Well, here we are with part three. Jecht's experiences as a fayth, a lot of talk, and some healthy exercise.

3.

When he came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and leaving a trail of drops on the floor, both Auron and Braska were clothed again; the former sitting cross-legged on the bed, combing his wet hair with brisk, uncaring strokes that bespoke that he was still irritated about the scar; the latter standing at the table, chewing a piece of bread.

"Are you finished?" Braska's face had the same expression Tidus's face had, when he wanted to go to see the games. Jecht grinned.

"Let me put on my spare clothes, and I'm all yours, Summoner." Auron hmph-ed, and pulled his hair back in a ponytail so tight the corners of his eyes stretched towards his temples. Well, I guess that's about all the emotion we're entitled to see, Jecht thought with a mental shrug. A good cry and a fit of hysterics. I guess he's pulled himself back together now. Yet he was relieved; somehow, Auron was a lot easier to understand when he was as he was now, than when he showed his feelings. As he turned around, the blitz-shorts the seamstresses in Besaid had so neatly copied for him secure around his waist and thighs, Braska was still looking at him.

"Okay," he sighed. "What d'ya wanna know?"

"How you feel. What you feel. What happened to you when Yunalesca took you away. I want to know everything. I…" the Summoner took a few hesitant steps towards, him, halted, then walked all the way over. "I want to touch you. Feel what you are. Your body. May I?"

So that's why he didn't want to leave. Jecht smiled nervously.

"If you want." The man's fingertips lightly touched his shoulders. For a fraction of a second, Jecht had the ridiculous idea that his fingers went through his skin, through all of his flesh, and touched the very core of him, and he gasped, but immediately after that the feeling was gone. Neither did it return when the fingers increased their pressure, skimmed down his arms, across his chest and back up, to his face. Braska's own face, a few inches beneath his, was serious, his feathery eyebrows knotted in concentration.

"You feel just like you…haven't changed. However, there is a strange quality to your aura…"

"My what?"

"Your aura. It used to be much smaller, almost nonexistent. Now, you're positively shining."

"Pregnant glow," Jecht muttered. Both the Summoner and the other Guardian stared at him, not understanding and not amused. Braska dropped his hand.

"I beg your pardon?" Jecht waved his hands.

"Doesn't matter. My joke. You don't get it. Never mind." He fled to the table and picked up a square piece of toast. "So, I have an aura. That's cool. Is there any butter? Ah, yes, there."

"Jecht!" The Summoner all but pouted.

"What?"

"I want to know…I need to know what happened to you."

"This is not the time to behave juvenilely." Auron added sternly. Jecht snorted—a habit he had picked up from Auron. Although he excelled at making the sound, he could still not put in the absolute contempt Auron could, and in the quiet hum of the only intact room in Zanarkand, it sounded a bit silly. He hastily crammed the toast in his mouth, chewed, and said, "Fine. You want to know my story? All right, I'll tell ya. She took me to a corner of the stadium…

Her arm bangles softly clinked against each other as Yunalesca pressed a hidden lever in the wall, and right in front of them, a wall dematerialised, just as the wall in the Chamber of the Fayth had done.

"In there." She gave Jecht a little push. The ground sloped gently downwards; he felt the strain of it in his calves as he walked. There were no lamps or torches to light the way—all light from outside disappeared once Yunalesca followed him into the passage way—yet he could see perfectly. The sense of being underwater was even stronger here, with the pyreflies rising from the Lady's body, and the strange humming sound that grew louder as they walked on.

"What the hell happened here, anyway?" He asked aloud, not really expecting an answer. Surprisingly enough, Yunalesca replied.

"Sin is what happened here. Death. Sacrifice. You do know the history of Zanarkand, do you not?"

"Sort of…"

"Sin came. He destroyed the city, and murdered the people. The few survivors decided to become the fayth."

"But that's not all, is it?" Jecht said sharply. "The fayth of Zanarkand…they didn't just become fayth like the ones we encountered in the temples. They dream…" Yunalesca's hand closed on his left bicep like a vice.

"What are you saying? What do you know of the Dream of the Fayth?"

"They told me," he said, and stared straight into her eyes. They shone like rubies in the sun. "And they also told me that they want to stop dreaming."

"They are lying!" she said harshly.

"Why should they be lying? I mean, I…"

"Of course they lie. They're influenced by Sin." She nudged his shoulder. "Keep walking."

"Sin influences the Fayth of Zanarkand?" He began to walk again, keeping an eye on the Lady over his shoulder. Whatever he had said, it severely disturbed her. "That's nonsense. Why would he do that?"

"Because he is Sin. An Aeon possessed by Yu Yevon. An Aeon devised to kill, blindly and mindlessly."

"But…" Something she said only now caught up with his mind. "Yu Yevon?"

"Listen to me, Jecht of Zanarkand! It is not your duty to understand. It is your duty to become a fayth and help your Summoner to fight and beat Sin." She steered him into a large room, where he had to squeeze his eyes almost shut to be able to see through the glare of what must be a million pyreflies. "You are not from here," she continued, "I know that that is true. I also know of the Dream of the Fayth, and that your existence is connected to that dream." Her delicate finger probed him painfully in the back. "You think that some heroic action will stop the dreaming of the fayth, but you better keep one thing in mind. If the fayth stop dreaming, your Zanarkand, and all that are living there in your memory will disappear. They will not die, or stop living; they will never have existed. Including your son and your wife. But you…after all that you have done on Spira, you have earned yourself some sort of existence apart from your dream-self. If they stop dreaming, you will fade, but not all of you. Are you really sure you want to stop the dream?" Jecht said nothing. He peeked through his lashes, shielding his face with his hands, and thought he could make out people.

"But…what about Sin?"

"Kill Sin, and the fayth will stop rebelling. He will stop influencing them, and they will sink back into their slumber, and leave your Zanarkand alone. You need to become the Final Aeon to destroy him.

'Now, step forward." He did as she told him, and let her turn him around. Even though his eyes watered, he tried to open them wider, and see what was around him, but all he could see was light, and vague shadows, and Yunalesca's unearthly body. "Now, back. A little more." His shoulders grazed the sides of what appeared to be a niche, and the Lady smiled. "May Yevon guide you, fayth, on your journey to the end of sorrow." She performed the sign of prayer and slammed him as hard as she could against the wall. A glyph—red, green, blue and white—flashed over him, through him, as his back hit stone. For one second, agony so ripping and terrible that it took his breath away crashed through him, robbing him of all his senses, then he gasped, and air flooded back into his lungs. 

"Heeey!" He voiced his surprise and his pain and anger in one, protesting cry, and then the light of the pyreflies blinded him, until he saw nothing but black.

"When I woke up," Jecht continued, rubbing an apple with his headband until it shone like Yunalesca's eyes, "I was still standing in that hidey-hole. I felt kinda dizzy and pissed-off, but the pain in my back was gone, and Yunalesca was standing there with that 'I am holier than thou' expression on her face, so I didn't say anything." He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully for a while. "And I could see. I couldn't, when I came in, but now I could."

"The pyreflies were gone?"

"N-no, I don't think so. I just…I could ignore them. They still lit up the place, but they didn't blind me anymore.

'The room was filled with people—no live people, but statues, like those of the fayth in the temples. But they were all human, not changed in any way. All human, and there must have been hundreds."

"They must be the statues of all the Guardians who turned into fayth to become the Final Aeon," Braska mused. "Did you…have you looked back? To see whether your statue was there too?" Jecht made that shrugging, defensive motion.

"Look back? Man, I was terrified. I didn't wanna look back to see whether I'd turned to stone as well! No, I didn't look back, but Yunalesca said that I was now officially a fayth, so I guess she gave me all the conviction I needed."

"But you didn't feel different? More powerful? Ethereal?" Jecht knocked his fist on the table.

"Do I look ethereal? I felt different in the beginning, because I was confused and just a little bit freaked out, but really, fundamentally different? Nah. Not really. Only when she took me back and you began praying to me, then I felt…odd. Like you were tying my soul to yours."

"Praying to the fayth," Auron whispered. "Obtaining the Aeon." He pulled his pony tail a bit looser. "So you really are a fayth now."

"I guess."

"The Final Aeon."

"You know, I really don't get all that fayth-Aeon-unsent stuff. That Aeon, is it in me, or am I the Aeon?"

"You are a fayth. You, or rather an aspect of you will turn into an Aeon when I pray for that aspect to aid me."

"And that aspect resides on the Farplane?"

"Yes."

"So, I'm dead." Braska arched his eyebrows.

"You're a fayth. That's something entirely different."

"Aahg." Jecht shook his head. "I'll never understand." The other man smiled.

"You don't need to understand to help me, and that, you do, Jecht." He turned to Auron, who gazed back with flat, chestnut eyes. "With a fayth like that and a Guardian like you, how could we not defeat Sin?" Auron looked away.

"I'll go and get our clothes. They should be dry by now." He stood up and walked away, leaving the Summoner and his fayth standing near the table, casting questioning looks at each other.

They stayed for one more night, polishing weapons and cleaning and mending their travel-worn clothes. Braska used his Al Bhed knowledge to add another offensive spell to Jecht's sword, rendering it almost as deadly as Auron's blade, and managed to weave another spell through the slits of his glove, "To make sure nothing will harm you. I should take good care of my new fayth—even better care than I took with my Guardian." He did a similar thing with Auron's bracers, humming softly all the time. He seemed to be in excellent spirits.

            When they left, the Dome was silent and dead, without a single hint of the presence of a living or at least sentient being.

"Too bad. I'd have liked to ask the Lady a few more questions," Jecht said. Braska shrugged.

"She obviously doesn't want to see us. Let us go."

"Whereto, my lord?" At that, the Summoner was silent for a while, then shrugged.

"The last time we came close to Sin, he was near Bevelle. That's a good enough start for now."

"So we'll return to the Calm Lands." A nod. "Good. I'll lead." He swung his sword across his shoulder, hastened his step and walked in front of them. Braska followed him with his eyes, and sighed.

"Jecht. Are you coming?"

"Sure." He fell into pace besides the Summoner. "So. We just try to find Sin?"

"Yes. He never resides in the same place. Well, you've seen so for yourself. Basically we trace the path of destruction to where he is at that moment, and pray to Yevon that he floats near a sea or a plane, so that when we bring him down, he doesn't destroy everything in his death throes." He gave a little jerk when a roaring, metallic cry ripped the silence apart, but held Jecht back when the man would have hastened forward to aid Auron. "No. Let him fight. If he needs help, he'll call us."

"Auron?" In the distance he though he could make out the gleam of rampant machina, and a flash of red that was the Guardian. "He wouldn't call for help if it killed him!" Braska smiled, a faint, tight little smile.

"In that, you are wrong, my friend. Auron may be stubborn and unforthcoming, but he would not needlessly endanger himself. If he did so, he would endanger me as well, and that would make him a bad Guardian. No, he will be alright, and if he needs us, he will yell. Which doesn't mean we shouldn't hasten our steps, of course." Despite his own words he was running now, his feet tapping lightly on the cracked pavement. However, when they caught up with Auron, all that was left of the machina was a smoking heap of dull metal and quivering springs. Auron himself stood in the middle of the pile of severed wheels and arms, panting a little and with an oily smear on his chin, but bright-eyed and brimming with energy.

"Jecht! You're late."

"I didn't want to spoil your fun." He grinned, and the other grinned back, temporarily smoothening the dimple between his eyebrows. He wiped his chin, then used the same hand to point to Mount Gagazet in the distance.

"A dark sky above the mountain. There'll be a storm raging there, now. The first of a Storming Season, I expect. We should make haste if we want to cross the mountain; in a few days we won't be able to." Braska clenched his fist.

"I'd totally forgotten! Yes, we should hurry. Damn it, if I'd only remembered, I wouldn't have stayed another day at the Dome." Immediately he began to walk faster. "Stupid! It was the last thing on my mind."

"What does that mean, the Storming Season? I mean, I know it means that it will storm," he growled, as Auron looked at him with a smirk, "But…"

"It's not actually a season," Braska explained. "And it isn't the same as winter or monsoon. A Storm Season occurs over Mount Gagazet when Spira is at a certain angle with the Single moon and the Red star. It creates a high pressure air field on one side of the mountain, while a low pressure air pocket grows on the other side of the mountain. Because of the Red star, that air is suddenly enabled to stream through the lower parts of the mountain range, and collides with the high pressure field. The result: storms." He sighed again. "It happens every few years, and apparently this is one of those years. I totally forgot."

"The Ronso said something about a storm being underway," Jecht remembered guiltily. "But I thought it was just an ordinary storm, and I didn't think about it when we passed without trouble."

"It doesn't matter. With a little luck we won't even see the storm. As long as the clouds are pitch black and unlit by lightning, we'll be fine. If we do get caught in the middle of it…well, our tents are sturdy, and I can conjure fire even without wood, so apart from a few day's delay we'll be fine as well." Nevertheless his face was serious as he gazed at the mountains, and Jecht could not suppress a shiver when he studied the clouds. That was the colour of the sky on the day that Sin took me…

To Be Continued

Again, please leave a review! If you've already done so, Thanks! Next chapter, Stormy Weather, more talk, and memories. I like Flashbacks, and they enable me to retell earlier parts of the journey.