The Final Summoning,

Chapter 4: The Sending

"I believe it's time to test my aeons' strength," I remarked.

"Better be a mighty tough aeon," Jecht observed, pointing toward the horizon. "Baby's getting' awful big."

I looked where Jecht was pointing. Sin loomed to the north, a dark, toxic blotch on an otherwise picturesque landscape. The monster had indeed grown; it was half again as large as it was the day we'd fought it on the seas. The sight was both awesome and terrifying, but I had to remain steady for the Crusaders, and for my guardians. So, with much more calm than I actually felt, I said, "Sir Auron, Sir Jecht, we have quite a job to do. Let's get started, shall we?"

We pushed our way through the mass of humanity in the stadium, Jecht's muscular bulk and boisterous personality easily parting the crowd. Once outside, we raced up the path to the Mi'ihen Highroad. To my amazement, Maester Jyscal's son was already present and clearly prepared to do battle.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing here?" Jecht demanded.

"I am here to fight Sin." He bowed deeply, his gaze focused directly on me. "I will assist you, if I may."

"You may not," Auron responded curtly. "It is too dangerous. Return to the stadium."

"I will take care of the fiends and Sinscales so that you may focus on Sin," he said, pointedly ignoring the swordsman. Then, before any of us could respond, he turned and headed for a relatively clear spot nearby, blasting the occasional Sinscale with bursts of mid-level magic. Shaking my head, I began to scan for a spot of my own. I needed a large space to summon this aeon.

"He dissed you," Jecht chortled gleefully to Auron, "he totally dissed you, man."

Auron smacked him audibly on the back of the head. "Close your mouth, drunkard, and focus on the battle."

Tuning the conversation out, I stepped into a small clearing and spun my staff directly in front of me several times, stopping when the tip pointed straight down. A ball of flame dropped to the ground, igniting a fiery circle around me. The earth rumbled ominously, and I hopped a few feet to the side. Not a second too soon, either; the aeon Ifrit burst through the ground, right where I had been standing.

What is your wish, my swift-footed summoner?

I pointed my staff toward Sin. "Hellfire!"

I thought you'd never ask. Step aside; I'd hate to see you singed.

I took a few steps back as Ifrit unleashed a miniature earthquake directly beneath Sin. Huge flaming boulders assaulted the creature as the earth exploded spectacularly. Sin roared deafeningly, thrashing about in pain, and Ifrit took the opportunity to follow up with his Meteor Strike attack. With something resembling glee, Ifrit launched a huge flaming boulder right into Sin's face.

We now had Sin's undivided attention, which was both good and bad. Good, because it gave the bedraggled Crusaders a few precious moments to regroup. Bad, because Sin was thoroughly incensed, and Ifrit didn't have the time he needed to build up another attack. Taking advantage of the situation, Sin drew back its arm and swept it viciously across the landscape.

"Shield!" I shouted—too late, just a fraction of a second too late. Ifrit stepped in front of me, attempting to block me from Sin's attack while simultaneously casting Protect on himself. The powerful attack broke right through Ifrit's hastily erected shield, and I felt a crushing pain in my ribs as the aeon absorbed the full impact of the blow.

I dismissed Ifrit and staggered backward, expecting to be crushed like a Bite Bug in Sin's deadly grip. Instead, the creature turned away, lumbering off to Yevon only knew where. I watched it go, uncertain as to whether I should be relieved about chasing it off, or bothered about not being able to finish it off right now. Then a familiar, gravelly voice shouted near my ear, clearing the confusion.

"Holy hell, look at the size of that thing!"

Blinking rapidly, I peered to the south. At the end of the oldroad stood Seymour, surrounded by fallen fiends and glowing pyreflies; and beside him stood the most frightening aeon I have ever seen. It was monstrous, at least four times Seymour's height, wrapped in blue panels that most closely resembled a Sinscale's wings. Its arms were bound by heavy chains, the visible portions of its flesh swathed in filthy bandages. My guardian and I watched in horrified fascination as the aeon plunged down into the ground, its fangs bared in a silent scream.

Someone's hand touched me on the shoulder, causing me to jump backward. To my relief, it was only Auron, who looked extremely bothered.

"What sort of aeon was that?" he asked, frowning in Seymour's direction.

"I have no idea…but I intend to find out."

I made my way down the hill, my aching ribs forgotten. Maester Jyscal and Seymour were standing almost toe to toe, the former clearly giving his son a rather severe scolding. The two of them turned as we approached.

"Ah, Lord Braska," the maester greeted me apologetically. "I hope my son didn't cause you too much trouble."

"You kiddin' me?" Jecht interrupted. "Aeon like that—"

I shook my head, silencing him. To Jyscal I said, "Quite the contrary, Maester, but there is one thing I would like to know." I turned my attention to Seymour. "That aeon you summoned—what was that?"

"The Dark Aeon," he replied simply. "I call her Anima."

With that, Seymour bowed and headed back toward Luca. Jyscal excused himself and followed his son. As I watched him, I couldn't help but think that Jecht was right. Seymour was a very odd young man…

"Lord Summoner, may I ask a favor of you?"

I pulled myself out of my reverie and focused on the very nervous young man who had addressed me. He was a freshly minted Crusader, perhaps eighteen years old, far too young to have to face Sin like this. So young, and yet so old…our eternal struggle with Sin had aged us all, it seemed.

"Of course," I said, forcing a smile. "How may I help you?"

"Well, there's just so many—I mean, we've lost a lot of people, Lord Summoner, and you're the only summoner here—well, Maester Jyscal's son, but he's a little different, so I was wondering—I mean, my commander was wondering—"

I rested my hand on the young Crusader's shoulder. "I would be honored to perform the sending."

"Thank you, Lord Summoner." The Crusader performed the prayer, looking relieved. "I'll tell the others."

Once the young man was out of earshot, Auron turned to study me, concern showing on his features. Quietly, he asked me, "Are you injured, my lord? You appear to be in pain."

"Ah, he's fine," Jecht cut in. "He's wussin' a little because Sin laid the smackdown on his aeon, that's all."

Auron glared at him, his hand moving to the hilt of his enormous sword. "Hold your tongue, you fool, or I will remove it."

"Actually," I interrupted, "that summarizes the situation quite nicely." I removed my helm—the universal gesture of respect for the dead—and handed it to a surprised Jecht. "Please excuse me."

* * * *

I walked down to the bottom of the hill, where the pyreflies swarmed the thickest. There were more casualties, I knew, but the distance wasn't great enough to matter. Today, right now, they would all rest on the Farplane.

Slowly, reverently, I raised my staff and began the dance of the sending. Somewhere behind me, someone started to sing the Hymn of the Fayth.

Ieyui…nobomeno…

The pyreflies rose reluctantly, the souls of the dead slowly freeing themselves from the confines of their fleshly bodies. I lowered my arm slightly, allowing the tip of my staff to brush the ground; then I rose up on my toes and spun the staff high overhead.

Renmiri…yojuyogo…

The pyreflies were gathering around me now; all they needed was a gentle nudge to guide them to the afterlife. I continued the dance, my staff and my feet moving in ever more intricate patterns as the disembodied souls let go of their attachment to this world. In the background, the Hymn swelled to its climax. It was time to release them.

Hasatekanae…kutamae…

I ended the dance and lifted my staff high in the air, releasing the departed to the Farplane. The cloud of pyreflies shimmered and swirld away, disappearing from this plane as the last strains of the Hymn faded slowly away. I lowered my head and leaned against the staff, suddenly exhausted, and aware of the tears flowing freely down my face. My first sending, and probably not my last.

"It's almost over," I murmured into the air. "I will defeat Sin. I will bring the Calm once again. I will…I promise…"

And with that, I slipped into a dead faint.


A/N: Aerith pointed out a continuity error regarding Yuna and Braska's place of origin—it's Bevelle, not Besaid. I probably won't rewrite, being three chapters in (four now), but I will fix it, don't worry. Look for the correction in the next chapter or so.

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