For a thousand years, I have sung the same song. I sang it until my throat was horse, sang it until my body turned to stone, yet still I sing. The song I sing changes occasionally. Sometimes I write a new verse; sometimes I forget an old one. Sometimes people enter my temple and ask for help. Those times are the hardest. Those times make me lose my place in the song, the only thing I truly fear.
If I ever stop singing, the universe will forget me.
As I sing, I try to think of other things. Too many others lost themselves in their song. Old friends, old rivals, old lovers, all fused together in perpetual music. I cannot allow myself to do that. Become one of the lost verses. So I think.
I think about the word 'universe'. All those little people that crawl about on the face of Spira use the word without thinking. Universe. Uni-verse. The First Song, the pure song. Some of us, those that are getting tired of their songs, say that you can hear the First Song as you lose yourself more and more in the music. I try not to think about it, because some times… it sounds tempting. But they still need me, they still need me. Stop drifting, fool! Don't lose yourself!
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song. Others let their songs become dirges. Funereal marches for those they lost when we… ascended. Their songs were hard to listen to. They reminded me of what I had sacrificed to start my singing. Most of those songs are gone now. They gave up so easy. There aren't that many of us left. I can hear their songs. So many songs of loss, of longing. Others sing of hatred and vengeance. Some sing of hope and the ending of Spira's suffering. Personally? I sing of anger. A ballad of rage, spat out at the universe that stole away my Zanarkand. The universe that stole my wife, my children. The universe that sent Sin.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song. I sang the first line the night Zanarkand slipped under the rolling waves. I was crying when I started singing. I think everyone cried that night. My tears are still in the verses that I recite. They still hold a reflection, an echo of Zanarkand. I sing my song of Zanarkand and wait for those who come to restore it. To restore Spira. To stop this cycle of death and decay that sours every note that enters the air. To kill Sin. That is why this time around is different. This time around, we can win. This time around...she needs me? She calls!
This feeling is… indescribable, even in song. I am wrenched out of my stone body, gently, almost lovingly. This new summoner has a soft touch, gentle ways about her. I feel my spirit coalescing around the souls of the Unsent. My eyes are closed as my form become solid, familiar yet still not mine. I feel the ground around me compact and heat as I manifest, desert sand melting and running to glass as I jump upwards to escape my sandy prison.
Sand erupts from under me as I dramatically emerge. Cracks of baleful fire spread from the lava pit that was the site of my rebirth. The air about me ignites with the rage I feel at this world. I can feel the decay of Sin in the very air, the sky tainted just by the things existence. I roar, no song can contain what I truly feel, this hatred that drives me. For a moment, it makes me skip my place in my song.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song…
I look around. The first thing that strikes me is the rank odour of the dead and dying. I see the summoner who brought me forth slumped over her ornate staff, bleeding heavily from a deep wound in her side. Her face is burnt, seared by some fire of unimaginable heat. She is dying. She needs aid. Her friends… are scattered. They too are injured. My dog-like muzzle sniffs the air as I turn to find their assailant. The summoner collapses, a plea for help lying on her lips as she falls into unconsciousness. I hear a roar, frighteningly familiar. I turn and see him. Those things about me I cannot control. My shadow, my Darkness.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song…
We face off each other. He is faster than I am. Stronger. He is all my darkness. He has my anger, my rage, without being slowed by compassion, mercy or love. He is unstoppable. I stare at him, seeing for the first time a mirror, how these mortals perceive both my Shadow and I. A huge frame that dwarves those around us. Bestial dog-faces with a maw of razor teeth, dripping saliva that bursts into flames as it hits the sand. Horns, jagged and cruel, that burst from our temples, black bone that seems to absorb the harsh desert sun rather than reflect it. Nightmare claws sprout from rangy, ape-like arms. A nimbus of flame that flickers over our bodies, leaving us standing in a puddle of boiling glass. To my surprise, the guardians of the summoner managed to injured it. I am impressed. The creatures belly has been sliced, one of its arms cradles its guts, making sure they stay in. One of its eyes is frosted over, the blackened flesh surrounding it evidence of the bitter cold that assaulted it. I permit myself a smile. It is injured. It has been half blinded. I can beat him.
Even as I allow myself the luxury of optimism, the creature reacts to my presence. In the half second that it took me to assess the situation, it had began to spin towards me, balefire crackling between its fingers. It shoots the fire at me before it sees who I am. The fireball slams into me, the flames fill me, fill me with strength. I snarl as I grin and advance on the creature, claws fully extended.
I leap. It moves faster, darting to the side, my swipe missing its jugular by mere inches. That was my luxury, one free attack. And I wasted it. Injured as it might be, it still moves fast enough that I don't see the arm on the thing move as it retaliates. I just register pain across my chest and blood on its midnight claws. It strikes again, faster than I can react, slashing me twice more across my chest, then leaping up in the air, bringing the fearsome claws on its feet down and into me. I am forced to the ground, bleeding from half a dozen entry wounds. My blood burns as it hits the sand.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song…
I push myself off the ground, only to be slammed down by a clawed foot. This close to the brute I can taste the suffering pouring off him. His claws dig into my back, eagerly seeking muscle, sinew and tendon. I roar, this time with pain.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song…
I roll, his claws ripping flesh from my back, and punch my fist through the meat of his thigh. I pull my hand back, fist clenching on his thighbone as I do so. I clench as he screams to the heavens with agony, and I feel his bone splinter beneath my grasp. He lunges at me, laying open the side of my face. With a bursting feeling above one cheek, I know he has punctured one of my eyes. No matter. He fights for destruction. I fight to protect Spira. I fight to protect the memory of my beloved Zanarkand. He tries another feint, but I place a kick in the side of his chest. As he reels backwards, I place another claw swipe into his exposed innards.
His scream is shriller this time. I savagely grin with the remains of my face.
The creature tries one last gambit. The ground shakes and trembles with poorly contained force as the creature wills a house-sized boulder to the surface. I can only watch as he sinks his claws into it and lifts it above his head. The boulder ignites; rock boiling, bubbling and then bursting into flames. He hurls it towards the comatose form of the summoner.
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song…
I dive, leaping into the path of the meteor. It hits me dead on, crushing my left arm, breaking my ribs. I lie there stunned, but the summoner is safe for now. I lie there, knowing that every second I delay is another second closer to my defeat. I get to my feet.
It staggers towards me, still fighting. The creature's stamina is incredible, I would have been reduced to the howling of released souls far earlier. It stares at me with its one eye. I use my eye to stare back. We hold our gaze for a second before we launch again at each other.
Blows rain on me from every angle. The concept of defence is laughable; I just hit back as hard and as fast as I can. My body is now a patchwork mess of agony. But the creature is slowing. I press home this small advantage, slamming him into the sand. I bellow as I place one foot on his mangled chest, grab his arm and wrench it out of the socket. I throw it away even as it begins to dissipate into the air.
It looks at me with its single mad eye. For a moment, I feel pity for the poor, insane creature. Then the rage overtakes me again and I plunge my hand into its chest and rip out its blackened heart. It disappears into a swirl of unsent souls. I feel nothing more for it.
I look over to the summoner. She is conscious, but struggling to stay so. She whispers my name as she summons forth the light within her, holy light closing over the worst of her injuries. She will survive to fight another day. Her words linger with me, even as I dissolve and return to my body.
"Thank you… Ifrit…"
For a thousand years, I have sung the same song. I sang it until my throat was horse, sang it until my body turned to stone, yet still I sing. The song I sing changes occasionally. Sometimes I write a new verse; sometimes I forget an old one. Sometimes people enter my temple and ask for help. Those times are the hardest. Those times make me lose my place in the song, the only thing I truly fear.
But I have not lost my place yet… not yet…