Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
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I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
“Kinda strange someone wandering around the woods in the middle of the night."
Auron immediately scoffed at this statement, rolling his eye at the obvious irony of the young man’s statement. The blonde didn’t strike him as the type to attack without first being provoked, but either way, the Guardian kept his guard up. It wasn’t lost on him how the youth dropped from such a height and sprung back up like it was nothing. Between his obvious strength and the scabbards at his side, it was clear the young man was likely a nimble and talented fighter. Quick opponents … Auron didn’t particularly wish to pick a fight with if such a thing could be avoided.
With a causal wave of his gloved hand, Auron gestured at the floating lights, “I followed them. That’s why I’m here.”
The blonde approached him with his hands clasped together, and Auron did nothing but watch him carefully. He remained rooted to his spot, his left arm tucked into his haori, his right still but ready to move on a moment’s notice to reach for his blade once more. Around them the lights drifted to and fro, unchanging from their behavior thus far. It was irritating, in a way, that Auron couldn’t identify what they were. This forest … this world was a complete mystery, and for a man that was used to having most answers at hand, it was irritating to be back to knowing nothing. Perhaps, if he was still a dead man, he could have at least sensed something strange about the mysterious woods – but even that had changed upon his waking.
Lost in his thoughts, he nearly missed the young man’s comment, "By the way, are you a ghost? I've been here for a few days and haven't seen a single human."
Well, at least this time, the blonde had no idea how ironic his observation was. Auron simply shook his head, “Not a ghost. Just a man. I can understand your confusion, however – I haven’t seen another sentient soul in days.”
It would certainly be easier to have been a ghost or an Unsent, that much was for sure. Being truly alive again came with its own host of consequences that Auron hadn’t had to deal with in a decade. He brushed the thoughts away with a weary blink. The young man muttered thoughtfully about what else could have attracted their attention if it wasn’t a moogle, and as he did so, Auron turned slightly to watch the bobbing lights. Those were what had caught his attention in the first place, until the blonde’s presence had distracted him.
Slowly, the air around them began to grow dimmer. More of the floating lights were making their way toward a particular area, drifting through the thick growth of the forest. Auron wasted no time in moving toward the direction they seemed to be drifting in, cautious but eager to scratch the itch of his curiosity. As he pushed through the thicket, the forest opened up a bit more – enough to reveal lines of dancing lights from several directions, all heading toward a central point. “The answer is ahead,” Auron spoke back to the blonde, brushing a stray leaf from his own graying hair, “Come along, if you feel the need. Otherwise, leave me be.”
With the offer left hanging in the air, the Guardian continued onward, following the mysterious lights at a casual pace.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Auron felt his pulse, quickened, in his throat. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, giving his exhausted body the strength it needed for any unknown situation, for any enemy that dared to come his way. He was calm – that much was evident – yet he trusted his body’s natural instincts far more than his eyes alone in an unknown land where it was too dark to see clearly. As the glowing orbs bobbed about, the light they gave off ebbed and flowed, leaving nothing but confusing shadows in their wake amongst the strange and mysterious sounds of the woods.
A voice broke through the natural chorus of insects and wind, causing the Guardian to react on a trigger reflex. He whipped around, moving quickly for his stature, heavy sword suddenly drawn by his right arm and pointed toward the intruder.
In the tree was … a young man. Even in the dim, twinkling lights, Auron could make out enough about him. Blonde, boyish, potentially armed. He waited a breath, then two, before slowly withdrawing his weapon from the air and holstering it once more behind his back. Whoever the boy was, if he’d wanted to attack, he’d have done it before drawing attention to himself. No, judging by his voice and expression, the blonde had no intention to fight unless attacked first.
One of the floating lights passed in front of the boy, and in its wake, the image of Tidus was left behind.
Auron blinked, and the face of the stranger returned.
Repressing the rush of the fiery adrenaline, the warrior sighed, weary. He let the boy’s words turn in his mind once, before realizing they made little sense to him. Moogles were nothing but folklore in Spira, of which there were no definitive answers on whether or not the creatures had ever once truly existed. They were nothing more now than dolls, clutched in the arms of children, and occasionally moved to some sentience by black magic. Yet, this wasn’t the first he’d heard mention of moogles in this world. They were included in the information given to him about this forest, weren’t they? “ … It wasn’t a Moogle,” Auron finally spoke, resisting the urge to tack on it was just a brat at the end of his sentence as he grumbled, “How long have you been watching me?”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The iron-clad warrior did raise an interesting point. Nothing around them was fleeing from the terrifying call of whatever beast lay hidden in the grasses and branches of the intimidating, dark forest. Instead, all other manner of creature seemed perfectly content to continue on with its activities, scurrying underfoot or leering between leafage. Auron glanced along the dark path in thought, more keenly aware of the other sounds and movement around them than he already had been. Though the chocobo had been spooked, it too ran toward the screeching rather than away from it.
Perhaps it was a bewitching type of creature? Or something that the other animals and fiends of this area were simply used to. What sounded horrific to a human’s ears could always sound like a melody to the ears of others, after all.
Lost in thoughtful concentration, Auron nearly missed Setro’s approach. He glanced over his collar as the armored man searched through his satchel, procuring something foreign-yet-familiar in hand. Auron’s pace slowed to match Setro’s as he eyed the potion in the other’s hand, trying to navigate this verbal challenge to deny the gift. However, the armored man’s inflection on his insistence made it clear he would not give Auron the chance to refuse the offered gift. “... I’ll remember that,” the Guardian muttered instead, his own smirk hidden, graciously accepting his defeat in this contest of wills as he took the potion from Setro’s hand, “Thank you.”
Though the world was different, its healing items were similar enough. Potions left a strange medicinal taste on the tongue whether they were consumed by mouth or not, and a warmth that spread all the way through the fingertips. Upon his next breath, Auron no longer had the dull, annoying ache in his ribcage. He stashed away what was left of the container in his own travel bag, thankful to be free of the nagging pain that would have stayed with him for days to be relieved sooner rather than later.
The next call of the beast came, but the way the sound bounced around them was different than it had been before. Auron stopped abruptly, listening as the shrill screeching hung around them, louder than it was mere moments ago. When they began walking, the location of the fiend was clear based on the sound, but now it was less so. Where it sounded louder in one direction, a second later, it seemed louder in another.
“It’s on the move,” Auron weighed the options, his dark gaze turning to Setro, “Or it’s intending to throw us off its scent.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The Chocobo squawked quietly, kicking at the ground as Auron secured its reins around a nearby tree. He put a gloved hand to its beak, calming the creature with a few pats as it settled into its spot for the evening. Though it was difficult to tell through the dense branches and leaves of the woods, nightfall was coming for them quickly, and it would be best for at least one of them to attempt to rest.
Auron watched as the large bird settled back on its haunches, sitting on the ground and making itself comfortable. Though he didn’t have much for it, he did offer the Chocobo some borrowed greens, continuing to gently pat its feathered head as it eagerly consumed the food. For a moment, he was reminded of being nothing but a boy in Bevelle, a beginner monk, assigned to caring for the temple’s chocobos. This bird hardly had the loyalty – it would bolt on him given the chance and return back to the Fractured City – but it was a complicated yet comforting memory all the same.
So far, the Guardian had only been present in this strange new world for naught but a week. One week of suddenly being alive again, blood running through his veins, sensations dialed up to uncomfortable levels, basic human needs constantly reminding him that yes he was indeed living and breathing once more. As an Unsent, he could more easily ignore exhaustion and hunger – they were technically unnecessary for him to continue to exist. Now he was burdened by the need to sleep, the need to eat; problems Auron hadn’t had to deal with in a decade.
His stomach growled uncomfortably at the mere thought of food. Huffing a breath through his nose, Auron searched his satchel for some of the jerky he’d been gifted for the long journey. Dry, salty, and tough – it was hardly enjoyable, but it would at least shut off the hunger switch for a little while. He chewed the morsel thoughtfully, removing his glasses as the world around him grew more dim by the moment.
These woods had a strange air about them. Auron had been warned about what to expect from friendly passers-by of course, but no description could compare to the odd feelings this place evoked. Despite the comfortable temperature, there was a constant coolness just at the edge of his exposed skin, threatening to stand his hairs on end. At times, things were too quiet, and others there was too much noise to focus.
As the sun fully set, Auron expected to be drowned in darkness. He had no intention of making a fire that night, having had a bad enough experience with doing so earlier in the journey as it attracted more attention than it scared off. He placed his other effects at the tree with his Chocobo, about to set himself up against the bird, before a strange light caught his eye.
A floating light, bobbing in the air for a moment before vanishing like it was never there to begin with. Confused, Auron looked around before spotting another similar light, watching as it did the same thing.
They almost looked like pyreflies. Almost.
In his chest, Auron’s heart beat a little faster. He tried to still it, but the sight of something familiar was hard to ignore. The lights weren’t pyreflies, but … could they be something similar enough? Perhaps this world’s version of such a thing? The number of lights multiplied as he watched, congregating more in one area. Auron took a step in that direction, fighting down the false hope that twisted in his gut that he might find someone or something he knew amongst these lights.
With each step grass and leaves crunched under Auron’s boots. The floating lights became more dense as they floated innocently in the air – one even coming close enough to glance off of the scar over his right eye. The glowing orbs continued to grow in number, leading him to a particular area just beyond a thicket of trees.
However, Auron paused, suddenly aware of the presence of something more than the mysterious glowing lights. He stopped, boots spreading in the grass to take on a defensive stance, his right arm reaching behind to grab the hilt of his heavy blade. His eye scanned the surrounding area, attempting to find what had triggered the almost primal instinct in him that the gaze of something sentient was on his back. Yet, all he could initially see were the confusing shadows cast by the floating orbs as they faded in and out of existence.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
The armored man, thankfully, took no offense to Auron’s initial snappy comment. He appeared quite impassive, not unlike Auron himself – the type not to take much to heart. The former Guardian did, however, catch the movement of the warrior lowering his hand away from the hilt of his weapon. He either quickly realized that Auron held no ill intent toward him, or he was rather confident despite the size and appearance of the large sword on the Guardian’s back.
The stranger gave a name, Setro, before explaining that he, too, was traveling through the forest in hopes of finding nearby civilization. The warrior had picked up on the forest’s deceptions as well, notably the horrific screeching that would send any normal person running for the hills. Auron sneered at the noise as it echoed off the trees once more, a grotesque, shrill sound pretending to be human.
The air seemed so much colder after the wailing stopped. Any lesser man would have his hairs standing on end, his pulse quickening, every instinct screaming to run. Though Auron was unaffected, even he couldn’t deny the most basic animal instinct in his gut that told him to run from a noise like that rather than toward it. A means of survival.
Auron took a breath, brow twitching as the ache in his rib turned sharp, and released it slowly. The sooner he left this horrid place, the better.
However, before he could suggest such a thing to Setro, the man spoke, mentioning also that retreating would be the better course of action. Auron quirked an eyebrow; silently agreeing that, indeed, it would be the wisest choice. Yet, Setro’s gaze turned toward the direction of the noise, and Auron’s dark eye followed it.
It would be the wise choice, the Guardian thought to himself, watching the gears turn in his fellow warrior’s mind, But you don’t seem the type to save your own skin. You wouldn’t be playing the role you’re dressed for if you were.
Sure as the sun rose with each day, Setro turned to look at him and announced his intentions to go forth, deeper into the woods, no doubt with every intention to find the creature making such a terrifying cry. Auron rolled his eye, turning and moving onward down the path that led further into the dark and disquiet. Setro’s words were much more … flowery than he was used to hearing, but they evoked a memory all the same.
Jecht, waving his arms around, shouting to attract the dangerous beast. Many years later, Tidus mimicking his father nearly to a T.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Auron echoed their words, though labored with exhaustion and humor as he gave the barest of smirks, “... That’s all you need to say.”
There was no shortage of strange noises on the path before them. In the darkness of the underbrush were surely eyes on the pair, though they couldn’t be seen. There was an endless rustling in the patches of tall grass, the wind sounding more like a quiet whisper. Auron’s heavy footfall hardly seemed to make a sound amongst all the other buzzing – many noises with nothing in sight.
Assuming the warrior to be close behind, Auron spoke over the muted, but incessant noise around them, “Call me Auron.”
The wailing returned, just as loud and terrible as before, but it had switched tonality. It now sounded like the deep torment of a man – the kind you expected to hear when he lost a wife or child. Yet again there was an edge to it, a haunting, spectral vibration that warned you that such screeching did not belong to that of a human being.
Auron turned his head slightly, listening as the screaming died down, his hand already itching for the handle of his sword. Though he was not fooled by the creature’s noise, it still ground on his nerves. “... It’s changing tune,” he commented in a mutter, “Trying to find what bothers us more.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Auron studied the expressions of his fellow outsiders after informing them of their whereabouts. The purple one seemed confused and surprised, while the red-head seemed to be intensely lost in thought for a moment. Hythlodaeus murmured something about to himself, wondering how he had gotten so far, implying that he must have had quite a bit to drink. If Auron didn’t find himself at the mercy of these two for information, he would have been more tempted to voice his opinion on someone drinking so much they ended up – apparently – quite far from their starting point. Though the bard had a point, that it seemed unlikely for one to travel so far when blackout drunk, Auron had seen stranger things.
A washed up blitzball star in his 30’s shouldn’t have been able to wield a sword and assault a shoopuf while drunk off of his ass either, but it certainly happened. Hopefully, the purple bard had a much less embarrassing venture.
The fiery-haired youth with the weary eyes certainly painted a different picture. If anything, hearing that Auron had only just arrived seemed to inspire a harsh flame inside of him. Though he attempted to look casual, hands in his pockets and leaning forward, his words had a bite to them that made it clear enough that he was not happy to suddenly be in this world. What he said did give Auron some pause though, as he turned the words over in his mind. He was inferring from little information, but it sounded like those still living were just as likely to appear in this world as those who had died, like himself.
Auron gave no indication of what he was feeling, merely switching his gaze from one Otherworlder to the other as they exchanged turns speaking. He had a pressure between his eyes that threatened to bloom into one hell of a headache, and a panicked, twisting in his gut that forewarned of an existential crisis not unlike the one he had finding the Dream Zanarkand all those years ago, but the warrior simply exhaled through his nose and buried both feelings down as far as he possibly could. There was no time to brood about the circumstances of his unexpected tryst back into an unknown world of the living at the moment. That would have to wait for a more opportune, and private moment.
At the very least, Hythlodaeus seemed ready for distraction. He was back to looking cheerful, and while he guessed correctly that Auron wasn’t a man who would enjoy loud music and loud people, he assumed incorrectly that the warrior would be willing to speak about himself freely. However, as the other two were at least contributing some information about themselves and this world, he supposed it wouldn’t have been fair to withhold things about himself simply because he didn’t wish to speak.
Though it seemed impossibly slim, there was a chance one of these strangers may, at least, know of Spira, or something else familiar to him. “... My name is Auron,” the warrior finally broke his silence, glancing between the two Otherworlders with a tired eye as he shifted in his stance, keeping his left arm tucked away, “My story was finished – it doesn’t need reliving. I suppose this is the start of an unexpected new one.”
Auron let a beat pass, to let it sink in to the other two that he had no intention of sharing what happened to him prior to his awakening in this world. However, there was no malice in his words; simply a finality. After the defeat of Yu Yevon, after he was Sent, he had finally been at peace. Suddenly being alive again definitely brought about some complicated emotion … but as long as Sin was gone and Spira was released from its nightmare, really, that was all that mattered to him for the moment. “I come from a land known as Spira. I … assume it may be different now than it was when I left for the Farplane. My only hope is that no one in this world knows of Sin or Yevon.”
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
With each step, it became apparent to Auron that the damage sustained from his fall was going to linger for quite some time. He thought briefly of the few curatives in his bag, but pushed the fleeting desire from his mind. A man became spoiled when traveling with those who specialized in white magic, soothing the aches and pains of their Guardians. His ribs were likely bruised, but it would heal naturally within a few days. Or, so he thought, but really his timing was nothing but guesstimates. A dead man’s body behaved differently from that of the living, and that came with advantages and disadvantages aplenty.
Searching in the dim light, Auron spotted what appeared to be the main path (or, at least, the most well traversed one) and pushed through the thicket of undergrowth to restart his venture through the strange, glowing mushroom-like trees. What he wasn’t expecting to see what another person, let alone one in such strange armor. The warrior’s right hand moved quickly to the handle of his blade, carefully observing the man with a narrowed eye for a moment to determine if he were friendly or fiendish.
“Excuse me — I don’t suppose the Chocobo that sped into the woods was yours?”
He seemed simply kind enough, but Auron kept his distance for the moment, experienced enough with highwaymen who played the friendly stranger bit to stay wary. His hand did inch away from the handle of his sword, however, as he glanced in the direction his chocobo had surely scurried off in. An annoying ache in his side throbbed, and Auron found the frustration leaking into his voice before he could stop his biting reply. “Couldn’t have bothered trying to stop it?”
He felt foolish nearly immediately for taking out his frustrations on this stranger. One glance at the man was all it would take to realize he was just as ill equipped to chase after a Chocobo as Auron himself was. His armor was not that of leather, but real metals, and likely quite heavy. Even seeing the gear on the bird that suggested it belonged to someone, he likely couldn’t have grabbed it unless it sped directly into him.
“I apologize,” Auron muttered quickly, giving a quick and respectful nod to the stranger, “That was rude. It was mine, though it was lent and loyal to another. I doubt it’ll return to me.”
Auron had yet to meet someone in this world that appeared normal by his eye, and this man was no exception. It was rare to see a full set of metal armor in Spira. Maybe, a thousand years ago, in the time of major machina production it may have been more common to see. However, in his time, most metalworks were reserved for structures and weapons, and the majority of armors were leather with only metal accents. He had no frame of reference for what the man could be, other than a warrior of some sort.
But, the man was apparently traveling alone, just as he himself was. Likely on a similar venture to leave this strange place as quickly as one could, considering the twisting paths and eerie nature of the trees and shadows surrounding them. Perhaps he would take pity on the stranger before him with the near obvious limp and now lack of chocobo, and offer up a suggestion on which way to go to find the closest city and leave this godforsaken forest.
Another strange, high pitched squeal echoed through the trees around them – the kind to stand a man’s hairs on end. The kind that sounded too similar to the cry of a woman or child, but just distorted enough to distinguish as something else entirely.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
“Are you sure you won’t stay another day? I assure you, it is not a problem. You certainly don’t need to leave in the dead of night.” “I’ll be on my way. I’ve stayed long enough.” “I understand. The lands beyond this area are quite unkind. Please, do be careful.” “ … Thank you. For your hospitality. Give Abraham my regards.”
—
Auron departed the Fractured City under the cover of night. The temple had been kind enough to lend him a chocobo, a map, and supplies for survival out in the unknown. Though they had come around to his existence, the fact of the matter was – he did not belong there. He did not belong anywhere. He was a warrior with no battle to fight, a guardian with no one to protect. However, with the confirmation that others from Spira could potentially be just as lost in this world as he himself was, Auron felt compelled to take to the road to find them.
It gave him something to focus on, at least. A purpose, a drive. Suddenly being alive again certainly hadn’t been a part of his plan, and having completed his former goal left him feeling … empty. Confused. His mind clearer than it had been in a decade, but lost. If he could find someone he knew, perhaps a new goal would make itself clear. Auron, meanwhile, refused to let himself feel optimistic.
Which wasn’t too difficult. He spent over ten years drowning in his own pessimism. It was easy enough to step back into that pool of low expectation and sorrow, and let the buds of hope and optimism drown in the murky depths.
He couldn’t let himself have that hope. That if he had come back to life, maybe his friends had as well.
Fortunately or not, the adventure had been quite the distraction. The world was vastly different from Spira, of that there was no doubt. As Auron rode through the Fractured Plains, its lands now quiet after the recent ceremony, he saw all manner of fiends among the glowing fissures and wildflowers. What was truly odd, at least for him, was that the monsters of this world did not turn to pyreflies when they were killed. Their corpses littered the ground, rotting like a felled tree – forgotten.
The flat plains slowly transitioned into a more lush landscape with long grasses and tall trees. Auron stopped once, making camp before he got into the thick of the forest, recalling the warning he was given by Father Lior before departing the city. No matter which path he were to take, whether it was the marshlands or the woods, a harsh trial awaited him. Both trails were known to be quite deadly and dangerous, though of differing natures. He thought back to the memorials he had passed by earlier, having given them a solemn nod on his way through. This world was as cruel as any other, and survival was not guaranteed, no matter one’s experiences.
His venture continued on into the woods. The weather was tolerable, at the very least, and the activity of fiends seemed much less. Auron didn’t recognize the calls, squeaks and squawks coming through the trees, and as he turned to find the sources, his eye typically found nothing but empty branches. Opting to move quickly through the area rather than take in the sights, he nudged his rented chocobo onward with a light tap of his boot. There was something unnerving about the air around him, where everything seemed too still and yet brimming with activity.
So many strange sounds, but nothing to see other than trees and grass and flowers.
The road ahead darkened significantly as regular tall trees suddenly gave way to towering mushroom-like trees. The sun could no longer peek through, completely blotted out by the wide caps. The mushroom trees glowed, giving off an ethereal light, pulsing with just enough activity and light to let one still read a map. Auron nudged his sunglasses down on his nose, holding the map further from his face to try and get an idea of where exactly on the path he had strayed to –
– before a horrific screeching noise startled both him and the chocobo he was on. The bird squawked and reeled back in a panic, throwing Auron from its back as it ran, skittish and terrified. Auron hit the ground ungracefully hard, managing to twist himself and land on his side, rather than on his back, the wind knocked out of him. By the time he scrambled back to his feet the bird was too far, barely visible in the dim glow of the mushrooms. He attempted to call it back, taking a shaky breath to whistle, but the bird was too spooked and not loyal enough. “... Dammit,” Auron grumbled through grit teeth, glancing around him. Luckily, his effects had been thrown off the bird as well, so he wasn’t stranded with nothing. The warrior collected his bag from the ground, releasing a pained sigh through his nose as his left arm protested the movement. He’d have to live with the ache in his arm and ribs for now – at least it wasn’t his sword arm.
Travel time would be significantly longer without the bird, but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to traveling the world on foot anyway. His bag and sword secured, Auron set back off on the path on foot, ignoring the dull and persistent pain in his left side. The sooner he was out of the strange and mysterious forest, the better.
It felt like, with every step, more and more eyes were upon his back – though there were none to see.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
Having found a spot that was out of the general foot traffic of the area, Auron attempted to focus on the world before him. However, each intrusive glance thrown in his direction left him wanting to focus on the ground at his boots instead. His head still felt like it was spinning, completely overloaded with all the sensations that felt too sharp and jarring. A steady, dull ache persisted between his eyes. Sounds felt jumbled and the world seemed too bright, even with his glasses on. With every passing second, he found himself wondering when he would wake from this … nightmare? Hallucination? For a moment, he attempted to recall what the last thing he remembered was, before finding it a complete blank.
A child in the crowd squealed happily, startling Auron from his thoughts. It was no use looking for answers in his own mind. No, as much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to rely on the thoughtfulness of strangers. Not only that, but strangers who were willing to divulge information.
Auron wasn’t left waiting for long, at the very least. As he watched the sidewalk that led between the town and the courtyard, he spotted a man who certainly did not belong amongst the others. His clothing, while darker in color, stood out amongst the drab robes of the other denizens. An impressive sword accompanied his casual traveling gear. However, even from a distance, what stood out the most about the young man were his eyes. One glance over tinted lenses gave away the subtle glow of the stranger’s gaze – but that wasn’t what stood out.
Those were the eyes of a man who had truly suffered.
Most of the crowd gawked at the young man as well, but just as many were friendly enough to greet him. Auron released a frustrated sigh through his nose as he considered his very few reasonable options; the most obvious of which would be to approach this stranger who very obviously did not belong either. He would have preferred to watch and wait, observe and learn, but with the feeling of so many eyes under his skin already, it would be more wise to collect information straight from a source. The young man was clearly a traveler, and Auron found himself having to hope the stranger would be amenable to sharing information.
Auron convinced his feet to move, ignoring how heavy his legs felt as he closed the bit of distance between himself and the stranger with the fiery hair. It was uncomfortable to approach an armed man with his own sword still missing, but perhaps the young man would find him non-threatening enough. With his left arm tucked away and his right eye scarred over, Auron knew well that strangers tended to either pity him or avoid him, thinking him disadvantaged or terrifying.
However, before he could come up with something to say, another voice called out – hidden on Auron’s blind side. He turned his attention to the newcomer; another soul that seemed out of place. The new stranger, Hythlodaeus – that was an odd name, quickly introduced himself and made his inquiry known. Auron stared him down for a moment, raising a dark eyebrow. Hythlodaeus certainly stuck out from the crowd as well, brightly colored and immediately friendly and willing to speak.
Recalling what Abe had told him earlier, Auron spoke up, “The Fractured City. At least, that’s what I’ve been told it’s called.”
He glanced around for a moment, noticing that they were attracting more stares as the obvious strangers stood together in a group. However, the looks they received weren’t immediately threatened or negative. They seemed more … curious, perhaps.
“That’s the extent of my knowledge,” Auron admitted, adjusting his high collar as he spoke and turning his attention back to the other two supposed Otherworlder’s, “I’ve … just arrived. As it were.”
He couldn’t be sure they would immediately grasp the meaning behind his words, but perhaps if they did, the strangers would be willing to part with more than just scraps of information.
I'll always come through. Don't waste your breath shouting never at the moon.
As the sun sat, the world of man would begin to grow quieter. This, however, was not the case of the god that rested beneath their feet. Beneath their feet the world trembled, pausing only briefly between spells; as if carrying the snores of the sleeping Titan. At the edge of the Holy Grounds that evening were the Ritualists, hurriedly organizing everything for their celebration the next day. Drums made of wood and handcrafted leather were carefully placed in one area, while colorful banners were strung up on an existing frame just outside of the Fractured City.
The Ritualists were made up of only a few families, men and women in dark robes with their children underfoot, but together they were mighty enough to quell the god that ruled the region. They continued to prepare for the Dance of the Giant as the sun drifted further and further below the horizon, nothing but an orange glow upon the cracked and barren rock of the Holy Land.
It was normal for Titan to become more active during this season. The temperatures had dropped and most of the harvest had been completed, and as such, man and beast were preparing to remain inside as the nights grew ever colder. The resting giant would respond in kind, rumbling the earth beneath their feet. Quakes were common at all times in this land, always mild and without damage, but the threat of Titan rising from his slumber was ever present.
Before the Ritualists began their festival now over a decade ago, the god was unpredictable, and his actions would cause the city to inevitably crumble and need to be rebuilt. With the help of the Ritualists, Titan had not broken through the ground in many years, and continued to slumber peacefully. This was well celebrated and the god seemed quite content.
One of the men was placing a basket at his feet, when his gaze caught sight of something strange. He immediately tugged at the robes of the person next to him, gesturing out to the Holy Lands.
There, illuminated by the dying light of the sun and the occasional glowing fissure, was the figure of what seemed to be a man. It was difficult to tell for a moment, as glowing lights seemed to come off and fade from his body one by one, vanishing into the air before leaving him entirely exposed. The figure stepped forward and as he did so, the ground stopped shaking. The Ritualists watched in horror, unable to cross onto the boundaries of the Holy Land lest they displease the god.
The man, dressed in red, was unsteady on his feet. The Ritualists urged him closer, eager to get him off of the Holy Lands before Titan was to surely take offense. However, with each step the man took, the land remained still. He came closer, but with each step it became clear to the terrified Ritualists that he wasn’t aware of himself. He barely seemed conscious. The man in red took one more step before his body gave out on him, and he crumpled upon the earth. He was close enough that the Ritualists were able to pull him across the boundary of the Holy Lands, speaking to each other in a quick panic about what to do regarding their mysterious stranger.
One of the children tilted her head, feeling the ground rumble beneath her feet once more after the man was no longer on the Holy Grounds. Behind her, an older man – a priest – noticed the same.
How strange.
The waking came to him like an unexpected punch to the gut.
Auron sat up suddenly with a harsh gasp, his left eye wide but not seeing as black dotted his vision. The urging of air into his lungs caused a searing pain and a hand flew to his bare chest, unintentionally scratching his scarred skin.
What … ?
Gradually, the darkness left the edges of his vision, allowing the swordsman to take in his surroundings. He was slow to process it all, overwhelmed by all the sensations under his skin, every neuron suddenly letting him know that he was awake. No, it wasn’t just that. Auron clenched his jaw as he forced his breathing to slow, closing his eye after recognizing there was no immediate threat before him. The breaths became more even, measured even as his heart hammered hard in his chest.
The hand that had gone to his skin in that quick panic pressed flat against his chest, his heartbeat easily detectable under his palm.
No wonder everything felt so overwhelming.
His skin was warm underneath his hand, warmer than he’d felt it in a long time. The sheets at his waist were soft and somewhat scratchy. The ambient temperature was cool. There was noise nearby, outside of a window and down a hallway. Auron dared to open his eye once more, squinting at the brightness but slowly relaxing as everything came into focus. He swallowed, mouth dry, huffing a breath through his nose. The air smelled of incense.
He was alive. But … why? No, more importantly, how? Auron had been a dead man parading as a living one for ten years. One didn’t simply wake up one day and decide to have his dead heart beat once more. His hand moved from his chest, rubbing at his head as the impending ache began. Every sensation was overwhelming; information overload. The dead had their senses dulled, unable to experience the world exactly as the living had. To see everything in its full color, to feel the air so easily against his skin, it was all so strange now.
A sound startled Auron from his thoughts – a rustling as the small body of a boy appeared from a nearby doorway blocked only with a curtain. The kid looked just as shocked as he felt, almost dropping the pitcher in his hands, fumbling with it as he spilled a little bit of water. “You’re awake!” the child exclaimed, hurrying over with the pitcher as he set it on a nearby table. Auron didn’t say anything immediately, gaze lingering on the water pitcher for a moment before switching back to the boy. He looked to be around 12 or so, a mop of dark blonde hair tied into a messy bun on top of his head, a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks, with a set of wide blue eyes. He was skinny and gangly, his limbs too long as he was suddenly caught at the edge of childhood with his teenage years on the horizon.
It reminded Auron of someone. How could it not?
“How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” the boy continued quickly, hurriedly pouring a glass of water and forcing it into the confused swordsman’s hands, “The priests are gonna be surprised you’re up already. They thought you might sleep for a week.” “Where–,” Auron began, his voice hoarse and gravelly with disuse. Speaking irritated his throat, causing him to pause and cough into his elbow before taking a sip of the offered water, “Where am I?”
The boy pat his back unhelpfully, “You’re in the monastery. They told me the Ritualists found you last night in the Holy Lands. How’d you walk out there without waking up Titan?”
Out of all the words the child spoke, very few of them made any sense. Auron furrowed his brow, confused, attempting to reason out if he actually knew any of these things and had simply taken a too-hard hit to the head, or if they truly didn’t make sense.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted after a moment of reflection, his voice low and quiet, “You say this is a monastery? In what town?”
The boy frowned, suddenly fiddling with a string of rosary beads in his hand, “You’re in the Fractured City. Didn’t you know?”
Auron pressed the heel of his hand into his damaged right eye, staving off the dull pounding of a headache. The Fractured City? He’d never heard of such a place … from what he could remember. Though, nothing here seemed to make much sense, and the name of a city was the least immediately alarming thing he was going through. “There is no place by that name on Spira,” the swordsman finally managed, taking another sip of lukewarm water from his clay cup.
“Spira?” The boy repeated, confused.
They shared a long, unsure staring contest.
“Are you … an otherworlder?” the child asked, a genuine curiosity in his eyes.
Auron finished the water, holding the empty cup back out to the boy, “I don’t know the term.”
“This world is called Zephon,” the boy took the cup, setting it on the table with the pitcher, “They … The priest that was with the Ritualists last night. He said you might be an otherworlder. I’ve never met one before.”
The swordsman stifled the chuckle that threatened to make its way past his lips. So here he was, a man from another world once more. However this time, instead of awakening on the shores of a dream Zanarkand, he was alive and in a world and city he had never heard of. It was strange, and it should have alarmed him more than it was, but to Auron it was almost old hat. Why he was here, why he was alive, those were the mysteries – but solving ridiculous riddles felt almost comforting. “I don’t believe I’m from this world,” Auron confirmed to the boy with a nod, “However, I am nothing but a man, much as I assume you to be.”
That seemed to resonate with the boy, who then vigorously nodded his head, “I’m Abraham, by the way! But everyone just calls me Abe.”
Abe. Zanarkand Abes.
Fate was taunting him.
“Auron,” the swordsman replied, moving his gaze from the boy to take in his surroundings once more. The room was small and modest, mostly bare aside from a few personal effects and immaculately taken care of. The colors were fairly drab and neutral. The bed he was lying on was stiff but comfortable, the only thing messy in the room now other than some dark clothes hanging on the back of a chair nearby. Auron blinked, staring at them.
Those were his clothes.
So, he’d been found unconscious in some Holy Land area and brought to a monastery in a place called the Fractured City. Unsure of how he got there, nor how he was a living, breathing person again. The words Holy Land and priests and Ritualists bothered him more than he would admit while in their presence, but there was no sense in allowing panic to take hold. He would simply have to solve things one at a time.
“You said this is a monastery,” Auron started again suddenly, turning his gaze back to the boy and gesturing at the cup and pitcher, “Are you a monk-in-training?”
Abe looked surprised, but poured another glass of water, handing it over to Auron carefully, “Yes, sir. How’d you know?”
“Reasonable guess,” Auron lied, taking another long drink of water to ease the dryness on his tongue, “The priests put you in charge of watching over me; a job fit for a boy on the verge of becoming a man. My clothes, my weapon – you and the other monks washed them, didn’t you?”
Long ago, that had been one of Auron’s many responsibilities as a monk of Bevelle. Taking in the poor and destitute as they suffered on the street, feeding them, bathing them, praying with them. A sacred duty to help out those who needed it without expecting anything in return. Memories of a time long gone, but an instinct that was hard to fight off.
How different his life would have been if the Church had actually behaved the way it expected of its monks, rather than being corrupt to its very core.
“Y-Yeah,” Abe nodded, looking at the chair that Auron’s dark clothing hung on the back of, “Are you feeling okay, Mister Auron? If you are, I can let you get dressed and take you to the Father. I still have some chores to finish before the festival starts later..”.
There was some sadness in the boy’s voice as he spoke of the festival, almost wistful.
“I feel fine,” another lie, but the child was unlikely to pick up on it, “Where are the rest of my effects?”
Abe gestured to the window, before crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look bigger than he was, “Your big coat is drying out in the courtyard. I think everything else should be with the Father. I’ll wait outside for you, so you better not be lying and fall down Mister Auron. I’m not strong enough to pick you up.”
Auron cracked a small smile, before pointing at the curtained doorway.
Abe darted out without another word, and Auron carefully removed himself from the sheets. The floor beneath his bare feet was cool, and the chill from the nearby window finally began to creep into his skin. Moving felt a little awkward, limbs feeling heavier than they certainly should have, but the swordsman kept himself steady as he began to dress himself. He caught his reflection in a small mirror nearby – his skin was still scarred, his hair still a mix of black and gray, lines of exhaustion under his only functioning eye.
Fate couldn’t have been bothered to put a beating heart in his younger body, he supposed.
Once he was dressed, Auron tied his hair back, slipping on his glasses and met the young Abe out in the hall. The boy immediately began pointing out everything around them and stating what it was, but the swordsman struggled to retain it all as the world suddenly bloomed to life around them. The room had been quiet and secluded, but a mere hallway trip away everything was bustling. There were people moving quickly around them (occasionally stopping to gawk at Auron for a moment), their hands filled with cloth, plates, buckets, you name it. They all were in a hurry, making their way in one direction or another with purpose.
“They’re prepping for the festival,” Abe supplied an answer, having noticed Auron’s silence, “It’ll take place later this afternoon. C’mon, the courtyard is just up ahead.”
The two stepped out into a vast, open area lit with sunshine. Ahead of them was a grand building that reminded Auron of a temple. On either side of them were high, stone walls, blocking the view of what lay beyond. Behind them was a smaller building; the monastery. The courtyard was brimming with activity as well as people of all ages moved about the land. There was one large sidewalk that led from the side of the Temple to the Monastery, but another smaller sidewalk that paved the way from the edge of the courtyard out to the city beyond. People were coming up this pathway, looking around curiously.
The courtyard area close to the temple had been set up as part of the festival. There were people getting ready to offer up what appeared to be intricate body paintings, another table stringing together flower crowns, some offering goods from a recent harvest. There were others still getting things set up, helped by the monks.
Abe led Auron to the part of the courtyard that was just in front of the monastery, where there were lines of clothes hanging in the breeze. The red haori stuck out like a sore thumb among the various neutral browns and grays. Auron plucked it from the line, relieved that it was dry rather than cold and wet, settling it in place before buckling it against his waist.
“My sword?” he inquired to Abe, adjusting his high collar. There were still a few other things missing, but Auron felt the loss of his blade more than anything else.
Abe shrugged, “We’ll have to ask the Father. It was too heavy for all of us to deal with.”
They bypassed the other monks on that side of the courtyard busy with chores, and headed the other way. There, among the people was a man dressed more intricately than the others. His robes were still more of a drab color, a mixture of gray and black, but with designs in gold thread. A tall hat was upon his head and a staff with a golden orb in his hand. He was quite aged, having to be 70 or older. His long white beard was braided, and a set of round spectacles perched on his nose. He was speaking with a few monks quietly, but broke away from them as he noticed Auron and Abe approach. “Glory be to Titan,” the Priest smiled and laughed, “For this wondrous day, and for the safety and health of our guest! I trust Abraham has treated you well?”
Auron glanced to the boy, who was now performing some sort of bow before the Priest. The cynicism was immediately loud in his head. In another day, in another time, he was that very same boy, bowing before Maester Mika – eagerly seeking approval from the head of Yevon on his quest to become a monk worthy of their grace. He ignored the angry twisting of his gut.
“He has,” Auron confirmed, keeping his voice level and hiding well his true feelings, “He’ll make a fine monk someday, should that be what he desires.”
The priest smiled and pat Abe on the head, “I am glad to hear it. Now, Abraham, you have some chores to finish before the celebration tonight, yes?”
The boy nodded quickly, before scurrying off back toward the monastery. “I think he wishes to avoid our celebration tonight if he can,” the Father continued, watching wistfully as Abe disappeared into the other building, “He has gotten too old for the dance. It’s hard, saying farewell to our childhood as we grow older.”
Auron allowed the man to have his moment of reflection without interruption.
“Ah, but where are my manners,” the priest turned his attention back to the swordsman, “I am Father Lior, head priest of this temple. And what may we call you?”
“Auron.” “Auron, then,” Father Lior waved down one of the nearby older monks, muttering something to him quickly before the younger man departed, “We’ll have your things brought to you post-haste. But, I encourage you to take some time perhaps to speak to our people here in the courtyard. You are one of the otherworlders, are you not?”
“If that is your term for it,” Auron agreed, shifting on one foot as he observed those around them. Many of them turned their gazes to the ground as they met his, whispering to each other, stealing glances when they thought he wasn’t watching. “We do not get many of your kind here,” the Father stated kindly, fondly watching his people, “And this is a wondrous day for our people. One of the few where they are eager to share our world with strangers. I am hoping to perhaps greet more otherworlders today as well.”
Auron frowned beneath his collar, “I am not a caged beast to be gawked at.”
“Nor do I believe you one!” the Priest laughed heartily again, leading Auron toward the temple, where people conversed among one another, showing off their goods for the festival; bundles of wheat, baskets of gourds, shining gems, colorful flowers, beautiful artworks. “This is simply a day where our people are of a more open mind. I hope the presence of strangers will perhaps inspire them.”
The crowds grew larger in the courtyard as more people collected there from the city itself. Most were dressed similarly in simple garments of earthy tones, chatting animatedly amongst themselves as they perused the area and admired the works of their fellow townspeople. However, despite the Priest’s word that Auron was not meant to be something to be stared at in shock, it was happening … quite a bit.
He turned to tell the Father that he would rather take his things and depart, but his gaze fell on an empty space. For an older man, he certainly moved quickly and quietly. Grumbling, Auron ducked his head down and searched for a place where he could stay out of view while he waited. Unfortunately, there was no such thing in the open courtyard.
Forced to remain in the open, Auron scanned the crowd. It seemed unlikely, but there was a slim chance he could potentially find a familiar face. Or, if not, the sure sign of another “otherworlder”.
