Chapter Six:
Zanarkand stretched out before them, a pile of indistinct gray rubble and fluttering pyreflies in the early dusk. Braska had them camp on the edge of the city, still in the foothills of Mt. Gagazet, and watched with growing apprehension as the pyreflies intensified with the growing darkness.
"The fiends will be thick here," he murmured as Auron struck a tent-spike. He looked up at the Summoner, and nodded a little. Jecht's words from early rang in his ears, heavy and poignant as he watched Braska's effortless, unconscious grace as he built a fire.
He looked up suddenly and asked Auron, "Do you know where Jecht has gotten off to?"
"No," he admitted, standing. "Shall I go look for him?"
"Please. I don't want anybody walking alone around here." He looked out over the rubble again, and shivered violently, despite the warm early-autumn air and his thick robes. Auron struck the last spike, stood and brushed his hands off as he walked away.
He paused just on the edge of camp, nearly returned to voice his mind, and then kept walking, looking around in the half-dark for an indistinct form that looked more human than fiend.
The setting sun burst through the sparse cloud-cover on the distant horizon, and shone through the taller pillars of crumbling structures. Auron stood on a high precipice over the valley that housed holy Zanarkand, and looked out over the decimated city.
He startled when warm arms wrapped around his waist, and then relaxed into Jecht's heavy, strong warmth. Jecht raised one arm, and gestured towards a far distant shore.
"That's where the houseboat is—was. There's a dock down there, and I taught Tidus to play Blitzball there." The outstretched finger shifted to the north a bit more. "The Blitz stadium's there. It was on an island; you had to ferry out to it to avoid the crowds on the bridge."
"It must have been beautiful," Auron murmured, trying to imagine what these things would look like. He saw only the indistinct rubble in the growing dark.
"My wife, she hated the lights of the city, but we both loved the city itself. We used to come up near here and sit and just watch the city. Before Tidus was born." Jecht's arm slowly retracted from its remaining gesture, and slunk back around Auron's waist.
"Jecht," Auron murmured towards Zanarkand; the man gave an indistinct affirmative to keep talking. "About . . . what you said on the slopes."
"Yeah, sorry about that." He nuzzled the back of Auron's neck, a hand darting up and pulling at his hair tie absently. His hair tumbled loose in the breeze, and Jecht combed his fingers through it. "I know it ain't my business whether you tell him or not. Just sucks to see you beatin' yourself up over it."
"Uh . . . yes." He silenced his doubts and original question, and leaned back into Jecht's now comfortably familiar warmth.
They were silent, watching the darkness spread over Zanarkand and the stars begin to peak out into the inky sky. The pyreflies fluttered around, gravitating to them mindlessly and swirling languidly between their legs and around their bodies before flashing away into the night like shooting stars. Auron spoke quietly as he felt his eyes droop.
"Braska will be worried about us if we don't get back soon."
"Just a couple more minutes."
They stood there. There were other campfires sparkling in the distance of Zanarkand—other Summoners who thought they could live long enough to see Zanarkand and come back from it alive.
"I want . . ." Jecht murmured.
Auron turned in his arms, wrapped his own around Jecht's shoulders and looked up at him. Jecht just kept his eyes darting over the ruins of what had once—and perhaps would always be—his home.
He didn't finish his thought, but started humming the Hymn of the Fayth softly. Auron quietly chuckled, and leaned his head against Jecht's shoulder. His humming reverberated against Auron's ear; he joined his quiet hum with the actual words of the hymn, a quiet whisper of air along Jecht's collarbone.
"I'll miss ya, Auron," Jecht murmured as he finally conceded to walking slowly back to their camp. His hand slid into Auron's, their fingers lacing, and smiled a little in the darkness.
"I'll . . . miss you too, Jecht." The light of their fire curled around the corner of the path. Jecht pulled them to a halt, and stood staring at the flickering light for a moment. Auron tensed a little, suddenly worried. "Jecht?"
"You . . . should tell him, Auron. If you really love him, you should tell him before we get to the end of this."
Auron stared at Jecht for a moment, and smiled softly. He leaned forward, his arms around Jecht's neck, and quietly murmured, "Take you own advice, fool."
And with that, he dropped from Jecht's embrace, and strode around the corner to their camp, settling into the welcome ring of light from their fire. Jecht wasn't that far behind. Braska smiled gently at them both, and handed them a meager meal.
The eerie ghosts of the past made Auron's skin crawl as they moved through the Zanarkand Ruins, towards the stadium Jecht had spoken so affectionately of the night before. Perfectly oblivious to their wayward audience, they would rush on their repetitive paths, occasionally fluttering right through one of them.
Auron seemed to draw that the most. The memories felt sticky and warm, like the water at Lake Macalania, clinging to his skin and smothering him a little with worry and dread left over from years and years earlier.
He wondered if they would show up to other generations of Summoners and their Guardians, if they didn't succeed in bringing the Eternal Calm.
The decimated dome loomed overhead, all slanted rock pillars and dark corners, the hiss of fiends loud and echoing. Jecht led them through most of the rubble, seeming to know just where they needed to be—though he admitted to never knowing that there was a temple anywhere in Zanarkand. Auron wasn't all that surprised with the admission.
"Hey Braska," Jecht said as they picked their way carefully through the rubble. "You don't have to do this."
"Thank you for your concern." Braska's voice actually shook a little. Auron watched his back, frowning a little. Jecht shrugged, and stretched absently.
"Fine. I've said my piece."
"Well I haven't," Auron bit. He grabbed Braska's shoulder, and turned him almost roughly. His fingers tightened in his robes, and he met his stunned blue eyes evenly. "Lord Braska, let us go back. I don't want to see you . . . die."
"You knew this was to happen, my friend." He picked Auron's hands off his shoulder, and held them gently.
"Yes, but I . . ." Auron shook his head, blinking back his angry, frustrated tears. "I cannot accept it!"
Braska laughed lightly, a strained noise that hurt more than the thought of Braska's impending death. "Auron," he murmured, lifting a hand to his young Guardian's cheek, "I am honored you care for me so. But I have come to kill grief itself. I will defeat Sin, and lift the veil of sorrow covering Spira." A tear treked unnoticed down Auron's cheek, hidden in the darkness. "Please understand, Auron."
He stepped back, and moved along. Jecht moved passed Auron slowly, leaving him to stand in stunned and petrified silence for several long moments, before he jogged to catch up.
There was no grand entrance into the Temple of Zanarkand. Rubble littered the walkway and stairs up to the door that they all knew led to their inevitable end. Auron's chest felt tighter with every step they mounted. They loitered at the top landing silently.
"Are the Trials ahead?" Jecht asked unnecessarily.
"Probably," Braska quietly replied. Jecht groaned, and cradled the back of his head as he looked at the broken ceiling.
"Here too, huh? Gimme a break." He sighed. "I was expecting, you know, parades and . . . fireworks."
"You can ask for them," Braska whispered, his hand on the door to the Cloister of Trials, "after I defeat Sin."
The cloister seemed particularly grueling, compared to any other they had done to that point. Auron, favoring his left arm a little, followed Jecht and Braska from the cloister and onto the lift, which brought them to another door.
This opened to a wide antechamber much like any other Temple, and the stairs that would ascend to the Chamber of the Fayth. They looked around slowly. Here, there were no ghost-like memories, no scant touch of humanity or warmth left. All that remained were scars a thousand years old and a scattering of plaster dust from the continued crumbling of the ruins.
The doors of the upper chamber opened, and they started, looking up the stairs. Braska gasped, taking a shuffling step forward. Auron stared with wide, unbelieving eyes. Jecht simply stared, his eyes almost appraising of the scantily clad woman slowly descending the stairs.
"Lady Yunalesca . . . ?"
The Lady of Zanarkand had left them to loiter in silence as they deduced their sensible path. Auron snapped, after the silence dragged on for what felt like hours, and bit out, "It's not too late! Let us turn back!"
"If I turn back, who will defeat Sin?" Braska asked, looking over at Auron seriously. "Would you have some other Summoner and his Guardians go through this?"
"But . . ." Auron shook his head desperately. His voice was caught around the tightness in his chest. He gritted out, "My lord, there must be another way!"
"This's the only way we got now!" Jecht interrupted, shaking his head firmly. He pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest with a firm finality. "Fine. Make me the fayth."
Auron hissed in a breath, staring at Jecht incredulously. Braska raised a brow slowly. Jecht simply shrugged, and held his hands up defensively.
"I been doin' some thinkin'. My dream's back in the other Zanarkand." He was quiet a moment, before whispering, "I wanted to make that runt into a star blitz player, show him the view from the top, ya know? But now I know there's no way home for me. I'm never gonna see him again. My dream's never gonna come true.
"So make me the fayth." He held up one firmly clenched fist, grinning a little. "I'll fight Sin with you, Braska. Then maybe my life will have meaning, ya know."
Auron shook his head vehemently, saying, "Don't do this Jecht! If you live . . . there may be another way. We'll think of something, I know!"
Jecht smiled softly, and it took Auron a moment to realize he had said 'we'. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek when Jecht shook his head.
"Believe me, I thought this through. Besides . . ." He stretched a little, laughing under his breath. "I ain't gettin' any younger, so I might as well make myself useful."
"Jecht," Braska murmured, stepping up to his Guardian.
He scowled a little. "What? You gonna try and stop me too?"
"Sorry," Braska said, then shook his head a little.. He touched Jecht's shoulder gently. "I mean . . . thank you."
Jecht nodded, and turned to start walking up the stairs, Braska not far behind. He stopped, and turned at the first step, pointing a finger aggressively at Auron.
"Braska still has to fight Sin, Auron. Guard him well. Make sure he gets there." He sighed, and dropped his hand, looking at Braska. "Well, lets go."
They began up the stairs. Auron growled, and started after them. "Lord Braska! Jecht!"
"What do you want now?" Jecht demanded without turning back to look at him.
Auron clenched his fists tightly, and shook his head. He spoke softly, but his voice reverberated tinnily through the entire chamber. "Sin always comes back. It comes back after the Calm every time!" He looked up at them, and roared, "The cycle will continue and your deaths will mean nothing!"
Braska looked back at him, and smiled softly. "But there's always a chance it won't come back this time. It's worth trying."
Jecht nodded in agreement, and gave Auron a thumbs-up. "I understand what you're sayin', Auron." He grinned. "I'll find a way to break the cycle."
"You have a plan?" Auron asked softly. Jecht just kept smiling.
"Jecht?" Braska asked, touching his arm gently.
"Trust me, I'll think of something."
Braska mounted the stairs first, and slipped soundlessly into the chamber of the Fayth. Jecht stopped and asked quietly, "Can I ask you one last favor?" He looked over his shoulder at Auron, and then shook his head. "Uh . . . nah. Never mind."
"Out with it!" Auron snapped, taking a step towards the stairs. Jecht turned all the way around, crossing his arms as he stepped down the stairs and slowly approached.
"Okay. Listen close: Take care of my son." Auron cocked a brow. Jecht shrugged a little, and kept going. "My son, in Zanarkand. He's such a crybaby. He needs someone there to hold his hand, see? Take care of him, will you?"
Auron snapped with a vindictive anger, "But how am I supposed to get to Zanarkand?"
Jecht smiled a little, and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked away for a moment, before he said, "Hey, you said it yourself! There must be a way to get there, right? You'll find it."
For a long moment after that, they stared at each other. Auron finally threw up his arms and grumbled regrettably, "Alright, I will. I give you my word. I'll take care of your son." He swallowed thickly and continued, "I'll guard him with my life."
"Thanks, Auron." Jecht hesitated a moment, before grabbing the younger man and hugging him tightly. Auron blinked at the warm, tan shoulder at his eyelevel, and shook like a blown leaf as Jecht stepped back and held him at arms length. He smiled, and said, "You were always such a stiff, but that's what I liked about you."
He turned then, hurrying up the stairs and into the Chamber of the Fayth. As the door shut with a shattering finality, Auron sank to his knees, and sobbed restlessly, one hand to his eyes and the other gripping his knee tightly.