Gone But Not Forgotten
Disclaimer: I do not own His Royal Badassness, but I do own the plot. As always, thanks to Squaresoft/Square Enix for giving us these unforgettable characters!
A/N: This chapter of the Auron Chronicles will elaborate on his thoughts as he revisits Zanarkand. Not really a whole lot more left to say, because I think this chapter is pretty self explanatory. Happy reading!
"Now! This is it! Now is the time to choose! Die and be free of pain...or live and fight your sorrow! Now is the time to shape your stories! Your fate is in your hands!"
His first steps back into the living world seemed foreign, to say the least. He was able to feel the full weight of his clothing, Masamune upon his shoulder and the pain from a thousand battle scars. However, it was welcoming. Proof that, while once before he was unsent, this time the warrior-monk had managed to take on more human tendencies than his previous stay on Spira. This was possibly due to the nature of his return—To resume his guardianship over the High Summoner and the rest of her guardians, as opposed to the promises made to his fallen comrades. This was /his/ wish.
A lone brown eye surveyed the room in which he stood as the last of the pyreflies left him, floating upward and fading into the millions of others that thrived here. Left arm tucked safely inside his crimson haori like always, Auron held tight to Masamune with his right hand. Muscles flexing in his forearm as he adjusted his grip; he knew this place well. Before he could carry on with his duties, Auron had to visit and lay his past to rest. Heavy booted footsteps ascended the stairs, leading toward /her/ chamber—The place where he lost his Summoner, and ten years later, gave Braska's progeny and her motley crew the strength to cast away false hope and beliefs.
"My story ended here..." Auron reminisced, staring down the void that sat in the middle of the room where she once stood to end their defiance. "...But I made sure yours did, too."
He dropped the tip of Masamune to the ground next to his right foot, lifting his head up silently. The battle against Yunalesca and her namesake played through his mind, and somewhere in between, so did the day Braska and Jecht submitted to their tragic fate. Ten years here, a thousand years there; they all intertwined themselves inside his mind. Voices bleeding through the images and then fading like the devastating waves that brought Zanarkand to it's knees. His left eye twitched as the scar on his right throbbed.
"Bittersweet are the memories that linger here." Deep and gruff came his thoughts out loud, rolling his shoulder awkwardly. "We all reached this place, each with the same hopes and dreams for the future, yet our stories ended differently. Despite all that, our tragic fates culminated together and brought an ending to the forces that once seemed beyond us."