A Noble Truth

Final Fantasy X and Kingdom Hearts 2 belong to Squaresoft/SquareEnix.

Notes:
This story is more FFX than KH2, but it takes place in Kingdom Hearts canon, so that's why I classified it thus. It has major spoilers for all of Final Fantasy X and some for Auron's character in Kingdom Hearts 2.

What is birth?

He was being born again – this time in a field of flowers hazy from the twilight. The sound of rushing water crashed as a dull roar in the distance, and it took him a moment to recognize that sound.

The sound of the Farplane – the sound of death.

When he brought a hand to his face, he felt no pain from the deep gash – torn flesh and ruined bone – that ran through his right eye and down his chin, chest and through his stomach. He glanced at his hand, now covered in blood, and began to shake. With sudden panic he fell to his knees and hastily wiped the blood on the leaves of a nearby plant. If he had been breathing, it would have caught in his chest at the sudden realization of his death.

The sound of footsteps approaching him helped the confusion subside, as did the cheerful voice that chided him. "Damn! Yunalesca did a number on you, didn't she, Auron?"

Years of smoking and drinking had made the voice husky and although familiar, Auron had not expected to hear it again. Still kneeling on the grass, he looked up through his one good eye at figure standing before him. Arms crossed, the other regarded Auron's shock with amusement.

When he found his voice, Auron spoke with uncertainty. "Jecht? Is that...?" He trailed off, in hope but also in fear.

Jecht's smirk widened into a toothy grin, but the smile did not reach his eyes. His voice was light, almost playful, but his eyes remained serious. "In the flesh! Or, well, as close as you'll get to flesh in this place."

As Jecht gestured to the fields of the Farplane, Auron let his head drop and his hands curled into fists. He asked in a controlled but tight voice, already knowing the answer, "And are you Sin?"

The other did not answer immediately but balanced himself on the balls of his feet to squat before Auron. All traces of amusement faded and his voice became low and strained. "It's sleeping now but I can feel it, you know. It's fighting me, trying to wake up. It's trying to eat me but damned if I'm going to let it."

Rather than face the other man, Auron's gaze remained on the flowers by his knees. They were small and multicolored but somehow muted in the light of the Farplane; their scent reminded him of death.

At last he managed in a flat tone, "Lord Braska – he's dead."

"Yes."

Auron gave an abrupt laugh. Never had a sound like that escaped his throat before, but then he had never died before either. When he met Jecht's eyes, they regarded him with something like compassion. On any other person, it might have soothed Auron, but on Jecht the expression became strange and disconcerting.

Although he did not care to hear the answer, Auron still asked, "So what now? You came to see this failure off to the next world?"

Ignoring his companion's sarcasm – some things never changed – Jecht replied in an accusatory tone, "You promised to watch over my son and find a way to save me, but now you've run off like an idiot and gotten yourself killed."

Auron's eye tightened as he looked away, but Jecht ignored the pained expression and continued as he pointed across the field toward the sound of water. "That way goes to the other world. That's where Braska is waiting." He brought back his arm and extended it palm up to Auron. "But it's not too late to fulfill your promise. You can still watch over my son."

Auron looked at Jecht's scarred face, unkempt even in death. Jecht's lips pressed into a thin line and his red-brown eyes looked determined and cold. They held a hollowness that might have scared Auron if either man had been alive, but the expression suited the face of a dead man. Auron had seen such a look on Jecht's face only once during their journey – when he at last understood that Braska would not return from his pilgrimage to Zanarkand and that the summoner meant to die.

Unmoving and unbreathing, Jecht waited with his hand offered to Auron, and with a deliberate motion Auron raised his own hand, the tips of his fingers brushing against Jecht's palm. The contact of flesh on flesh in this unreal place made him hesitate, and after a moment he withdrew his hand and pushed himself to his feet. Jecht also stood and although he regarded Auron with a quizzical look, he remained silent.

Answering the silent question in an even voice – not determined, only accepting – Auron said, "I will fulfill my promises on my honor as a guardian. I will protect your son and Yuna, and I will free you from Sin. But I cannot go to Zanarkand yet. There is something I must do first."

Eyes never leaving the other's face, Jecht gave a wary nod as some emotion – perhaps pain, perhaps sadness – flickered across his face. He said nothing, but suddenly he was gone and the newly reborn Auron was again alone on the Farplane.

What is aging?

Aging Spira had become an old man – a parasite that lived off others, sucking them dry to feed its own existence. The people of Spira were also parasites, and all around Auron the parasites celebrated.

Children ran through the streets and, having substituted blitzballs for wooden staffs and swords, played at summoners and guardians. Old men and women smiled for the first time in years and muttered prayers of thanks before the temples, while fishermen's wives hugged their husbands with a little less desperation, watching them set sail without tears in their eyes. Everyone even treated the Al Bhed with less hostility – their forbidden machina overlooked and forgiven as the waters of Spira became safe.

Thus peace came to Spira in the same way it did every decade, and thus the people fed on the sacrifice of summoner and guardian. Braska was dead and Jecht worse than that, and no number of monuments and temples could bring them back. No amount of praise would ever be enough.

The people of Spira were parasites, but Auron no longer hated them as he had in the initial aftermath of Braska's death. They were parasites, but he had let both Jecht and Braska perish – his culpability ran even deeper than theirs. But while he did not hate them, he could not pity them. With Braska's death, the welfare of Spira's inhabitants ceased to concern him, and in death his only duty as a guardian was to Yuna and Tidus.

Those two needed protection from this aging, unchanging world as they needed protection from its parasitic inhabitants. Yuna and Tidus needed Auron as once Braska and Jecht had, but this time he vowed that history would not repeat itself.

What is death?

Death came to those people faster and more mercifully than they deserved. All along they had known the truth and still they had lied. He trusted them and in turn they fed Jecht and Braska to their Sin.

The council chamber appeared grand and beautiful as only a place of death could. Auron had entered once before when Braska negotiated Jecht's release from prison. As according to guardian decorum, Auron hid his awe at the imposing space with a stern expression while Braska pleaded to the Council in his gentle voice.

At the time Auron admired the Council and regarded their place of meetings with something close to worship, but this time he knew better. The ancient stonework had seen centuries of Spira's past, from the birth of Bevelle's Council – the guide of this cursed planet – and now through its death.

The elegant ceiling made from exotic stone with intricate carvings no longer interested him any more than the groans and whimperings of Council members and guards that still clung to life. The rounded space of the room seemed to amplify and distort the noises within, so that the cries of survivors echoed through the vast space and filled the void with an ethereal whisper, not unlike the song of the Fayth.

Auron did not speak as he watched Jyscal, still clutching at the blade that went through his stomach and out his back, cough up blood. Instead he gazed in silence over his high collar and met the Guado's eyes. The Ronso Council member had fought back with a roar of defiance and claws extended; the humans had tried to escape and met death with pleas for mercy. Only Jyscal had accepted his fate, neither fleeing nor fighting but merely waiting. Unmoving he had watched Auron cut down the other Council members and guards and when the blade at last ran him through, Jyscal only let out a gasp as blood poured into his lungs.

Jyscal raised his eyes, the Guado's face even more ashen as his life poured out the wound and onto the stone floor. His arm trembled as he raised long and gnarled fingers toward Auron and at last rested a hand on the other's shoulder in an almost paternal gesture.

When he spoke to Auron, his words came out shaky – barely audible in the still air – and accompanied by flecks of blood. "You shouldn't exist."

Auron twisted his blade and pulled. There was an audible crunch and then Jyscal fell, hitting the ground with the messy sound of torn meat. He crumpled and lay twisted at Auron's feet.

With a swing of his arm, Auron brought the sword back onto his shoulder then stepped over Jyscal's body as he made his way toward the exit. He walked away from the Council and Bevelle leaving nothing but bodies and bloody footprints.

No one heard him whisper his reply, "I know."

What is grief?

Grief had already consumed Auron, leaving nothing but his promise. That promise he had made to Jecht as well as Yuna and Tidus. He remembered Yuna as a shy girl with uncertain eyes and knew of Tidus only through Jecht's stories, yet both children were more real to Auron than the people around him. Although he could not picture their faces, he could see Yuna still mourning Braska's death and Tidus waiting on a pier for his father's return.

More than anything Auron wanted to see them; he wanted to see if Yuna still had Braska's smile and if Tidus would grow to wear Jecht's angry look of defiance. He wanted them to smile at him and forgive him for failing the only two people that had ever mattered. But he had lost the right to such forgiveness when his story ended.

Now he had no purpose beyond that of a guardian, and guarding them meant killing.

Of course he easily killed the priests – they deserved no mercy. The guards' deaths were inevitable, as were those of the Chocobo Knights and soldiers. The men and women should have known to stay out of his way, and if a child decided to run at him with a rusted sword perhaps to avenge a parent's death...well Auron's blade cut through that flesh as readily as any adult's.

What is lamentation?

He had not cried when Jecht disappeared – whiteness eating through his body and turning it into something foul and inhuman. Nor had he cried when Braska died, his spirit ripped out of him as blood poured from his nose and mouth, ears and eyes. He had waited for the tears, for the grief, but their journey had emptied him of all that long before they reached Zanarkand, and certainly by the time of Braska's Calm, after Auron's death, he never cried.

That made everything easier – even seeing Jecht again.

The older man stood on the side of the road a little ways ahead of Auron, but this time his presence did not come as a surprise. Auron made his way toward the other man and stopped before him, but Jecht did not speak, instead looking at Auron with an inscrutable expression.

Auron did not feel guilt, but he wondered if he ought to. At last he remarked, "You do not approve of my methods."

Jecht's voice held a note of awe rather than disgust. "You're worse than Sin."

Auron's eye tightened and his words came out sharp. "Don't say that."

Both men looked away, more to express actual regret than as a silent apology. The silence was uncomfortable but words even more so, and when Jecht spoke at last, the words hissed out through clenched teeth in a pained voice. "Sin is devouring me. Soon it'll awaken and I won't be able to stop it." He hesitated and his tone became uncertain. "But I don't know how much will be left of Spira to destroy."

Auron's felt a tremor run through his chest, causing his hands to shake, and he steadied them by digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. Having regained control, he managed to force the first words from his mouth but once they started, they flowed of their own volition.

"I called myself a guardian, but I led Braska to death. I said you were my friend but I allowed you to take my place as a sacrifice. Any honor I might have had, I lost when I chose death over my promise to you.

"I have guarded no one, protected nothing and saved nobody, but I will not fail your son or Braska's daughter. Whatever happens, they will live. For them I will fulfill my duty as a guardian.

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

Jecht did not answer at first but put a hand on Auron's shoulder – an illusion of course but on Spira reality and dream were the same. He stared at Auron, forcing the other to meet his eyes. When at last Auron looked up, he saw Jecht's face twisted with sorrow, pained and hopeless.

This was the face that would become Sin, and his reply reflected that despair. "I wanted you to live, you arrogant uptight bastard."

And then Jecht pulled him close and Auron let the sword slip from his fingers as his collar and face pressed against the warmth of Jecht's neck. He reminded himself that this was not real – that Jecht was not real – but his senses told him otherwise, and who was he to argue with a dead man's intuition?

He felt his arms curl around Jecht's back, as solid and as real as he remembered, and the nearness made something within him snap. At first he did not hear the noise – a wet sound, guttural and broken, and so primal as to no longer be human. It took him a moment to realize it came from one of them and another to recognize the emotions behind the sound.

One of them was sobbing; one of them was crying. And he could not tell which of them it was.

What is suffering?

They called it the spiral of death, but Spira had no death – only suffering. The suffering of one led to the suffering of many; this was Sin, and Sin was vengeance.

But there were other sorts of vengeance – the sort of quiet vengeance that resided only in the heart – and this vengeance came from loneliness and hurt and the anger of living. It connected all worlds with an invisible thread that tied doorway to doorway and bound heart to heart.

It was easy to perceive these doorways when one looked hard enough – even easier when voices whispered from the other side. The voices were soft and dark, not persuasive but insistent. Very insistent.

And as easy as it was to see the door and hear the voices, it was even easier to find the key and place it in the keyhole.

All worlds had hearts and all hearts were connected. As long as one did not fear the dark, everything was permitted; everything was allowed.

Auron opened the door.

What is misery?

Misery was the wound left behind by suffering, and the Heartless brought nothing but that. A world like Spira had its share of darkness – hearts poisoned by grief and loss – and the Heartless grew fat in such a land. Between them and Auron, peace never came during Braska's Calm.

But Auron had not managed to tear the world apart as they now did. Piece by piece and person by person, they devoured everything light and living, leaving nothing but darkness and husks of humanity. Thus they took everything, destroyed everything, but they could not take Auron.

No matter how much darkness he walked through, his path was his own. His hatred was his own, along with his regret, pain and loneliness, and those things belonged to him alone, as did his heart. Or perhaps he no longer had a heart; perhaps darkness had consumed it long before the Heartless came. That too was a possibility, but Auron did not care enough to determine the truth.

Instead he walked the ruins of Zanarkand – the heart of Spira and the last place not claimed by the Heartless army. The ancient city remained as he remembered it so many years ago. Jecht had proudly explained how in his world it was a bustling metropolis of light and sound, but such a world was nothing but a memory and after a thousand years of decay, all that remained were crumbling ruins and the glow of pyreflies. Fiends would lurk in the rubble once Sin returned, but so far that calamity had not befallen Spira, and Auron walked unhindered.

But Auron was not afraid. He had faith that Sin would come – that Jecht would come – as surely as the Heartless would once they devoured the rest of Spira. And until then Auron had only to search; he had only to wait. With time even misery must come to an end.

What is despair?

Hope was not the opposite of despair; death was the opposite of both things, and in death Auron had neither. So when he saw Sin born again from within Zanarkand's temple, he felt neither hope nor despair – only expectation.

Rising up with a roar of fury, the beast flexed its massive wings, which sent out blasts of air that whipped Auron's robes and stung his cheeks. Yet Auron watched without fear and when the wave subsided, he spoke in a quiet voice, just loud enough for the wind to carry it to the other's unseen ears.

"I have been waiting for you."

Sin's head looked down and it regarded him with thousands of eyes, the pallid bulk of its body gleaming in the fading light. Spira had entered a permanent twilight since the Heartless came – day by day a black and swirling void further consumed the sky – but neither man nor monster gave it a second look.

After a grim pause, a voice reverberated through Auron's head like a wave of maggots, low and sickly and inhuman.

There is nothing left.

Auron nodded, still calm under the creature's scrutiny. "Yes. Everyone is dead or consumed. Yuna I sent to a different world, perhaps a better one. That was the first part of my promise."

Sin reacted to the word "promise" and its rubbery hide rippled as it let out an inhuman screech. The sound struck Auron like a physical blow, his knees almost giving out, but he forced himself to remain standing. When it spoke again, Sin's voice still boomed through Auron's skull, but now it had an almost recognizable quality.

The Fayth are dying, and they have forgotten their Zanarkand. Tidus...I have also sent him away – some place where he will grow up in peace.

Auron's voice became subdued as he now spoke to Jecht, not Sin. "And you? Who will free you from Sin?"

The beast let out another groan, but it spoke – Jecht spoke – without bitterness. I will die with this world and in death I will be free.

Taking an involuntary step forward, Auron looked up as agitation broke through his stoic expression. His voice wavered as he said, "Then I have failed you. I...am sorry for that."

Jecht did not answer and Sin turned away, his slow, monstrous steps creating shockwaves through the ground that made the buildings tremble and dust rise off the ground. Auron remained in place and the monster hesitated after taking a few steps. It turned its fleshy head and considered him.

At last the voice of Jecht-Sin rumbled through his mind, This world is dissolving. There is no place for you here.

Auron looked up at the thousands of eyes and gave it a slight nod. "My story ended a long time ago. I am ready."

Neither Sin nor Jecht answered, but a silent blast of wind struck Auron, and then he was being consumed, not by darkness but by light. It devoured his flesh and mind and he could feel his body breaking apart, dissolving into a growing white void.

He only had time to hear – or perhaps imagine he heard – a sorrowful voice whisper in his head before that too was eaten away, I'm sorry too.

What is truth?

If truth was light, it did not exist in this place. The darkness of the Underworld was absolute, and it slithered around and through him, destroying little pieces of him as punishment for his existence. He could feel it nibbling at his mind and heart, and he clung to the fragments of his identity.

He was Auron – guardian first of Braska and then of Yuna and Tidus. Now he guarded nothing, but that too was part of his story. And while he regretted many things, he did not regret those actions that condemned him to this darkness. Those things he had done with a kind of lucidity never experienced in life.

But when Hades' judge had regarded him with a fanged grin and coiled that slippery tail round its bloated demon's body, Auron did not argue or plead for mercy. The Underworld charged him with one crime, but he would suffer for another one. He deserved no less.

Yet even this darkness had not blinded him entirely. Even now he could see things – flickers of visions that made him wonder if someone or something still watched over him. In these dreams he saw Tidus, still a child, running on a beach as he practiced with a staff rather than a blitzball. He saw Yuna, now an adult but no longer human, laughing with friends as she composed songs for her band. And he could imagine Jecht, the Sin part of him consumed by darkness but his heart still holding a glimmer of light, as he waited in a shard of the world.

With such visions, Auron could believe that he felt hope – that thing which he had lost so many years ago on his journey to Zanarkand. He could believe that he had fulfilled his promise and annulled his debt, and now he had only to pay for his failures.

In the Underworld's darkness, this was Auron's truth.