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dolevalanTitle: Echoes
Fandom: FFX (Spoiler Warning)
Rating: G
Usual fanfic disclaimer applies.
It was silent. It was hard to find silent places, in a city as busy and full as Zanarkand, but he had managed to sniff one out, down by the beach. The sun was just beginning to rise as he pulled out his sword and saluted the east in a simple, clean motion.
He began. One slow move. Then another. A third. He sped up carefully but steadily, repeating the motions. One swing. For his parents. One more. For Jecht. A third. For Braska.
Any bystander might have thought the man they watched was possessed. He moved with both extraordinary grace and a ferocity that would scare many a lesser man to tears if turned in his direction. The sand gave under his feet, forcing him to constantly adjust his stance. He swung harder.
There was still no sound. None he could hear with his ears, at any rate. Ghosts of sounds crept around his careful defenses. Jecht asking him to look after his son. Yunalesca’s mocking laughter. Braska’s final gasp before life left his eyes.
And over it all, the call of the farplane. The siren song. It’s so easy. Let go. Come home.
He trained harder until he fell, spent, to one knee. Fighting ghosts was exhausting work, he found. In the distance, a seagull screamed. The day began.
Fandom: FFX (Spoiler Warning)
Rating: G
Usual fanfic disclaimer applies.
It was silent. It was hard to find silent places, in a city as busy and full as Zanarkand, but he had managed to sniff one out, down by the beach. The sun was just beginning to rise as he pulled out his sword and saluted the east in a simple, clean motion.
He began. One slow move. Then another. A third. He sped up carefully but steadily, repeating the motions. One swing. For his parents. One more. For Jecht. A third. For Braska.
Any bystander might have thought the man they watched was possessed. He moved with both extraordinary grace and a ferocity that would scare many a lesser man to tears if turned in his direction. The sand gave under his feet, forcing him to constantly adjust his stance. He swung harder.
There was still no sound. None he could hear with his ears, at any rate. Ghosts of sounds crept around his careful defenses. Jecht asking him to look after his son. Yunalesca’s mocking laughter. Braska’s final gasp before life left his eyes.
And over it all, the call of the farplane. The siren song. It’s so easy. Let go. Come home.
He trained harder until he fell, spent, to one knee. Fighting ghosts was exhausting work, he found. In the distance, a seagull screamed. The day began.
