Coup D'état
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
But I've promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
(Robert Frost)
Spiran children grew up listening to the stories of Summoners. Every single child had a favorite. Gandof was mine.
During the sweet summers my father used to take me away from Bevelle's austere buildings. We walked for a day to reach the Calm Lands and, there, we used to camp under the stars.
My father never was an affectioned man, and I can remember with great clarity the few times he was kind to me, but in the Calm Lands he always looked different. Serene.
He was an historian, and as you can imagine I shared his attentions with books and parchments. It was not very pleasant, but I quickly learned a trick to make him notice me.
Tell me a story, Father.
Gandof's was my favorite. I don't know why, but I assume because it was his favorite too. I learned from a very young age the meaning of the word "sacrifice" and, oh, it sounded marvelous. Like some kind of magic, the spells they said mages were able to do, it held a mysterious meaning that, as young as I were, I couldn't grasp. Only now, a world where a young kid looked up to someone's sacrifice, sounds terrifying to me.
This gorge is called the Scar, told me my father. They say that when Gandof and his guardians cornered Sin, the monster tore the earth here asunder with the last of its strength. The high summoner and Sin struck each other down at the gorge's bottom. And that, is how Lord Gandof's sacrifice brought us the Calm.
And how beautiful, how poetical, the word Calm sounded to my naïve ears. So, I nodded to myself, looking down the infinite dark crevice and decided.
Father! I want to bring a Calm.
This was my oath.
Chapter 2 – newborn
Pain.
Pain was all he felt after an eternity of feeling nothing, being nothing, thinking nothing. A wail was rising in his throat, burning like a newborn fire. And legs, he could feel his legs now, not the idea of legs, but actual legs. They were in pain, too.
A tunnel of light shocked his senses, and, just like that, he came to be. He was alive.
The damp ground was the first external stimulus he felt. Not the warmth of being cradled into his mother's arms, not her sweet breast, but damp, hard ground. He opened his eyes. The colors of the world smacked into his brain, and he found them marvelous. Deceptive, maybe, but extraordinary. He told himself be careful, Auron, be distrustful, be skeptical, you're not alive, not really.
He cherished the thought of life more than anyone, and he knew, deep inside he knew that not even his stoic façade could withstand this time, not again, if this was a dream. But the dead don't dream, he told himself. And the Fayth don't dream anymore, and they would never dream the dead.
He moved his legs. They did what he told them to do. He was thirsty and tired, and bruised. What was going on? Why was he in pain? Why did he even feel that pain?
He used to be dead, immersed in the milky liquid that the farplane was, a unified all-knowing conscience. After a lifetime of struggle to assert his existence – and nonexistence – he was glad enough to be pure nothing.
Auron got up on his feet, his knees shaking, he breathed deeply, and the humid air tickled his lungs. He was in a cave. His logical mind started to fret. He was in a cave, and he was alive, and he had to do something. A little stream of clear water was running down the hard stone of the cave, creating a fresh melody of sounds. He walked to the stream, crouched beside it, and dunk his head in, drinking the clear water. He got up again, and stood still, just listening to the sound of water, for what felt like hours, meditating.
Why they did this to me? Who brought me back? For what reason? They are using me, it's the only logical assumption I can make about this, but what's the plot? What is the menace now? I thought I did enough to bring peace to Spira… maybe it's some sort of sorcery. The Guado may have deciphered the Amethyst Scrolls and discovered it's not pure mythology. If they brought me back, there must be a reason. I must find it.
Auron was… scared. He opened his eyes again. His… eyes. The man brought a hand to his face. He moved swiftly to the stream and leaned toward it. The ripples in the water reflected his image. He was young. Auron touched his own face, and saw his reflection do the same. His long black hair fell on his neck, and his hazel eyes were filled with emotion. Rage? Sadness? Fear?
He was indeed scared, but what he saw in the water – a young man like any other, untouched by life – made him feel a fleeting tenderness. He felt… hurt. He didn't believe in anything, now, not after Yevon, not after losing everything, so why would he believe in a second chance? It was a fairytale he would love to tell himself, but he couldn't allow his heart to feel hope. Not again. Why, after all?
He was brave! He faced death twice, he walked down every station of the cross, terrified, but strong, just to keep his promises and give Spira a better future. He lived his death more than his life, sacrificing himself willingly, and stealing time he didn't have, walking not on his legs but on his very beliefs. And damn, did it hurt him. Why was he here? To taste life for a moment, and then watch it flee him again?
"I won't stand this!"Auron screamed, slapping away his reflection in the water.
Then, the water lighted up. Boiling, as if enraged, the stream rose in a human form, and a voice greeted him, speaking in sweet notes.
"Auron, son of Faram," the voice chanted sadly, "why are you enraged?"
Auron stood in shock, "Who are you? Why am I here?"
The voice chuckled with tenderness "My son, it was time. We needed you, they did. Won't you join this world again? Won't you allow yourself to breathe with its pulse once more?"
Auron clenched his fists. He looked down at his feet. "Don't fight it, child. Everything has a purpose, and yours was not extinguished. See?" the watery hand moved and drops of water rose to form an image in the air: a palace, built on a mountain, and an army, sleeping in ivy tombs.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Go to the Albhed, talk to their leader. The path is marked, but it won't be an easy one. You, my son, will fight again. Don't try to run from it, it will be to no avail. Not even for you."
The voice dissolved in the air, and so did the water creature. Auron stood there for a few minutes, thinking about what he just saw. Here is the threat, and the plot; I knew it was not just a second chance they were giving me, whoever "they" are. I won't be their puppet!
He sat still for hours, thinking, and waiting.
But thirst and hunger and pain existed now, much to his surprise. He had to do something about that, at least.
Auron explored the cold cave. He was glad he had his red haori with him, even though his sword was missing. Since he was unarmed, he had to be stealthy and get out of there without being heard or seen by any fiend.
The place was infested with Malodorous Malboros. The grotesque beasts with countless tentacles and gaping maws seemed to be blind, though. The darkness of the antrum had turned them like that, or maybe it was a gift from the water-goddess. If that was the case, Auron didn't want it.
His gaze roamed the cave in search of a weapon of any kind. His trained eyes stopped on a rock stalactite on the ground. He crouched near it and, using his bare hands, detached it from the rock formation.
This will do for now. The man wielded his primitive sword and walked through the cave with confidence. He was hunting, now.
His prey showed up a few minutes later. A fat, gurgling Malboro stood in his way, its tentacles long and greyish. Auron ran towards the enemy. His moves were quick and almost noiseless, which gave him an advantage on the blind enemy. Its sword slashed across the body of the fiend, which emitted an acute, frightening cry. Its smell was intoxicating, and its open mouth started to release the fetid breath that many travelers feared.
Auron was lucky enough to dodge the foul cloud of dark poison and hit the monster again, this time in the neck. The fighter's arm stuck inside the thick grey skin, and his primitive weapon slashed its insides.
A gooey bloody liquid was spilled, and the fiend screamed in pain. Its enormous mouth moved frantically, trying to chop and eat whatever was around him, but Auron was fast. Razorblade teeth almost caught him, while they, the warrior and the monstrosity, performed a quick lethal dance. Auron missed fighting.
As morbid as it may sound, he really missed the adrenaline he felt facing danger, and the strength he had to summon to fight. Of course, he wished he had his sword, but even a stick would serve its purpose now. He wanted to slash, hit, crush, destroy, everything he was good at. He felt shame in that sometimes. Thinking of himself as a killing machine was an easy way out, but not quite fair.
The Malboro was livid with rage, its body convulsing in pain, moving fast in every direction, with its fat tentacles trying to crush his human body. A yellow bile juice was shot towards Auron and hit him in the face. He laughed manically feeling his face melt, the odor of burnt skin and flesh. A tentacle found him and wrapped quickly around his body.
Auron was lifted like a ragdoll, up to the semi-blinded eyes of the fiend. The Malboro smelled him slowly, then opened its stinking maw and gulped him down.
This is how I was supposed to die: fighting. A warrior dying fighting. Simplicity is the key to beauty. But I am human now. More human than I ever was. I am free, and I am gifted with youth once again. I feel a newborn power run through me; unaccepted, yes, but nonetheless strong. Will this gift be my downfall?
All I wished was to rest like I am now resting in this womb. No more miles to walk, please, mother, no more. No more smiling young faces looking up to me. No more pureness, and kindness, I can't take it. No more.
No more fighting.
No more pain.
Silence, and eternal quietness. My Calm.
No more love. Nothing. Sleeping in a womb made of memories; sometimes they lit up in pyreflies, reflecting faces of the people I used to love. My friends, my family, the strong men and women I sacrificed for; they were young, and beautiful and in love. Yuna, her sweetness. Tidus, my pride. Young, small, bubbly Rikku. Her eyes could see a million miles ahead of me. I see her reflected in my pyreflies; uncertain, scared, but strong.
In this womb of nothingness… sometimes I grasp thoughts. It's like the universe pops into existence every time I find my conscience.
And now… Now!
…I feel it. It's time to be born again. Accept my fate and shape it differently. Live for my own purpose. Am I able to do that?
… Interesting. Am I… scared? I will not be scared!
The Malboro's belly was slashed from the inside.
Yellow and green goo splashed all over the cave. In the distance, other fiends heard the atrocious scream of the beast butchered with no mercy. Auron emerged from the carcass, a war god, sticky hair, bloody hands, gaping mouth, burning eyes.
He was born again.