Trust was the key to battling alongside others. When one took up the sword and allowed others to join his side, he would have to learn to accept their help, understand their movements, and trust in their instincts and abilities as well as his own. It had been difficult, many years ago, for Auron to find that trust with most people – especially those he barely knew. Even harder had been forming the bonds with those he actively disliked. However, wise with experience and age, the Guardian could typically immediately tell the type of person he could easily trust, and those he couldn’t.

Setro, he knew, was a man to be trusted. Beyond that, he was a man who could be relied upon.

The weight of the fiend’s hand pushed heavily against Auron’s sword, the fingers threatening to uncurl and grasp the interloper. With each passing, quick beat of his heart, the Guardian faced an inevitable, incoming attack that would certainly cause his body hefty damage. Behind him, however, came the sound of shifting armor, and a glint of movement in the reflection of his blade.

Blue and white steel dropped quickly from the sky, and the push of the fiend’s hand became suddenly absent as the still air was disturbed with a terrible, agonizing scream. Auron took one step back, followed by another as he drew his sword back over his shoulder, allowing his muscles to loosen themselves in preparation for his next move. Before him, Setro had pinned the wrist of the creature into the ground, rendering its hand useless. Despite the fiend’s attempts to yank the appendage back through the portal, it accomplished nothing but further pain and blood upon the grass.

Auron had only a moment to take a deep breath, rocking his boots forward into the dirt as he threw himself forward while the djinn finally revealed itself through its portal. It was a mighty creature, hefty in size and shape – humanoid in appearance save for the horrifying, pained snarl on its face. Though it moved quickly through its portal, a second arm and hand appearing to swat away the warrior that had pinned the first, Auron was faster. With his own warrior’s cry, he took the handle of his blade with both hands and heavily brought it down upon the djinn’s shoulder.

Skin and muscle gave way to sharp steel as the creature’s shrieks turned from angry to desperate. Auron gave the fiend no quarter, hefting his sword from its body to strike it once more, again letting the mighty blade fall with incredible force where the monster’s neck met its shoulder. Had the creature attempted a swing at him from his blind spot? Perhaps, but he could trust that such a strike had been effectively dealt with. The djinn’s terrible cries all blended together in one haunting, horrible medley as it suffered its agonizing defeat – Auron could recall no sound as awful that left his ears ringing.

There was no need to worry about the state of his companion. The will to fight was leaving the creature as quickly as the blood that flowed from its horrific wounds. Auron grunted as he withdrew his sword from the abused flesh and bone of the monster, moving back as he put distance between himself and the dying djinn. The portal it had come through cracked and faded away in wisps of smoke, revealing the part of its body that hadn’t yet fully come through.

Though the monster was breathing its last before him, Auron still kept his guard raised as his eye found his fellow warrior, “You’re alright?”

It was a loaded question, of course. One could hardly be fine when witnessing the death of a companion – real or not.

Auron simply turned his gaze away from the warrior as the man assured him that he was, indeed, alright. The Guardian hummed a short, thoughtful noise at the thanks, clearly brushing it off. Instead, he took the moment to give his blade one last powerful swing, not at the dying creature, but into the air above it to rid the steel of as much blood and viscera as possible. It would need to be thoroughly cleaned later, but that was something he could consider after freeing himself from this forest of magic and terrors.

The djinn let loose a series of dying cries, choking on its own blood, the red flowing freely from its gaping and gasping maw. Auron glanced back to the fiend as he shouldered his blade, blinking slowly as he watched the life finally fade from the monster’s eyes. Though he’d cut down his fair share of monsters at this point, the Guardian couldn’t help but still find it strange that the corpses did not begin to fade into pyreflies after death. Instead, the beast would sit there and rot, its body to be claimed by other creatures, by grass and earth, in a circle of life that he was unaccustomed to.

To Auron, the djinn had been nothing more than another near-mindless fiend. With its defeat, hopefully some peace would return to the dreadful forest. Yet, with the experiences he’d already had there, he couldn’t say it would likely change the landscape too terribly much.

Auron was about to turn on his heel and take his leave – his duty with Setro complete – when a new, soft voice interrupted the calm. Still on edge, the Guardian tightened his grip on his sword, eye searching about to find the source of the voice. It couldn’t be another illusion, not with the creature capable of such very clearly cut down. No, it came from somewhere beyond the creature. Auron watched, gritting his teeth, as two puffs of red appeared.

Righteous fury quickly melted away to … confusion. Auron raised a scarred eyebrow as the two beings floated closer, bobbing in the air as their little wings carried them along. They were … moogles? Had he been a younger man who had seen much less of the world, Auron might have let his jaw go slack in awe. Moogles did not truly exist on Spira – at least, not anymore. Whether they were extinct or simply something that had been made up, he couldn’t be for sure. However, the fact remained – the only moogle the man had ever seen had been a stuffed one capable of being animated by the magic of a mage.

Auron adjusted his collar with his left hand, his blade still resting on his right shoulder as he listened to the moogles speak. He couldn’t parse out whether the strange creatures were tricksters or not, their faces not betraying much emotion. The Guardian glanced to Setro as he suggested taking up the creatures on their offer for the moment, unable to fully clear the mired confusion in his brows.

“ … Alright,” he agreed, his tone low as he switched his gaze back to the small, flying creatures, “Perhaps they’ll offer us a quicker escape from these woods.”

With his sword still propped up on his shoulder, Auron moved onward, passing the corpse of the fallen djinn as he followed the two moogles. If all went well, they would not be lured into yet another trap.

The silence that sank in around them as he and the warrior followed the floating creatures gave Auron some time to relax and turn his thoughts inward. The adrenaline that had previously burned through his muscles gave way to a comfortable, familiar buzz – not quite dissipated, but no longer keeping his instincts on a hair trigger. He watched the moogles with a wary eye, however, curious about how they came to be in this world. He had met humans that were native to this land, and so perhaps these creatures were as well, rather than guests such as he and Setro.

It didn’t seem possible that their wings could carry their weight, but well, he had seen stranger things.

The guardian took a breath, releasing it slowly as he kept his senses sharp. The warrior that walked alongside him seemed none the worse for wear, but Auron had to wonder how he was doing mentally. Strangely enough, he knew well what it felt like to witness auras and memories of friends when they weren’t actually there. Though none had been used against him by an enemy, it still stung just as hard. The fury and pain he had witnessing the memories of himself, Jecht and Braska in Zanarkand caused as much turmoil ten years later; a raw wound in his heart. He could only imagine if the Djinn had chosen him as the target instead, who it would have chosen to play dying before him. How much it would have ripped into him to think himself a failure once more.

Setro didn’t seem one to focus on what had occurred though, asking the moogles instead why the ferocious creature had set its sights on them. It had been an opportunistic beast, only attacking when it thought it may win. It hadn’t been expecting two very experienced warriors, and perhaps it would have won if only one of the men had appeared before it. A miscalculation on its part. The warrior shared a quick glance with him at the mention of the chocobo – Auron keeping his gaze decidedly neutral.

The moogles quickly assured them that the bird was okay, simply scared. Recalling the bruised rib he’d gotten from being thrown from the chocobo, Auron couldn’t help but smirk beneath his collar. He was glad the bird survived, even if it had completely abandoned him. He had a soft spot for the things, ridiculous though it was.

The moogles shared their names – silly names – and Auron merely hummed in response. Despite their carefree attitudes and stories about their village and attempted rescue, Auron couldn’t help but find himself still on the edges of doubt. He rolled his shoulder, hand still on his bloodstained blade as passed a quick glance to the warrior. He wasn’t a pessimist per se, quite the opposite considering how much faith he had put out into Spira and his friend-turned-Sin, but he was very much a realist.

“Hurdy, Gurdy,” he felt ridiculous saying those names aloud, but there was nothing to be done, “Don’t take this personally, but most things I’ve encountered in these woods have tried to trick me, fool me, poison me, or kill me.”

He let that realization sink into them for a moment. If they lived here, perhaps they weren’t accustomed to what happened to most outsiders in the expanse of trees. His tone wasn’t harsh or distrusting, but more curious, pushing for an answer.

“Why should we trust you?”

One of the moogles maneuvered itself around to look at them – so far as Auron could tell, anyway, as their beady eyes made it somewhat difficult to tell where they were focused. Hurdy was honest with the two swordsmen, stating that their kind were mostly pacifists given their stature. The Guardian hid a humored smirk beneath his collar as the creature bounced along adorably in the air. Setro clarified further that they were, obviously, weary of once again falling in the hands of trickery.

However, the moogles made it quite obvious that they understood their concerns. While Auron couldn’t speak for whatever situations the warrior had found himself in during his venture through the woods, he himself had certainly experienced enough danger and oddities to last a lifetime in this strange new world. Yes, he would certainly be a fool to easily trust anything that called this forest home – certainly anything that came off as non-threatening.

He’d been taken by surprise by a floating light for god’s sake.

Auron let some of the tension in his shoulders slip away, just enough to give off an air of neutrality. He hummed in agreement with Setro, keeping an eye on their floating companions as they wandered further into the woods. It was a bit of a surprise to hear that the knight also had no experience with moogles – Auron recalled Zidane referencing them several times enough to be familiar – perhaps they were also long gone in Setro’s world, or never existed to begin with.

He chose to keep his inexperience with the species to himself, however. Best to let them think that he knew something about moogles, despite having never seen a living one. How they flew around was certainly a mystery but, well, he’d seen stranger things.

Instead of letting his thoughts become stagnant, Auron broke the quiet with some hint of curiosity, “Given the nature of other creatures in these woods, I would imagine your village would be well-hidden for safety.”

The implication was there in his tone – you are trusting us too much as well.