Three Paths: The Dreamer, The Warrior and The Martyr

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, just the story!

A/N: Ok, a little trip into the unknown. I decided randomly to write this...oh...an hour ago? Just something new I thought I'd try, and hopefully you guys will like it.

They sat in silence on that last night. Campfire aglow, three sets of eyes observed a thousand-year-old memory, etched into the ruins of the city directly in front of them. A city once filled with light; one that never slept. The eerie cry of the pyreflies reached three sets of ears, setting the tone for the rest of their journey together – the time of laughter and friendly banter had ceased with the setting of the sun; the last sunset some would ever see.

The journey from Zanarkand and back had been a solemn one, yet one of them had managed to smile every step of the way. Three sets of feet trudged through the sacred gates; each of them carrying their fair share of the burden, if only clinging to the hope that it would lighten the load off of the other companions. Snow crunched under their shoes, and with each one, a deep bow ensued from the native Ronso that guarded Mt. Gagazet. Halting momentarily, the three companions returned the gesture; two dipped their heads and shame, while the other raised with a great sense of pride.

It wasn't long before the snow had become a fleeting memory, and was now replaced with wild grass that brushed against their ankles. Two swore under their breaths, while the third swore that the sky had never been so blue. The expansive land that swelled with peace, also bore scars from a thousand-year-old battles – each time had been hopeful that it'd seen it's last, only to find ten years later, it was all for naught.

Three men stood in the barren field, setting three sets of eyes toward the gorge before them. Three sets of feet rooted firmly to the ground; two adverted their stares to the third, who smiled, with a twinkle in his eye as the sun kissed his face. The dreamer folded his hands across his chest, seeming to wait for something that hadn't yet come. The warrior lowered his head, desperately willing the world to stop.

"Do not lower your heads in shame," the martyr clasped his hands on their shoulders, "We all knew it where the path would lead us, my friends."

"My Lord," the warrior tightened his fists, "You can still turn around – it's not too late."

"Many Summoners lose their way, here, Auron. They stray from their paths, afraid to face their mortality. I am a man with no regrets."

"But what of Yuna," Auron blurted out, "And of Tidus? What is to become of them after you depart for the Farplane?"

The dreamer stood silent, ever vigilant of his duty to the Summoner he protected. It wasn't until Auron had mentioned those names that he flinched in uncertainty. The memory of his son flooded his senses, and he wanted nothing more than to go back and hug him one last time; to kiss him and his wife, but more importantly, to let his son know that he loved him.

"Jecht?"

"Yeah?" came a gruff response with eyes still settled on the gorge before them.

"Auron?"

"Lord Braska?" he bowed to his Summoner.

"As a Summoner," Braska began, "I had to choose my Guardians wisely. It takes more than keen combat skills to fulfill your duties. What we ask of you, is not easy, but it is necessary."

Pausing to reflect, Braska remembered something he had shared with his two Guardians in Bevelle, just before setting out on the Summoners Pilgrimage:

"A fallen Summoner, a man from Zanarkand, and a fallen warrior-monk doomed to obscurity for refusing the hand of the priest's daughter. What delightful irony it would be if we defeated Sin."

Jecht chuckled just then; a slight grin adorning his lips as they curled upward.

"How can you laugh at a time like this?" Auron scoffed, trying hard to mask an impromptu smile of his own under his red coat.

"Gimme a break!" Jecht grabbed at his sides as the laughter echoed off the semi-circled mountains that surrounded them, "You try bein' hauled off from home and into a world that's not your own!"

At this, Braska smiled even wider. Though they had been at odds for most of the journey, Auron and Jecht had come to a mutual understanding. It was for that very reason, both Braska and Jecht, entrusted him with one final duty. The final wishes of two men facing death with an unwavering resolve to defeat Sin.

"Yuna," Braska whispered, "When I look to the sky and then the ground, I can vividly picture those eyes of hers."

"She'll make it, Braska," Jecht nodded, "My boy will manage, too."

"I don't know how I'll do it," Auron mused, "But I promise they'll be in safe hands."

"For the love of all that's holy," Jecht rubbed his hands in his face, "Tell him I said no crying!"

"Braska?"

"Make sure she finds our spheres in time," he nodded, "And that I love her very much. She was never far from my mind – I carried her with me everywhere."

A shriek filled the air just then, turning their blood cold the instant it reached their ears. To the north, it could be seen as it eclipsed the sun that once shined. Sin; it's grotesque form had found then at last, taunting them as they stood in the Calm Lands.

"Guardians," Braska took his staff in hand, "My journey and your duty ends here. Let us prove to Spira that anything is possible.

"My katana will serves you on this night, Lord Braska."

"Come on, Auron," Jecht rolled his eyes, "Put some 'umph' into it, will ya?"

"I beg your pardon?" Auron looked toward his companion.

"Like this," Jecht smirked, rushing toward the creature, "Kiss my blitball playin' ass, you whale lookin' freak!"

"Is...he allowed to do that, Lord Braska?"

A smile plastered to his face, Braska shrugged, "He's the Final Aeon, Auron – I do not think under those circumstances, there will be any repercussions for his actions."

"Aren't you afraid he'll...do something stupid before his time?" Auron asked as they watched Jecht convulse, vulgarly thrusting his hips in what he called 'The Zanarkand Abe Taunt'.

"I trusted him enough to bring him along. In fact, I find it quite amusing – provoking the face of death, don't you?"

For a second, Auron entertained the idea, "I suppose you're right. Well, it serves for a good show at any rate."

Braska nodded as a gleeful chuckle escaped, "I think Spira has waited long enough. Shall we?"

"Come on! Is that the best you got? The Duggles hit harder than that!" Jecht shouted, thrusting his sword at Sin, laughing maniacally as he did so.

"Let's..." Auron sighed, grabbing his jug from his hip.

As he uncorked it to take a sip for an opening attack, he quickly found that there wasn't a single drop left.

"Jecht!"

That night, the four corners of Spira witnessed another fall of Sin. But as dawn broke in two distant eras, the paths of a little boy and a little girl, had become inevitable; much like the Spiral of death that had plagued Spira for a thousand-years before their time.

Only this time, the Summoner and her Guardians would end it for good. While three stories ended here, their story had just begun.

Hmm...well, something out of the ordinary. I like it just the same :)