Disclaimer: Square owns FFX, and I don't.
Warnings: Just assume there are major spoilers for everything.

Notes: I've heard that in Japanese legend, fireflies are the souls of the dead. (Wonder where 'pyrefly' came from. ^^;) And... obviously, this is unfinished - the tip of an iceberg. It's impossible to tell if the story is going to be any good. I'm not sure if starting it this way is wise, and I'm afraid that trying to simplify my writing has made this too abrupt. Criticism and feedback would be welcome.


'/' is for emphasis.

'//' is for thoughts and flashbacks. There is one instance where I use it to mark a recording.



The hum of machina was the first thing to penetrate the watery abyss of Sin. A quiet whirr pulsed in the air with the regularity of a heartbeat, felt thorugh the cold surface beneath his cheek and the soft breeze in his hair. It smelled of salt - an ocean was near, though of course there weren't many places in Spira that were not within reasonable distance of the coasts. And, Yevon take him, it was still /freezing cold/.

//Braska left me on the slopes of Mount Gagazet.//

That was the first coherant thought to pierce his brain, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth that was not at all due to his watery imprisonment.

//But there /is/ no water.//

A mahogony eye cracked open. Clear air greeted him, and a crisp indigo sky, awash with light from below. A guard rail rose to block his view, cut with geometric shapes that reminded him of the Highbridge in Bevelle. It glimmered around the edges like a dream, but as his eye focused he realized the source of the light was beyond the barrier. He had awakened on a machina bridge in the sky, where not even the constellations were present to tell him where he was.

Auron's limbs twitched into action, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. It was all metallic, everything, glowing with that ethereal light. Sin had dropped him into a machina paradise. Perhaps... the Al Bhed home? Another glance at his surroundings put that idea to rest; advertisements were embedded into the metal above the doorway at the end, but they resembled no language he knew.

It was with great effort that the guardian sat up, shaking his head once to clear it of sleep. His hair had come loose in the tumult of Sin's arrival, and his bracer was lost, probably forever. His sword glinted a few feet away, he noted with relief, but none of his other belongings had survived the journey. Perhaps he was lucky to retain that much, but his instincts were not that easily cowed. He was an easy target.

That spurred him into action, and he levered himself off the floor with a grunt and a few uneasy cracks in his knees. He felt as if he'd aged a thousand years since he closed his eyes, and wondered if he was a victim of Sin's toxin after all, and this strange metallic island he'd awakened on was just a fever dream inspired by Jecht's ramblings about the sleepless city of Zanarkand. It held its own strange beauty, certainly, even if it wasn't real.

//Zanarkand.// Sin. He stumbled to the rail and leaned onto the edge, eye wide in wonder, the pain of the other fading away.

What had been a blur of white and yellow before resolved itself into a wonderland of multi-colored lights, rising to touch the sky. There was no need of stars. The velvet sky gave way to a city he'd never dreamed could exist, with structures so impossibly high he felt positive they would topple to the ground at any moment. It stretched to the end of the earth, and to his side an ocean glimmered, as alive as the city. People small as ants moved between the buildings and at the edge of the water, barely visible. The hum of the city was not just the machina - it was their voices and footsteps that gave everything life.

A pang of recognition clutched at Auron's throat. Looking over the wonderful picture below him, he saw traces of the ruins there. Jecht had kept his promise, and found a way. Zanarkand, the city of legend, had opened up and taken him.

He squeezed his eye shut. It was just a dream.

But he could see this city a thousand years in the future, see himself walking along the causeway below him. An Auron that trailed at the back of the summoner he failed to save, beside the man who lived, yet was not really alive. Another dream. He wondered if that was just a warped illusion rooted in the toxin, and prayed that it be so.

The breeze stopped, and time seemed to stand still. He reached down and fumbled for his sword.

It was time to descend into his dream.


*


The way down was not far. Auron had been half afraid even the stairs would be mechanized, but to his relief they were only molded, unmoving metal. He wasn't /afraid/ of machina, quite, but he avoided them like any self-respecting Yevonite would, and Braska's gentle tutelage in the use of the simpler devices had only intensified his dislike of them. It was a lack of understanding - he could admit it. But now it might become a hinderance, and he regretted his stubborn attitude.

Braska tried so hard - Auron's throat clenched just remembering. There were so many things he should have done while the summoner was still alive, so many times when he should have been a little milder in his protests, or more understanding of his lord's will. He had stubbornly refused to enjoy their time together.

//Did that hurt you, my lord?// Auron stopped on the bottom step, watching the street he'd come upon as if he thought he would see the ghost he was speaking to. //I'm sorry.//

The cut over his right eye was swelling. It hadn't healed as quickly as his other wounds, if those had healed at all and not just hidden themselves for the duration of his stay in this place. He supposed it might be symbolic, but the citizens passing by didn't seem to think so; they shied away, or disgusted. A child across the street stared unabashedly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

//So I'm a monster now, am I?// There was a certain appeal to the idea.

There weren't many people out. Auron glanced back and forth, up and down, eyes lingering on nothing too long. He was grateful for the lack of crowds, and cared nothing for /why/ there were so few citizens about. With his vision impaired it was hard to catch everything as he walked, and he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of staying still, and making an easy target of himself.

He couldn't dwell on those thoughts long. Everything was so... beautiful. Everywhere he looked, there was something new to see: advertisements made of light and hanging in thin air, sphere screens clearer and bigger than the best in Luca. They were running a blitz game, and Auron allowed himself to pause and watch for a short stretch. Their technique was odd... not that he'd ever been a fan of the game. But blitzball was familiar, something he /knew/. It was something in this wonderland of mechanics that he could take some slight comfort in.

Would there be any other bridges between the two worlds? He gathered there would be no fayth or summoners - no reason for Sin to dream of what caused its own downfall. But the thought of other similarities was intriguing.

//"/Another/ attempt at the Jecht Shot! I can't believe it!"//

//"Well Jack, some of us have to learn the hard way. He's got a head start!"//

Auron snorted and moved on. The nature of blitz commentary certainly hadn't changed at all.

The street ended with a view of the ocean, framed by an arching bridge of water. It took his breath away - the mercury surface didn't look /real/ to him. He tried to remind himself that it was just a dream, but Zanarkand had existed, once upon a time. To think that all of these wonders had been lost for so long...

//"Imagine what this place must have looked like, Auron!" Braska's voice was soft with awe, his face turned up to the sky. "Even in ruins, it is a sight to behold..." He turned to Jecht. "I wish I could see this as you do."//

Had Jecht walked into Zanarkand with them and felt the same stab of fear Auron felt now? What could it have been like, to see the ruins of this place and still remember them as a living city? If he walked into Bevelle and found it devastated and empty, and Kinoc, Mika, the healers and monks, all gone... He truly had been too hard on Jecht. Braska was right - he was always right, in matters of the heart. Why was it that he only understood this /now/, when it was too /late/?

Auron's hand went again to his eye, tracing over the split in his skin with bare fingers. It was sticky with blood and stung like a thousand needles, and it throbbed more sharply whenever he touched it. He deserved what he'd gotten, perhaps, for charging so foolishly into that battle. The wound and the scar he knew it would leave would serve as a reminder of what happened when he let his emotions overtake him. To hell with psychology - the feelings within should /stay/ there.

He rested his sword against the rail and leaned hard against the wall, following the play of lights on the surface of the water. It was a black abyss, so gentle and quiet he could hardly believe this was the same water that existed in Spira. Everything seemed to be tinted with blood there, as if the dead were leaving their mark even after they were sent to the Farplane - not like this place. If only Braska could see it with him - a world without Sin, where everything was quiet and peaceful. It was his dream. /Their/ dream.

His ears caught the clip of footsteps and he turned away from his thoughts, happy for a distraction even if it meant dealing with another person.

Silvery hair - that was the first impression that met him. It was pulled back, but some strands roamed free on the breeze like threads of an azure sky. A long black coat drifted with every step. One glance, and Auron's mind calculated that this was no threat; the figure was almost slender enough to be feminine - there was no strength there.

He felt his stomach plummet to the floor, and stared at the newcomer without a thought for being rude.

//A cruel joke, Jecht.//

"I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?" It was a voice that made Auron's heart ache. The newcomer stopped a few feet away, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to rush over and throw his arms around that frail body and never let go. "Braska." His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Excuse me?" The man took a hesitant step closer, and added apologetically, "I've just come from the stadium. It's always hard to hear after that."

This was a face Auron hadn't dared hope he would ever see again, more alive than he was. The irony of it would make for a good laugh, someday. "You are not disturbing me," he managed hoarsely. The stadium - Jecht's boy... perhaps he would be near there.

"You look unwell..." Concern seemed to override any caution the man may have had. He closed the distance between them and pierced Auron with his sea-blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Fine... fine." He leaned against the railing and forced himself to look at the long drop to the water. Years of habit overrode his shock - it was rude to stare, and he must look away.

The other hesitated, and seemed on the verge of reaching out to touch him. "Are you sure?"

Braska had always seen right through him. Auron was afraid to speak, sure that this strange reflection would know everything before the first word was uttered. It was important there be no misunderstandings - no matter how much he looked like Braska, this /wasn't/ the same person.

His visitor had had enough. "Come along." Auron tensed as the man grasped his arm to pull him away from the railing, but he complied. "Do you think you can make it as far as the Oceanic?"

He had no idea what the 'Oceanic' was, but he nodded to reassure the other and reached to pick up his sword. For the first time in years, he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry it. Leaving it behind was out of the question, however - he would have to manage.

"What is your name, stranger?"

The word stung. "Auron."

"Pleased to meet you, Auron. I'm sorry our introduction comes under such dire circumstance." The man's smile was slight but kind. "I am Braska."

Auron's heart skipped another beat. But... he already knew that.


***