A/N: We're getting into scenes from the Jecht spheres now. Not all of the dialog is word-for-word the same as it is in the game, but I did my best to preserve the spirit of each scene. Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, settings, and concepts are copyright Squaresoft/Square-Enix. Dialog and scenes from Final Fantasy X are also copyright Squaresoft. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Original characters, however, are mine.

Blitz

Liss wormed her way through the throngs of people pressing themselves into the blitzball stadium. She didn't care enough about blitz to sit through the whole day, but Maura had snagged an extra ticket to the finals and made her promise to use it. It took some doing, but with enough pushing and squeezing through gaps, she made it to her seat ten minutes before blitzoff. Kenna and Sam were there, too, along with an empty space on the end that Sam was holding.

"Hey, you made it!" Maura was bouncing up and down with glee -- the Goers had beaten the Guado in a tight match to make the final round despite a strong comeback attempt by the Glories. Liss had seen the final minute on the sphere screens while making her way to the stadium, and it had been thrilling even to her untrained eye.

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you," Liss said, plopping down in her assigned spot, which was between her roommate and Sam. "Who else is coming?"

"My dad," said Sam. "He'll be here as soon as he's done chewing out the team."

"Oh, did the Beasts lose?' Liss sent him a sympathetic glance. "That's too bad. What happened?"

"They were leading almost to the end, but then one of the forwards made a stupid mistake, and the center followed up with an even stupider one. The Al Bhed took advantage of the opening and forced a tie, then won in overtime."

Kenna, sitting on Maura's other side, leaned over her two friends and stuck out her tongue at Sam. "Nyah, nyah."

"Lord it over me while you can," Sam replied with a grin. "You know who's gonna do better in the season."

"Maybe, but the cup's as good as ours!" Kenna crossed her arms with a satisfied air. "We upset the Aurochs, we upset the Beasts, and now it's the Goers turn."

"Oh, please." Maura pushed the smaller girl's shoulder. "Luca was seeded for a reason."

Kenna shoved back good-naturedly. "And we all know what that reason was: hometown advantage."

Liss twisted her head around and fixed her friends with a stern look. "Am I going to have to separate you two?"

"We'll be good," they chorused. Then all three girls broke out into giggles. Sam shook his head, laughing along. He resumed scanning the crowd, then jumped up and waved. "Hey Dad, over here!" He ran down the stairs.

Liss watched him go to the railing, where he hugged a man who could only be his father -- perhaps in his early forties, he was also tall and lean with bright red hair and the permanently tanned skin of a Kilikan.

Maura lightly tugged on Liss's ponytail. "Can't keep your eyes off him, I see."

"What?" Liss turned and met the mischievous eyes of her friend.

"No denials, we saw you two dancing at the party last night!"

Kenna leaned over Maura again with a wink. "More than once," she agreed.

Liss successfully suppressed a blush. Sam was cute, and dancing with him had been fun, but she wasn't sure whether she was interested in more. Even if she were, romance wasn't particularly high on her list of favorite things right now. She was content to leave things as they were. "We're just friends. Besides, he's the only guy I know who's tall enough for me to dance with. Now shut up, he's coming back!"

"Whatever you say," said Maura. But the self-satisfied grin did not leave her face, and Liss found herself growing suspicious about the day's seating arrangements.

Fortunately, Sam returned to the seats then, rendering further speculation impractical. His father walked a step behind him. "Hey everyone, this is my dad, Jan. Dad, meet Liss, Maura, and Kenna, whose team is going down!"

"You wish!" the Al Bhed retorted. Maura tossed out a verbal poke of her own, but her words were drowned out by the horn blast announcing the arrival of the players in the sphere, and all attention turned to the game as the fans rose from their seats.

At halftime, Maura, Kenna, and Sam immediately started arguing about a questionable foul call that had taken a goal from the Goers, who were down by one. When she grew tired of being talked over, Liss switched places with Sam and sat down next to the coach of the Kilika Beasts. He turned sideways and fixed her with a smile.

"Not a blitzball fan?" he asked.

Liss shrugged. "I grew up far from anywhere with a team, so I never really learned to get into it."

He nodded. "Your father was the same way; least, he was when I knew him." Her jaw dropped at this casual admission, and he chuckled at her startled look. "Oh, Sam didn't tell you? Yeah. Sir Auron and I were roommates for almost a year in Bevelle."

Liss took another look at this tall, rangy, laid-back man. "You were a warrior monk?" He didn't fit her profile of an ex-monk at all; despite her father, or maybe partly because of him, she tended to think of them as more burly and thug-like.

"Nah, not really. I joined as a trainee when I was 18 but quit before taking the vows. Your dad and I were friendly, but I wouldn't say we were buddies or anything; I left before I really got the chance to know him. My brother's the guy you should meet -- they served together for years. Hey, Sam!"

His son turned. "What?"

"You seen your uncle?"

"Not yet. But he should be here somewhere; we talked on the CommSphere a couple of days ago, and he said he's planning to come. We're supposed to find him afterwards -- he said he'd meet us at the Academy if we don't run into him here."

"Want to join us?" Jan asked Liss. She only had time to nod before the game started up again.

Three weeks after receiving the aeon, Lord Braska visited the temple for a final meeting with his mentor. I tagged along, mostly to get one last look at the place. When we arrived at the palace, I left him in the Hall of Summoners and made a visit to the Hall of Guardians.

The room was dark, as usual, so I took a lantern from its alcove by the entryway. I started with Lord Zaon, first and greatest of the guardians, and paid my respects. Next I offered a prayer to Sir Wendal, asking for the strength to follow in his footsteps: to defeat Sin and then come home alive. Then I wandered the hall, gazing at portraits, reflecting on the stories I knew and wondering about the tales I didn't. I must have spent two hours there, in the presence of my predecessors.

My thoughts were interrupted by the opening of a door. I turned and froze as I met the eyes of Maester Brac.

He did not move toward me or speak but simply regarded me from across the room, his expression hard. My own emotions were a jumble: anger, sadness, regret, even a tinge of hatred. But I kept them under control and looked calmly back, determined that I would not be the first to blink.

The moment seemed to last forever, but in reality it was probably less than a minute. In the end, he broke our eye contact, perhaps only because the warrior monk standing behind him -- Lieutenant Bradyn -- touched his shoulder and asked a question. They held a brief conversation, too distant and soft for me to make out, then turned around and left.

I sagged against the nearest wall, exhausted despite the briefness of the encounter. This confrontation, I had not been prepared for, and I could feel the beginnings of a headache in the back of my skull. I only had a minute to recover, though, as the door opened again, admitting Bradyn. I straightened, then composed my face as he jogged across the room and favored me with a quick salute.

"Cap--" My former Lead Sword bit back the accustomed title, making a face as he did so, and I winced inwardly. He took a sharp breath and started again. "Sir Auron? I have news that you may want to hear. The Maester has finally filled the position of Second Commander; the new man will be sworn in the day after tomorrow."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Commander Kinoc."

I raised an eyebrow and examined my reaction to this piece of information. Not surprise -- somehow, part of me had been expecting this. Was I... happy for him? At least partially. It was what he had always wanted, after all. I wondered how he felt about having been the second choice, and whether Brac had given him the same deal I'd been offered. "So he's transferred back from the Crusaders, then."

"Effective at that time, yes sir. Anyway, I thought you might like to know."

"You were correct." I bowed to him. "Thank you, Bradyn. If I don't see him before I leave, tell him I send my congratulations."

"Yevon be with you on your pilgrimage." He returned the bow as he left.

A few minutes later, I heard a different door open, and Lord Braska was soon by my side. "Are you ready to go?"

I nodded to him. "Yes, my lord."

Braska turned to me with an exasperated expression. "Is there any chance I can get you to stop calling me that?"

I bowed my head slightly. "No, my lord. I know you told me, long ago, that there was no need to stand on ceremony with you, but you were only a priest then. Now you are a summoner, and that is something far greater. You are due respect for the sacrifice you intend to make, and I am honor-bound to give it to you. Using your title does not make me any less your friend. Name of the fayth, I never called Maester Brac anything other than 'your grace' for six years, and I loved him like a fath--"

My voice broke, and I glanced away, my throat closing, a bitter sense of loss I hadn't even realized I'd been burying rising to the surface. Braska lightly touched my arm. "His rejection of you hurt, didn't it."

I couldn't speak for a moment as I struggled with this unexpected emotion. "Yes," I said, finally. "It still does."

The hand on my arm closed in a sympathetic squeeze, and the burden lightened a little. "Then I am sorry for it, my friend."

I looked at him with a smile that was mostly genuine. "Thank you, my lord. But it has worked out for the best. I can be your guardian, and we will go defeat Sin together."

He returned the smile and dropped his hand. "Speaking of that, I heard a very curious rumor today. Lady Nyaki tells me that there is a man in the dungeon who claims to be a blitzball player from Zanarkand."

Of all the unlikely things I'd heard in my life, this had to top the list. "Zanarkand? But that's impossible!"

"Perhaps, but the guards say he is quite insistent. I have discussed the matter with Lady Nyaki, and I would like to invite him along on the pilgrimage."

I grimaced with surprise and not a little displeasure. "Why, my lord? Am I not sufficient to protect you on the journey?"

He tilted his head. "Of course you are. There is no question of that. Still, if he can fight, there's no harm in having an extra sword, is there? And it could be useful to have someone with us who has been to Zanarkand, assuming his story is true."

I shrugged. "It is your decision, my lord. Wherever you go, I will follow."

"My lord?" I had been thinking about this question for some time, and as we walked down an underground hallway toward the dungeon of St. Bevelle I could resist it no longer. "If I may ask, what is it like, having an aeon?"

Braska glanced back at me with a thoughtful expression. "Have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue that you could not quite recall? Or felt a memory poking at the edge of your mind? You know the thought is there, but you can't bring it fully into focus."

"Of course," I said with a nod.

"It is rather like that," he responded. "Except instead of a memory or a word, it's a... presence, I suppose. He hovers at the edge of my consciousness, just out of my reach, until I call upon him. Does that make any sense?"

"It does. Thank you." We had reached the door to the dungeon, and I stepped ahead and held it open for him.

The dingy room was lit by several torches. A single guard, a Crusader, stood at attention on the left-hand side of the room. She bowed to Braska. He returned the gesture, then turned to the three cells along the right wall. Only the center one was occupied, by a barechested man who smelled very strongly of whiskey. He sat up, rather unsteadily, as Braska approached the bars that separated them. "Who are you?" he asked, in quite possibly the raspiest voice I'd ever heard.

I narrowed my eyes at the boldness of the question, but Braska simply ignored his tone. "You are the one they call Jecht, the man from Zanarkand, are you not?"

The prisoner snorted. "Yeah. What of it?"

Seeing my friend and lord treated with such disrespect was starting to tick me off. "Watch your tongue!" I snapped, taking a step forward.

Braska stilled me with a look, then turned back to the cell. "My apologies. I am Braska, a summoner, and I have come to help you out of this place."

Jecht stood with the exaggerated care of one highly intoxicated, and I was able to get a better look at him. His light brown hair was disheveled and pulled back with a red cloth. A scraggly beard and several scars covered his face. Rather improbably, he was shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in pants with legs of uneven lengths. His chest was entirely covered by a tattoo, a triangular design that meant nothing to me. He was wiry and tall, probably about the same height as Kal and with a similar build, clearly another blitzer. A complicated bracer that looked like blitz equipment was strapped onto his left arm, and his right arm was wrapped with athletic tape. He looked less like a guardian than any man I'd ever seen.

"Sounds sweet," said the mystery man. "So what's the catch?"

Braska let out a friendly laugh. "That easy to see? Yes, I have something to ask of you. Soon, my guardian Auron" -- at that he indicated me with a small sweep of his hand -- "and I will be leaving on a pilgrimage. To Zanarkand."

That caught Jecht's attention. "Seriously?" he asked.

My summoner nodded. "I would like you to join us. It will be a dangerous trip, and I cannot guarantee your safety. Yet if we do reach Zanarkand, my prayers will be answered, and you will be able to go home, we think." He reached a welcoming hand toward the bars. "What say you?"

"Great," came the immediate reply. "Let's go."

Braska raised an eyebrow slightly. "So quick? You don't wish to think about it?"

Jecht shook his head and crossed his arms. "Anything to get the heck outta here!"

"Then it's settled," said Braska with a smile.

I could stay silent no longer. This man's speech, his manner, and nearly everything else about him seemed perfectly designed to get on my nerves, and he was taking the most momentous thing that Braska and I would do in our entire lives and treating it like nothing more than a free pass out of jail. "My lord, I must protest," I said heatedly. "This drunkard, a guardian?"

"Hey!" protested the drunkard in question. "You wanna come in here and say that?"

I glared at him and just barely held myself back from accepting his challenge. He was fairly well muscled, but I was confident that I could take him in a fair fight. Maybe that would teach him some manners...

"What does it matter?" Braska's voice was calm. "No one truly believes that I, a disfavored former priest who married an Al Bhed, can beat Sin. I've heard the whispers, and I'm sure you have as well. No one expects us to succeed."

I refused to nod, but it was true. No one had dared say anything in my hearing, but I could sense it, in the way that voices fell silent and eyes turned away when I went about the temple and the town.

"So let's prove them wrong." His smile was pleasant, but his eyes burned with resolve. "A fallen summoner, a man from Zanarkand, and a warrior monk doomed to obscurity for refusing the hand of the high priest's daughter." I flinched a little at that, but again I could not deny the truth of his words. "What a delightful irony if our unlikely band defeated Sin!"

I looked at his face and saw that he would entertain no more discussion of the subject. His mind was made up, much as it had been when he'd decided to become a summoner in the first place. "As you wish, my lord," I said.

"Stop gabbing and get me out of here!" Jecht grumbled.

Braska gestured to the guard, who stepped forward with her keys and unlocked the cage. It swung open, and the now-former prisoner stepped forward, reaching his arms overhead in a huge stretch. Braska left the room, and Jecht and I followed him into the hallway, the door closing behind us.

"Ah... free at last!" Jecht stretched some more, pushing his shoulder blades together, locking his hands in front and pulling them forward, reaching an arm behind his neck and twisting his head to the side.

Braska looked to him, a small smile of amusement tugging at his mouth. "Now Jecht, I am in your hands until we reached Zanarkand."

He nodded absently. "Yeah, right, right. So, what's a summer-ner, anyway?"

"Yevon grant me strength," I groaned under my breath. The headache that I had managed to push away earlier was returning in full force. I had a feeling that this was going to be a very long journey.