Disclaimer: Don't own FFX or the characters or anything; I just play it a lot.

A Black Mage: Decades Later

Perhaps all they had tried was to be for naught.

She was loathe to admit it, but as they drew ever closer to the end of the journey, it was harder and harder to ignore her memories, harder to ignore the parallels between now and then. She had failed back then. Was she to fail once more? Unable to resolve the question, she let it fall away. There was much more to be concerned with. They were moving out of the forest now.

"Not much further, then."

She looked to the side as she approached the incline and gave the familiar shrug with her left shoulder. The road up it was much as she remembered: dirty, dusty and with grass growing in patches that increased in size and lushness the further up one went.

"The road has long since disappeared; we must take utmost care," she said, striding up the incline. She did not bother to wait for the rest of the group; they would follow her until she decreed the rest break—or did not object to one. Much as she herself had once done long years ago, when she was younger and her hair had not yet known the touch of gray. The warm, grassy scent filled her nose the closer she came to the top; however her face did not betray that she welcomed the familiar scent.

How long had it been since she had been here? The answer to that was easy enough: too long, though not long enough.

"Too much death this place has seen, yet we revere it as a tranquil place," she said, shaking her head. "They might think differently, were this place..."

She did not finish the thought, sensing resigned frustration from the other members of her party. They were by now used to her half finished sentences, her cryptic answers.

"Don't go too close," she said. "The cliffs are high and mostly sheer. Our way lies to the west for now and then we travel east and to the north. It may take days, weeks even, should we be delayed. Expect delays also as we prepare for the conditions ahead. Do not stray too far, either. The grass is high and we may never find you if the worst occurs."

She turned back, looking over the wide expanse of grass. Decades ago, she had come here. Then, as now, she had been a warrior. A warrior, escaping from the truth of lies that had profaned everything she had grown up believing. By all rights, they should have left it at that, not gone into the lands beyond. It had not been her place to decide that and they had gone on. They had pressed on against freezing cold and eerie devastation and made the wrong choice.

She was not that young girl anymore, though. Her robes hid damage long since repaired; black hair was now streaked with gray; a cold, pale face was lined and aged; once emotionless eyes now held anger and determination—and her tongue spoke the language of her adopted people, which was as much thanks to them as it was a defiant salvo against her oppressors. Too many lies had been told; too many had died for those lies. Yet she had lived, by some cruel or gracious chance of fate. In those early days, she wished she had died alongside her comrades, for how could it be that it was she whom was left, holding a truth that meant her life was forfeit should her continued existence become known to the wrong people?

She had been found by her adopted people. They had taken her in and healed her, doing what they could to repair the damage inflicted in that last frenzied attack and asked nothing of her in return. They alone acknowledged what she had sacrificed: therefore they would have given her whatever she asked for, but just as they asked nothing of her, so did she ask nothing of them. As she healed and regained strength, she had taken to working alongside them as they undertook reconstructing their own lives. As the years passed, she had become one of them—perhaps not in heritage, but certainly in purpose and spirit.

She looked back at the group, who were making camp for the night.

It had been fifteen years before anyone outside of her people had known she still lived. No one but her knew her surprise when she was approached—not to be put on trial or even executed, but instead to offer her insights on the journey she had undertaken. She had spoken in vague terms of necessary preparations, but held her tongue on the truth, an action which had saved her from further harassment, she was certain.

More people came, to ask for information and knowledge and still she held her tongue, choking back the truth that was skilfully hidden from the people's eyes. She supposed that in doing that, she fell off their radar: so when she was approached for the nth time, no one cared when she decided that she would once more undertake the journey. As for why she had, well, they reminded her of her own long gone friends, although their roles were not the same as they had been for her.

She turned away from the cliff, going to join the camp. A flash of heat filled the air, flames battering against her skin, but her armour protected her. She turned, the movement graceful, the spiky green doll leaping from her arm.

Ice shot up through the monster, killing it.

Ensuring there was no more danger, she checked herself for damage, closing her eyes in resignation as the lazy moonlight glinted off her arm before treating herself to another shrug of her left shoulder and walking over to the campsite. There was nothing she could do about it now; they had seen it. For better or for worse, the truth of what she had sacrificed was now in the open. As she took in their looks—pity, shock and horror—she shrugged again with her real arm.

"Are you so shocked by the truth?" she said. "Perhaps you will reconsider when you know everything. When you know that atonement means nothing, that what is taught is betrayed by those who teach it and that as my people knew long ago: this journey is a futile one. What you have believed for so long—it is false. All of it—lies."

"Is there no way to end the suffering, though?"

She closed her eyes, remembering the young, brash athlete and the overly perky, much too hyper thief, whom she could claim as a sister of sorts, for they were now of the same people. They had been so determined to save the demure, quiet girl they guarded. They had thought there was a way, though they had not found it in time.

"Perhaps," she said. "That was our belief, long ago. But we did not find it, not even when we stood before her and were asked to choose the one whom had a bond with she whom we guarded. And the cycle... went on."

"What do you mean?"

She could see that they were coming to the realisation, but voiced it anyway. "That which you seek is present already here. One of us is where your journey ends. You whom we guard will bring peace to us and give your life for it. You whom have a bond with whom we guard will return to terrorize us and so another will undertake this same journey. So it has always been—and will always be."

She rose, going over to her tent. They needed time to think on what she had said. Perhaps they could see the answer. But there were still weeks ahead, still time enough to tell them everything they needed to know. If they too did not find an answer, perhaps one of them would survive and take her place in a future journey.

Perhaps someday, the cycle could be ended.