Yes! Finally finished! So much care and delicate allusions make up the quality of this chapter, and I wanted to make sure to include everything that deserved to be remembered (since reflections and themes are very important in this story, since it heavily relies on FFX + FFX-2 canon). Chapter 4 is actually 80% done, with a rough draft for Chapter 5 and 6 written out (excluding the first main fight scene; er, that's enough of spoilers out of me!)

Also, I've always wanted this kind of interlude in the aftermath of Vegnagun's defeat before we cut to Luca, and this chapter reflects my headcanon for it (and deepest, heartfelt wish that was never answered).

Sorrow, I hope you are reading this and finding inspiration. :3

Chapter Song: Feel So Close (Tonu Roostalu remix) ~ Artist: Calvin Harris

Main Song: He Films The Clouds Pt.2 ~ Artist: Maybeshewill

Chapter 3–Remembrance {II}

~Second Hour~

"Thank you."

'Why do his words… sound so familiar?'

And by the time Baralai departs with such bittersweet sorrow in his gait, Yuna reaches for cold air. From the foggy abyss, Braska emerges alongside his wife and Guardians.

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Yuna runs. She runs to close the distance, only for history to repeat itself. Reaching out for the ghost of a man she once called father, Yuna feels the familiar cold rush of pyreflies before the harsh impact of solid ground. She hears the echo of heartbreak in the soul fragments that cling to her own, sees the tail end of a lingering memory float before jade eyes. It ascends into the beautiful twilight – like that fateful night on the Fahrenheit.

Yuna knows miracles cannot revive the dead. The Fayth did not come two years ago after she saved the world the first time, did not come after the second time to bring her lover back to life. Yuna had to earn her happy ending, twice, without the people she loved most to stand by her side. This moral lesson emerges from the deep depths of her subconscious, in the form of pain. She picks up the pieces of her dignity, the precious infantile memories of her father, picks herself up on her feet and turns to face him. No amount of time or mental preparation can compete with the sudden swell of emotion.

"Father..."

"Yuna." He smiles, a smile so sad, so full of hope.

The same broken smile he wore years ago the day he said goodbye, the day he came back to visit, the following morning he left for Zanarkand, and the evening she saw him in the Farplane many years later. His smile hasn't changed. He hasn't changed.

"You are a full grown woman now. You look... so beautiful, like your mother." And the unspoken apology:

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there to see you grow."

Yuna smiles, conflicted. How long had she dreamt of hearing those same words from the first man most important to her? "Thank you, father. I have always doubted... whether or not your sacrifice was truly a waste."

"It was not." Braska walks to stand within reach, unable to embrace his adult child – not a child anymore, an adult, an adult now – in his moment of remorse, agony and eternal longing. "It wasn't a waste, Yuna. Never a waste. I partook of my pilgrimage knowing full well the injustice of my end, because I had hope. I hoped to give you time, and here you are with all the time in the world. I knew what life had in store for you. I knew, ever since Bahamut refused to tell me the truth."

"What do you mean...?" So many questions still lie unanswered – how much of the grand scheme the Fayth were able to manipulate, and for how long – but Braska puts a stop to that train of thought.

"It's all in the past now. What matters is you are alive in a new world without Sin, and I had died investing in that future. I couldn't be any more happier. Yuna, I would like you to meet someone." Yuna feels the tug of pyreflies surrounding her fingers, guiding her by the hand, taking her before the blonde woman who shares her face.

"Mother... Mother, it's really you." Yuna begins to cry, because she can't hold her, can't be held by her, can't remember the last time she felt proud to resemble her mother. Nobody for years would step up to account for her mother's existence before Uncle Cid came along. No one around to point out the traits she inherited, no one around to say 'oh, you have her eyes' or 'you have her smile,' let alone the classic 'you look like her, you know.' Spira chose to acknowledge Braska, and Braska only after the dubious fact he became High Summoner, and he managed to earn that title in death during a time when church and followers alike had forsaken him.

So many things Yuna lost along the way, so many people, friends and family – and she lost them to Spira, the people of Spira Yuna once claimed she loved and would lay down her life for as if to compensate for the short-lived love Yuna received from her own parents. Why does the irony continue to torture her, even after the worst has come to pass? She wishes she can stop crying now in front of all her companions, because she wanted to be strong, not weak.

"...'I don't like your plan. It sucks.' That's a good one." Yuna blushes, embarrassed by the heartfelt sound of her mother's laughter. Its wonderful cadence fills the hole in her heart, echoing within the guarded walls of hope. "You really do have your father's spirit. All goody-goody, and full of stubborn heart."

"I told ya little Yuna could pack some serious ass-whooping."

"Sir Jecht!" Yuna recognizes the bright orange and red sash that flares around his right leg, recognizes those endless scars of untold tales on his burly tan body. The black tattoo emblazoned on his muscular chest mirrors the Zanarkand Abes insignia Yuna wears between the open neckline of her halter-top – a memento of Tidus, his blitzball team and his father's. It reminds her of their final battle within Sin when she had to strike him down, singing the Hymn, praying, dancing to his demise, watching him kill her Aeons and incapacitate her friends until he summoned a broadsword of demonic proportions from his gargantuan chest as if the insignia itself had been the contract. She will forever associate that symbol with an abusive father whose own son hates him, because in her broken dreams she never stops dancing as they die, loving each other, fading away together – and she remains standing on the deck of an airship.

These are the thoughts, memories and emotions that Yuna has in the single moment it took to comprehend Jecht's presence. "For the longest time, I... I've been wanting to tell you that... I'm truly sorry." Yuna bows low, biting back the tears. "I never wanted to fight you. I-I never intended to hurt you. If I had known sooner, maybe..." Yuna senses a chill squeeze her shoulder, and knows his hand rests there trying to convey reassurance.

"Oh, don't be apologizing for that!" he says, awkward at the receiving end of her massive apology. "You did what you had to do, right? No hard feelings." Yuna straightens herself to see Jecht scratching the back of his head, amused; now she understands where Tidus got that nervous habit from. There hiding in Jecht's shadow, his wife steps forward to greet her with a timid smile.

"Hello, Yuna. Jecht told me much about you. Thank you for taking care of my son."

Yuna remembers seeing her once, the image of a plainspoken and pretty woman. The same woman who, on all accounts, ignored her child to the point of neglect for her husband's attention. Someone who wallowed in depression after the mysterious disappearance of her spouse, and later took her own life. Yuna frowns, feeling a shiver deep in her bones.

"The old lady next door told me that when a lovebird dies, the one left behind... it just gives up on living so it can join its mate. It was just like that."

Tidus had told her that sad story in this very realm, after he conjured the unconscious image of his mother in a fit of resentment, and this startling parallel hit too close for comfort. Hadn't Yuna also done the same, anguishing for more than two years and considering the value of her own life without her true love?

'Do I really want to continue living like that? Delirious with unfulfilled hope?'

"He was someone very precious to me, and I... I cherished him as much as I could even after the end." Yuna bows again to obscure the incoming tears. Maybe it would be for everyone's best interest, and of course her own, to put her long-lasting love and grief to rest. "Thank you for bringing him into my life. Without a mother, he wouldn't have been able to live or learn to love." The absence of blame and pity made the melancholic woman smile in gratitude.

"Yuna." For some reason, she had imagined Auron to look different – younger, without the telltale sunglasses, grey streaks gone and the left arm no longer slung in the obi of his coat, like the time of his initial death in the beginning of Braska's Calm. She expected him to have reverted his physical appearance once he reunited with Jecht and Braska, a soul stuck at the age of twenty-five. And yet, Auron looks the way he always did to her, wise, forlorn, and strong – a father figure. He would walk ahead or stay by her side, back so broad she always wanted to lean on it, knowing she felt safe. Yuna will never forget the look of pride on his grim face as she performed the Sending for him on the eve of Yevon's ultimate defeat. That night, she gave more goodbyes than smiles.

"It made me proud to see you fight out there."

"Thank you, Sir Auron. Your words... and of course everyone else's, were a huge encouragement to me. I don't think I would have been able to push through without your support. Your voices reminded me of the sacrifices you all made to ensure my success."

"Searching the past to find the future... You know better than anyone, I believe, the futility behind such a pilgrimage. Hold your head high, and look towards the future. The past has nothing left to offer you."

"Kimahri... said the same thing. And Wakka, too, in their own ways. Everyone has been able to move on. Even Lulu, and Uncle Cid... pretty much everyone I know. I'm the only one..." And then it hits her: 'I am no different from Shuyin.'

She spent two years doing what Shuyin had done in a thousand: regret.

Paine became a sphere hunter for the same reason Yuna did, to find answers while clinging to a broken dream of an airship, a four man team, and their laughing cheerful faces on the deck of SS Winno. Baralai's face, silence broken by open smiles and gut-busting laughter. His vengeful heart trapped in the past, like his happiness in the collective film of sphere waves. Hell bent on revenge, he turned to Seymour after he had lost everything, because he had no one else. Yuna had her friends, her Guardians, but he had no one he could trust. She and Baralai were the only ones who couldn't move on, except he managed to follow and lead the world at large in Bevelle while Yuna wasted away at the beach of her childhood home. Every day looking at the ocean, waiting for a sign...

"Yuna?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. My, ah, mind drifted..."

Yuna comes to a heart-pounding epiphany. 'This has to stop.'

"Allow me to take a look into his psyche."

"You can do that?"

"Why, yes. Summoners are taught the ability to dreamwalk following their apprenticeship."

"I've never heard of this. What, you can just 'walk' into someone's mind? Weird stuff."

"It sounds dangerous. Think of the secrets you'll discover about a person."

"It is dangerous, in theory, since it's very difficult to open your mind to another, let alone share mindscapes. We learn to dreamwalk in order to understand the world around us, to heal those unable to recover by physical means alone. Those who show the proficiency to dreamwalk are the priests and priestesses tasked with treating those infected by Sin's toxin."

"Do you know how to do this, Yunie?"

"W-Well... I do, actually... only once have I done it outside of practice." Thank goodness Rikku allows the matter to rest, probably out of assumption Yuna did so during her pilgrimage.

"I will return with your friend. Pray for my success."

Baralai shoots out of slumber, startled.

Now the time has come for him to make his move, yet why does he hesitate?

He senses someone's eyes on him, though he dismisses this feeling as one of paranoia. It became an unlikely ally during his days on the desert, serving him well thus far. Though he wonders how long can he continue this charade without upsetting the whims of Lady Luck. Painstaking effort extracts the blanket he shares with the others. Gippal snores and moves around a lot, unlike Paine's convincing impression of a log and Nooj who... loves playing dead. Baralai smiles, stifling his laugh. 'But now's not the time to get sentimental. I need to focus.'

Crawling over to his pile of clothes, Baralai slips on his pants, before sliding his feet inch by inch into the boots. Once he finishes tying the ribbons of his trousers around them, he dons his green vestment, breathing to control his nerves. His razor rod lies propped on the sand near him and he moves to retrieve it; after a moment of consideration, Baralai decides to leave his gun behind. He doesn't want to risk detection, even if it may cost him his life against fiends.

He had come this far without thinking twice that he never really thought about failure until now. The possibilities are endless and frightening, and he foregoes the rush to depart. Baralai shifts to sit down, clutching his staff close for some semblance of physical comfort. For the past week, he had studied his team's sleeping patterns; how Nooj sleeps like a warrior, allowing for the slightest disturbance to awaken him. Gippal takes the longest to fall asleep, probably out of discomfort to be within proximity of Spirans, and Baralai always relies on his nervous energy to exhaust him before he begins to snore. Paine's the toughest to gauge for her quiet breathing. It took days for him to determine the difference between calm and unconscious with her; unless lying next to Nooj, her thoughts won't run her into the night.

During the few hours he sacrificed each night to observe his surroundings, his mind would multitask between his fellow candidates and the patrolmen outside. They tend to dowse the torches once everyone accounted for retired early, in order to avoid the risk of attracting nocturnal fiends. Those drafted for night watch were instructed to defend the perimeter at four designated points in pairs, much more concerned about the monsters who prowl past midnight than misconduct among recruits. If Baralai decides to break for the north, he would only have to contend with two people. Sleep spells will do the trick, but he must keep in mind the dosage of mana necessary to knock them out longer.

Sudden jerk of movement startles Baralai out of his thoughts. Gippal mumbles and smacks his lips, rolling over to fling his legs out, and Paine stirs. He sighs in relief when neither of them rise. Baralai questions why he accepted this suicide mission in the first place. There are others more suitable for this field, people much more capable and professional than himself, a mere amateur in comparison. Baralai never fancied himself a spy before, and he wonders if he can even pull this off. He had always wondered why...

Baralai takes a deep breath, banishing the thought. Too late to retreat now when he already dug his own grave. He made sure to claim the far end closest to the opening of the tent after three nights worth of roshambo, somehow managing to eliminate any form of suspicion. Yet when the time has come to prove himself, the insinuations of every sound surrounding him tests his patience. Even his own pronounced breathing threatens to incriminate him.

Baralai watches his team rest in makeshift cots that resemble the symbol for river, counting himself absent from the picture-perfect misfit family willing to share the same space. This sense of loneliness and belonging reminds him of the childhood memory he dreamt upon dozing. It must be a sign, but of what? Baralai reaches over towards his traveler's pack, sifting through the contents until he unearths sentimental value. It somehow gives him strength, stroking the foreign lines of a phonetic language. Baralai stores the tablet inside his robe and stands, grabbing the binoculars, too, which now hang like a noose around his sweaty and concealed neck.

Baralai pulls the tent flap open a crack and slips through without looking back, blessing the night for casting invisibility on his rebellion. Those on watch are faced away, and unaware of his silent approach. Sneaking within range, Baralai licks his lips and mouths the spell, smiling when he sees them slump forward with their heads hanging down.

He sprints for the dunes, hoping to reach the hill in time before someone sees him. Hustling to climb the semi-steep incline, Baralai jumps over the peak, body slamming the sand only to roll down in the most undignified manner possible. Once at the base, he sits upright and huddles to his knees, waiting for his heartbeat to regulate and breathing to normalize before standing. He hoists the binoculars at eye level and scans the kilometers ahead, counting the dark spots that move in the distance. Fiends roam more in the desert when the sun doesn't exist as their enemy, but at least he won't have to contend with the almighty Zus. Avian fiends don't function well due to their poor night vision, but in case he ever had to face them, the most effective way would be to ground one using gravity and behead it before it can take flight again.

The presence of machina units, however, confuse and concern him the most, but are easy to dispatch with Thundara spells. Machina, though? Way out here in the middle of nowhere? Were they designed by the Bevellian army as part of their training? Gippal didn't question it, yet had no problem pulling them apart with his clever thieving hands. Baralai's basic knowledge of machina dictates they will not last long operating on their own in the elements, unless are kept operational under constant maintenance...

And only one group comes to mind. Baralai lowers his binoculars, swallowing his dread. For the past week, he recalls how Maester Kinoc seemed intent on shepherding everyone in this general direction, marching further and further into the heart of the desert. What if the Maester has been using this militaristic stint as a veil for his true motive? Whatever Kinoc hopes to find, Baralai must find it first.

Edited as of November 08, 2018.