Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan.

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs.

--- Keats





Otherworld: Year Two



The sun was warm on his face, and he smiled, as he gazed up at the bright sky with his perfect eyes... their ambered depths shining with the reflected light.

A breeze came up, pushing softly against his skin. Closing his eyes, he took the sweet air in deeply through his nose and mouth... rejoicing in the smells of rich earth mingled with the verdant growth that sprang from it.

Then he looked across the meadow to the deep green of the trees, a shade he had yearned to see... drinking in the quiet beauty around him that he had taken for granted his whole life. He was home. He had come home and...



Blood.

The unmistakable, coppery stench replacing the comforting scents of moments before. He slowly turned to look behind him, his face contorting into a rictus of despair at the horror of the scene before him...

Red geysers of gore, filled with pyreflies, gushing forth from widening rends in the ground, gathering into streams, then growing to a river, and finally an ocean, its peaking crest rushing toward him... the moaning cries of the fallen and the sacrificed a swelling cacophony in his ears...

"No, no, no." His own choked voice echoed in his ears, as he sat up abruptly in his bed... the sheets soaked with sweat and twisted in knots around his fisted hands.

A soft moan passed his lips, as he brought a hand up and ran it through his sweat dampened hair. He had learned to control the anguish while awake... pushing it far down inside himself, but it always found its way back to him in dreams. He was powerless to escape it. It was a part of him now, as surely as the angry scar that tracked down his face.

He rose from the bed, another barely audible moan escaping him, as he physically tried to shake the images of the dream from his mind. He laced his hands behind his neck and arched his back... stretching, then twisting from side to side at his waist... the muscles of his torso rippling beneath his sweat-cooled skin.

Walking to the kitchen, he pushed the button on the electric kettle to start the tea, then turned and moved to the glass door, hitting the small touchpad on the right side. Stepping out onto the balcony, he looked out across the city skyline... thinking of the first time he had seen this view over a year ago.

His existence here had taken on a kind of uneasy rhythm. His days filled with work at Gabe's shop, his weekly visits with Sahna and Remie, and his watchful vigil over Tidus. His evenings were often spent roaming the city... exploring its metal jungle among the thinner crowds that traveled its byways by night. And it was during these forays, that he sometimes felt the pangs of homesickness and deep aloneness welling up inside him. But he did not allow those feelings to linger for long... his duty clear and his aim steady.

But there was a new concern that plagued him of late, and thinking of it bade him turn and go back inside.

Setting his mug of tea next to him on the desk, he punched up the ZanNet main screen. He had discovered a wealth of information stored within the network's programs and archives. The most useful to date concerning Jecht.

Among other things, he had learned that the B.B.A. (BlitzBall Association) had provided a financial severance to Jecht's widow and his son... assuring their care in that regard.

As for the rest of the city's idolatry of their sports hero, it was prodigious, and no doubt his ego-inflated friend would have been pleased at the abundance of tributes in his honor.

The majority of these were nothing more than rambling discourse, accompanied by some visual memorials. But one in particular had proven to be invaluable... the 'Jecht Cam.' A live video feed of the exterior of the Blitzer's houseboat. It had originally been set up while Jecht was still present in this place, and in his mind's eye he had clearly pictured Jecht showing off for the camera... performing shamelessly for his adoring fans.

Its benefit to him, however, was that it enabled him to keep tabs on Tidus without the constant need to be physically present. But he feared that luxury was tragically coming to an end, as he accessed the view on the video feed... its steady track slowly panning the front deck of Jecht's home.

There had been no sign of Jecht's wife for some days now, but several of her friends he recognized had come and gone... their emotions clear, even through the flickering distortion of the video transmission.

She was dying.

He had tried to convince himself otherwise, but on his last visit he had noted the blank look in her deeply sunken eyes, and her skin had taken on the telltale ashen appearance that signaled the end of life.

In his concern, he had foolishly shared his thoughts with Tidus. The boy's reaction not unexpected, and after apologizing, he had left... not wanting to cause any more harm than he already had by his inappropriate remarks.

Once again he was reminded of his lack of skill with children, possessing little confidence in his ability to care for the boy on his own. Braska would have known what to do, and he wished fervently his friend was here to advise him now. At one point, he had thought of asking Sahna for her help, but had dismissed the idea... her current burdens were enough, and he would not be the source of another.

Then his thoughts turned once again to Jecht, and the profound sorrow he would have felt over his wife's condition. He had wanted very badly to do something to stop her slow spiral towards death, but her self-inflicted suffering was beyond his ability to remedy.

So the legacy would continue, and Sin would claim yet another victim, him powerless to stop it. "I'm sorry Jecht... I'm sorry." He whispered, cradling his head in his strong hands... weary with the unending regret that tortured his soul.

************

A small gathering of friends were assembled on the fore deck, speaking somberly in hushed tones, as Auron approached. He spoke with several of them... asking the questions that he required answers to. Nodding his understanding and agreement, he turned and quietly slipped through the front door of the house. Tidus was standing in the middle of the front room, his back to Auron.

When Tidus heard Auron's boots on the entry stairs behind him, he turned, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen with spent tears. Auron sank to his haunches in front of him and put his hands on Tidus' shoulders. "It will be alright." Auron said, his soft bass husky with sympathy.

"How would you know." Tidus choked out.

"Your mother's friend Breese will be coming to live with you. She has expressed a willingness to stay here and see to your needs. And I will continue to watch over you. You will not be alone, I promise." Auron said softly.

Tidus roughly pushed Auron's hands from his shoulders, his brow furrowed. "Get away from me! I don't need you... I don't need anybody! Do you hear me?!" Tidus cried out, as he balled his small hand into a fist and struck Auron with it, then brought his other hand up to strike at him again, then began to rain blows of anger and grief against the hardened planes of Auron's chest.

Auron didn't speak, but merely dropped forward to his knees and lifted his arms out from his sides, offering himself in a compassionate act of supplication... allowing the anguished boy to vent his despair upon his unyielding body.

Exhausted at last, Tidus sank to Auron's lap, weeping softly. Auron brought his arms down and gathered Tidus up, rising to his feet, the boy limp with spent emotion in his arms. He carried him to his room and laid him gently on the bed, then pulled the covers over him, the boy already drifting into a fitful sleep.

Auron stood over him for some time, his face impassive... contemplating Tidus' nature as the embodiment of both his parents. He possessed the arrogant self-assuredness of Jecht, combined with the emotional sensitivity of his mother. And something more, something all his own... a stubborn independence, bordering on the irrational. If he could learn to control it, rather than letting it control him, it would take him far.

Take him far... Auron's head came up and his eye narrowed, as an eerie premonition touched his awareness, sending an involuntary shiver up his spine. The strange feeling merited further examination, but he tucked it away for later... this was not the time.