The Day I Died.

Father.

You are running. You can hear her voices, calling out to you. You want to stop, but part of you demands you to take that next step, then another, and another. The hallway ends into a crossway. Which path should you take? Your breath is stuck in your throat, and tears are making their way out from your glassy eyes. You take the left turn, and continue your way down the corridor. She screams again. Your legs run slower. She is now begging for you to turn back, and with hesitation, with fear soaked in love, you turn your head to see if she´s really there, after you, gazing at you. You can hear her, but she´s not there. You are afraid. You are afraid for your life, and you run even faster. Her whispering grows into pleading sobs --you run-- then into furious outcry.

Do you want to be at rest?

"...your body will become the temple for your aeon..." The woman had said.

You don´t want to turn back now. You know that she´s not dead. She lives on, in you. But she´s not really her. You know it already: she is someone else, who only says she is your mother.

You do?

But this was wrong. Why are you still alive, when your mother died for you? Why are you even running? Why won´t you stop your useless escape? Stop it. You are not worthy. Cease your steps. You were supposed to die. Enough. And be together with her, forever. Die.

Your heart is squirming in agony. You are suffocating, and your mind is screaming, but you won´t stop. You force your legs to move and your lungs to work, but you are dying from the inside a little more with every step you take.

Have you already forgotten?

You´re a grown man now. You do not remember the time when you were in the corridor, running away from your own mother like she was nothing but a savage beast ready to rip your life, your soul, into shreds

But she is a beast to you now. She ´s living in your head now, in her last fortress, dreams. Instead of running trough hallways, you are now walking trough one, but the air is fresh, very unlike the dampness you can still sometimes smell.

But you can feel the guilt. You were supposed to die, too, but you were a coward. You are still running away from her. You are trying to find comfort from this suffocating guilt by gently stroking your new bribe´s cheek. She gazes at you, and her fear is blended with the disgust for you in her strange eyes, but the sun of Bevelle is soothing your soul with it´s warmth. Maester Mika is there, to bless your mockery of a marriage. There are people here, feeling that you are something. They applaud for your mercy. They bow before your power. It is very pleasing. But you are not pleased with her.

You hate her, your mother. Why didn´t you matter? But even if you didn´t matter, they do matter, the people of Spira do matter, to you. You love your mother, and you hate your mother. You love those people who live in this same, insane world, but you also hate them. You know now what to do.

You have.

-- Power. Thevery word tingles in your mouth in excitement, as you fall in love with it´s promise of peace, everlasting to you. And when you had all of Spira, your future too, would be everlasting. You love it, and you don´t want to stop. Even when the summoner is now sending you, you only regret that your plots failed and Spira´s misery would be hence everlasting. Unlike the greatness you once sought... but why you are not furious for this girl who defeated you? Why do you not threaten her? Why won´t you take her life? It was so easy for you, before -- why not now? Why do you just stand there, resigned, waiting for the final blow, the last movement of the summoner´s staff? Ah, I see now. You are waiting death. Death is your liberator, your secret lover. And now, you are dying for the last time. You are almost glad of the fact.

But -- You´ll eventually wake up.

And so he does. Rain is whipping his entire body, making him shiver and his eyes open to see what disturbs his sleep. For a long time, Seymour thought that he would find peace from death. But even the Farplane doesn´t want him now. He´s almost insulted to see that he´s still alive, when it was the last act he would expect. Was he so despicable that he wasn´t even allowed to die?

Seymour lay in the muddy ground, carefully inspecting the place in his chest where the stab-wound was only few hours ago, not caring about the whipping rain which had watered him soaking wet long ago. It didn´t matter. The skin of his chest was smooth, like no one had stabbed him in the first place.

He didn´t know if he should laugh or cry; the whole situation was reeking of irony. He, who had killed his father, almost wiped out a whole race, and had this weird love-affair with the idea that dead people had things so much better than the living, hence having every justification to die, is once again kicked back to the world of the living. He had seen his life passing by in the front of his eyes. His whole life, compressed into few minutes of nightmares. He had seen himself, his life, in the eyes of a mere observer, he had watched how he had run away from the horror he had witnessed in the tender age of childhood.

Suddenly, all the pride what he took from his plans and schemes now vanished, leaving only a hollow, lonely feeling inside of him. For the first time, he was helpless. He felt the familiar feeling inside of him taking over him, suffocating everything. He now recognised that feeling: it was guilt. If he only had died in Zanarkand when his mother told him to, he would have been in peace, rather than in constant battle. Because life was just constant battle for him, Seymour just wanted to shut his eyes and let this daydream of a life pass him by. Or he would have done so if somebody wouldn´t be staring at him to the eye just a breath away from his face.

"Why the heck are you here again!" A high pitched scream startled him, making him look at the girl who clearly broke all laws of decency by screaming to his ear when he was having one of his suicidal moments. Really, no decency whatsoever.

And why was he staring into swirling, spirally green eyes?

"I asked you: Why the heck are you here again?" The speaker seemed to possess immense powers, because she took a tight grip from the collar of his robes and yanked him up to sit, so they were staring each other. "You just couldn´t leave Yunie alone, could you? You sicko!" The girl, or whoever she was, fumed right in front of him and Seymour had the faint thought that he had seen her somewhere before.

"Well. Good day to you. And you were...?" With his aristocratic upbringing, Seymour was taught to be polite. So he was polite, even though he was sitting in mud, practically soaking from all the rain, while planning to commit suicide when this annoying bugger woke him up. A brisk slap to his cheek shrugged off all the remained thoughts of eternal slumber.

"Rikku. Of the Al-Bhed." Rikku muttered, and her seething tone didn´t leave any questions. "Oh, you´re that Rikku. I remember you." Seymour muttered, and startled when he patted his red cheek. Rikku didn´t say anything, but only stared at something above him. "And I´m Lulu. Yuna´s sister. In a way." Thundered the cold voice above him, and Seymour quickly rose to his feet to see who was this other person who sounded like she was more related to a psychopathic Behemoth on drugs rather than the sweet, compassioned, beautiful Yuna. His eyes widened when he saw a...goth-lolita woman with a frightening doll. What an odd person to insist that Summoner Yuna would be her sister. "You have no idea who we are, do you?" The goth-lolita said, and Seymour blankly stared at the two.

"Yes I know. You are...hmm...You are..."

Silence.

"Yuna´s guardians. Well, former guardians now." Lulu, the black mage, said, and after a moment of pondering, Seymour nodded in recognition.

"Oh yes, you people. Wonder why you weren´t more surprised to see me?" He asked, and Rikku shrugged. "Trust me, we would have been, if we didn´t already know that you came back." She said, and Seymour calmly lifted his brows. "How did you know that I came back?" He asked, but Lulu cut him short. "Well, when the necessary introductions are over, you can answer one basic question. Where is Yuna, and what did you do to her?" she questioned, and Seymour eyed her warily. "What do you mean? Has something happened to her?" He wondered with grave tone, and Rikku stomped her foot to the ground. "Man, you were supposed to know that! What are we gonna do now? We have to continue our way, but I want to know that Yunie´s okay!" She sighed in frustration, and Lulu looked at her.

"It looks that we have no other choice but to take him with us. We have to go to Luca, before the Lord will find out about the resistance in there. The time is running out. Maester Seymour...is it even appropriate to call you a Maester? Anyway, Lord Seymour, this way. I know that it´s not fitting for your... aristocratic ways, but you are going to have to ride with Rikku with the same chocobo. So, pack yourself up, it´s going to be crowded." She coldly said, and headed back to her bird.

"We were here just to pass trough and continue our way to Luca, and after what they...did...in here, I know that they´ll do the same thing in Luca, as well. I don´t know why you are even here, but this is your last chance to redeem yourself, Lord Seymour. After all, we are all fully aware what you did just few weeks ago. And I´m sure that Yuna, especially, knows about that..." She frostily said, and not missing the sloppily hidden innuendo, Seymour replied to her with an equally icy tone all the while keeping his dignified pose.

"I´m afraid that I cannot accompany your charming presence with mine on your pointless journey, as I have more important matters to attend to. Like saving summoner Yuna, for example. And now, if you do not object, I shall continue my way to Bevelle, thank you." He turned, and was just about to leave when Rikku almost knocked him down as she rushed to block his way with her chocobo. "What is it with your obsession for my cousin? You know, I love Yunie like my very own sister, but there are hundreds of people who will soon end up in perhaps worse situation than she. We have no other choice but to go on, because if we divide, our chances to save her are close to nothing, and I want to save her and the rebels. We go save them now and Yuna after it, sheána?"

Seymour glared at the girl with clenched fists. Not only did she, a fifteen year old teenager, act like she was her superior, she also had the nerve to insult him by raping the language of his people with her dreadful Al-Bhed pronunciation.

Despite his blooming discontent for the silly girl, he nodded, and even put his dignity in danger by climbing on the back of the waiting chocobo. Since Rikku was already on the leash, Lulu was right.

It was quite cramped.

-x-

The sun was already cowardly setting, letting the inevitable darkness take hold of the world once more and Lady Honoré gazed the final glimpses of the vanishing light trough her bedroom window. She was restless, and a sickening feeling dwelled in her stomach.

You are going to betray your husband.

Laetitia hastily grabbed her little bag and opened her drawers in order to stuff her belongings in there

You are taking part in the most cruel crime you could imagine.

Laetitia folded her clothes neatly on the bed. Her hands were shaking.

He will never forgive you because what you will do now.

Tears dwelled behind her eyes, and she fought hard in order to open the bag´s strings with her trembling hands.

He will curse you and say that you didn´t mean anything to him.

Her hands were now fumbling slower with the knot.

He will hate you…

Her hands now halted their movement, and a tired sob escaped from her, but the unforgiving voice of her thoughts did not cease its torment.

…He will hate you and he will say that your son didn´t mean anything to him; that he could conceive another, he could love another woman. Another more faithful than you.

With this thought hammering her mind, she felt like she was dying with her every short intake of breath. Laetitia knew what she was supposed to do.

She was going to Luca by herself, in order to give some valuable information to the resistance.

She knew that she didn´t necessarily need to go there, and that lady Yuna´s friends were already in there, to strengthen people´s resolve to overthrow her husband. She was committing a murder.

A murder of your own husband.

The cold voice rang in her mind, but Laetitia knew that Serian was not right.

Killing every half-breed in the world did not bring justice to neither of them. And she couldn´t watch how Serian with his men killed another Sion everyday, ripping the children away from the embrace of their mothers. Once, she had believed in him. Serian meant everything to her. But…if only-

-If only what? You think that he will forgive you now? No. He will forget about you. As if you never existed in the first place. Leave him now, and you will die as well.

Laetitia chocked back her tears. She knew that by betraying her love, she would die from the inside with every coming day. And then only thing left for her would be only a mere shell of her former self. But it didn´t matter, not anymore.

She grabbed her bag, and rested her hand at the cold metal of the doorknob.

She couldn´t let her son be forgotten.

With this lingering thought, she opened the door, stepped out of her glorious prison, and never looked back.

-x-

Silence was the only thing which was real at Luca that night.

The sun had already fled this dreadful city, and darkness crept effortlessly over the towering buildings.

As the figures of Lulu, Rikku and Seymour descended from the exhausted chocobos, the city did not greet them with joy as it had done in the past, but instead, these three travellers were greeted only with cold, indifferent stare.

It was almost like the city was a dark, cold, uncaring world of its own, isolated from the rest of Spira.

The group headed to the mansion in the outskirts of the city, where they had been instructed to go. The three glanced at each other at the front entrance, and Seymour tightened his hood´s knot, and looked down.

He had no idea why he was here. Yuna wasn´t here, and neither was Serian….Seymour was completely useless standing around these two morons, and he couldn´t complete his plans from here, either.

Hatred grew inside of him, suffocating him, taking his breath away.

He wanted so much these days.

Not only did he desire the very thing what had been in his mind all this time, he had also developed this rather harmful liking for the summoner. "But…liking? No, it was not the right word. "Lust" wasn´t one either…" He grew even more frustrated from the thought. "Was "love" enough? But when you wanted to "love" someone so much that it hurt and made you feel like suffocating in this petty feeling, was that love?" His face brightened a little. "It must be. She will survive. She must survive. And I --" Seymour had an expression of pure joy, "…And I will have everything what I wanted! Both her and this…there will not be a middle in this, it must be all."

But Seymour didn´t have time to enjoy this feeling for long, as Rikku noticed his expression of a trance-like delight. She furrowed her brows in concern.

"Hey, uh…snap out of it, will you? You really, really look really, really creepy doing that sneering and smiling for nothing. Don´t do that, okay?" She hastily whispered, while staring at him with her big, child-like eyes.

Seymour glanced back at her. Her obnoxiousness repulsed him. "After all, what would she understand? She was no where near the level of purity, beauty and innocence what Lady Yuna possesses. The Lady Summoner is a godde--"

"Seymour Guado, snap out of your ridiculous day-dreaming and open that door! Since you are such a noble person, you should make the grand entrance. Now, open that door." The older woman, the black mage, ordered him but he didn´t really hear.

Not that he really was paying any attention, either…He was doing quite all right while imagining his coming glory, and not one petty black mage could stop him. But for now….he played along.

He smiled his polite smile once again, bowed his head slightly, and played along. After all, all actors must play their parts, and Spira was his playhouse, no matter what Auron had said.

-x-

It is dark in the house of Judgement.

Only a silent breeze of fresh air lingers in the room, slithering inside from the open window.

The breeze makes the curtains, made from the lightest silk, to reborn, to dance in the tune of death.

Death…it´s atrocious fragrance has already crept to Bevelle.

The Inquisition are already killing non-believers in the streets of the Holy Citadel. But Serian doesn´t care. He watches this mockery of Judgement from his balcony, he is the mastermind behind this play, he is the artist observing his greatest masterpiece.

Very little interest him these days.

The massacres which are increasing not only in numbers, but also in their atrocity, are coming closer each day.

The fact hardly touches him.

Feeling bored, restless, he turns away from the tedious sight and makes his way down the corridor slowly, gracefully, just like his father had taught him to many years past.

He has a strange feeling devouring himself from the inside. It makes him restless, wary. He sometimes feels this way, like the night years ago, when the boy spoke to him from the mirror.

Serian fears this boy, for he always speaks of the most utter truth. The time when he said he was unworthy, that he was doomed already from the beginning….or the time when the boy had pressured him to kill his father, so that he could be free.

The boy was right.

Serian had backed away like a scared child when the night of the murder, his first, should have had taken place in. He would have been truly free that time. But he was scared -- Serian´s expression twisted from the mere pain of thinking that repulsive word -- and he fled, and he let his father live. Now, He haunts him, not letting Serian rest.

But the Boy….the Boy is always right. He is not sure if the Boy could help him in this, though. Serian is thinking of the Summoner, the false goddess. He must do something about her.

A sharp sting of pain in his head, real or imagined, commands him to seek the Boy´s help again. With fastening pace, he heads down to the basement, down to the nest of his childhood nightmares.

He has not been in here for years, and the air is thick with age and fear, for this is the place where Serian first received his father´s punishment.

He slowly makes his way down the corridor, and paintings of his fore-fathers seem to sneer at him. He is stoic, calm from the outside, but there is a storm of emotions ravaging his already shattering mind.

This odd feeling only increases with every step he takes, and by step and by step and by step, he wants nothing more than to turn back and flee. But Serian knows that it is useless, that one cannot escape his own nightmares. He walks to the end of the corridor, where a vast, dark hall spread around him in hunger to suffocate the little light he has left in his mind.

Serian can see him now.

The Boy is nothing but a pale shadow, a mere reflection of him, but Serian can see how he is smirking at his very human-like form. He walks closer to the mirror.

"Ah, so you have come to see me again?" The Boy sneers at him, and Serian lets out a shudder. He has never been this scared in a long time, perhaps never.

" I-I came to--" He stutters, and now he is reminded of himself, only over two decades younger when was the last time he spoke with the boy.

"Spit it out, boy," The pale boy´s face turns to his father´s, "or else no-one will listen. And how could they do that? You are nothing but a failure, Serian. And that´s all what you´ll ever be." He spits at his son, and Serian is stiff from fear.

Somewhere inside of him, he has the vague knowledge that mirrors can´t really speak and that he was actually making all of this up, but Serian didn´t really care, not now, not anymore.

"What´s the matter, boy? Can´t handle it? You should have just killed me when you had the chance. Now I´m forced to watch this failure of a son standing right in front of me." Instead of flying in to a rage of no limit, Serian took a terrified step back, while looking at the image of his elderly father with wide, wild eyes.

"Oh, that´s right. You were all high and holy when you killed those people, but now when that whore of a Summoner thinks that your wife is not loyal to you, now you are all teary-eyed and scared. I didn´t raise my son to be a miserable failure! And if you honestly think that you are more stronger behind that atrocious shield of a human form, you are sorely mistaken." The face curses, and Serian is overwhelmed by the fact that his father seemed to be even more frightening in the mirror than he actually remembers him being in real life.

"B-But Father…What am I to do? The woman, the summoner…she looks so much like Her, so much that it hurts! If the terrible things what she said are true, then I am indeed lost! Guide me, Father. Tell me what to do!" He pleads, and Commodus only regards his son with the utmost repulsion.

"You dare to question your wife´s loyalty to you? Even when you sacrificed your own son for the Cause? You know that She hates those mud-blooded creatures just as much as I or you do. It was not me who gave the order for Sion´s execution, Serian. You knew this. Since it was you who wanted it to happen all along. You did it for the Cause! You did it for her! And I did it for you!

I killed your son because you wanted so. But you didn´t have the heart to do it yourself…and I wonder now. Why do you come to me now, on your knees, to plead some kind of solution for this mess you made by and for yourself? Your son is dead, my boy, accept it."

Serian´s reply was swift, "Yes, Father. He is dead. But I can have him back, for death is not eternal. I have found a way to resurrect him, and to explain to him that I did it because I love him. You said it yourself, Father. The most important desire requests the most dearest sacrifice, for it is the only way to achieve what you truly desire. And this is what I desired, Father. The mudbloods are soon no more. You desired this too, Father." Serian declared, now without any falter of his voice.

"Yes. But how will you bring your son to life, then? How can you cheat oblivion, boy?" Commodus inquired his son, and continued with a more graver voice, "Because the way of your filthy half-blooded brother is not possible for your son. You know this. Sion is now beyond salvation, my boy. You made sure of that."

Serian felt his heart sting again from the unbearable, suffocating guilt, but still he nodded. "Yes. But I do not need my son´s soul, not this time. But….the way to bring his body back to life is rather easy, in the end."

"And what will you do?"

Serian only smiled in response, and his father´s eyes widened from disbelief.

"You wouldn´t dare."

Serian´s smile grew only wider.

I forbid it!" The elder man shrieked, but Serian cannot hear. He was too busy with dreaming his future in which the Summoner plays an important role in.

With a triumphant, slightly crumbling smile, he turned his back to the mirror in which his father still tried to stop his son from committing one more crime which is the most hideous one of them all.

"She´ll hate you for this." The voice warned him for the last time, and after a frozen silence, Serian replied, with his back still turned away from the mirror, "I know. But she will forgive me, eventually. I know that she will." He whispers, and his father looks like growing violently sick at any second. "You will only satisfy your own selfish desire, Serian! It has nothing to do with saving Sion!"

This time anger twisted Serian´s noble features. He turned to face the mirror and with one delightfully light punch, he smashed the mirror into thousand shards. His hand was bleeding now, but he didn´t feel any pain.

"Death awaits you, Father. You know this. You will die like the rest of us." He whispered into the dull air of the dungeon and headed for the prison where summoner Yuna was kept.

-x-

A/N: Hooray. I decided to post this bugger again, and also checked the possible typos I wrote the last time. I also trie dto repair the format of the chapter, because screwed that one completely. After this, I´ll start to write the 19th chapter, which will be posted on a few week´s time. I can only write on the week-ends, you see. Eargh.

Now, after a LONG hiatus on my fic, I´ve decided to continue…a lot has happened since I wrote my latest chappie: I lost my muse for a long time, then my computer totally died on me, and now, finally, here I am with a new inspiration to continue. Yay!