blood spurted from wounds on my face, bound only by a dirty cloth. My lower torso was engulfed in something half-seen and horrible, and massive jaws lined with serrated teeth completed my captivity. No words could come from my mouth; I could only scream at the pain of this existence.
Seymour gasped and backed away, his eyes suddenly wide with horror. "Anima," he breathed the name of the most powerful of aeons, rare because of the suffering that came with the form. "Mother, why?" He looked pale and shaken, and one large hand reached towards me. "Why?"
I couldn't answer. Instead, I faded away, bonding to him and ready to come at his call. My pain remained, however, and I knew Seymour could feel it through the bond. Perhaps my torment would make him rethink what he had planned.
Or maybe he would be unable to resist the power I offered him, and would continue his foolish plan and cause the inhabitants of Spira further suffering.
I prayed to Yevon that Seymour would make the right decision, or my pain – our pain – would have only just begun.
The End