FicWad

He had thought that it would have been painful, or perhaps some discomfort, having his own body transformed into another being. But all he had felt, was merely emptiness.

Yunalesca danced to the ritual, every steps she took and every swings of her hands increase the feeling of emptiness. He looked at his hands that had became transparent, and yet he didn't feel anything.

So weird.

He glanced at the summoner who was praying for one last time. Braska smiled and nodded lightly, there was no regrets in his eyes, his determination was unmovable. Jecht put on his widest grin as a farewell gift to his friend as he turned his attention back to Yunalesca whose dance was coming to an end.

The last thing he remembered seeing, was a mass of silvery white hair along with millions of pyreflies bundled together, almost like the Sending that he had seen Braska performed. Million shades of light flashed across his eyes as he closed them and he felt himself drifting away.

He didn't know how long it had been, it almost felt like he was back in the familiar water of Zanarkand once more, floating freely and weightless. So this is how a Fayth feels like huh?

He wasn't sure if he was actually seeing, but he could sensed something and perhaps saw something coming near him. He knew his body wasn't there anymore, yet his feelings were not much difference from when he used to have a human form.

/I have my eyes and my limbs. But I really wonder how they actually looked like now. At least I still looked like myself in this place/.

"We all do. As long as you remembers how you looked like when you're still human."

He recognized that voice, it had been following him the whole day before he was transported to Spira. He began to recall his senses and he could feel his eyes coming back to him once more. /That's my eyelids and my limbs and... and...yes... my body/.

He opened his eyes and he could not believed what had came into his eyes. He quickly regained his feel of his spiritual body and made himself landed on a tower, getting the feeling of weight again enable him to stop floating around, or the feeling of floating around.

"Zanarkand! This is Zanarkand! Am I home?!"

He yelled at the top of his voice, the feeling of seeing home once again after he had gave up all hopes of returning was simply overwhelming. But his yelling was not answered, all he could hear was his echoes and the voice that been following him all the while.

"This is the Zanarkand in your memory. It is not where you came from."

Jecht tried to trace the origin of the voice as he turned and walked around in small circles, his sight darting into all the directions he could find, and finally landed on the eerie shadow of a boy.

"You..."

He remembered it well. He was at the sea practicing when he saw this boy in a weird purple outfit jumping into the sea along with him. The water current in the sea was unexceptionally strong that day, and he thought he was going to die when he was caught in it. He remembered seeing the boy floated in front of him and the next thing he remembered, he was lying on the beach near Bevelle. All these while in Spira, he had not seen the boy anymore, till now.

"You were the one who brought me to Spira, am I right?"

"I can't do that on my own. All the Fayths did."

Jecht shook his head lightly, "well are you all expecting me to do something?"

The boy looked down, his hood covering most of his face and Jecht could not make out the expression on his face, but his tone had gave away some of his emotions.

"We... are tired."

He snorted, suspecting if beating around the bush when one was supposed to be speaking the truth was one of the unbreakable Yevon tradition as well. He asked the Fayth impatiently, expecting to get an answer out right away.

"We wish to stop dreaming."

He raised his eyebrows, a confused look on his face as he listened to the Fayth explained about the truth of his Zanarkand. Every words that had came out of his mouth felt like a heavy knock on the back of his head. He felt his legs gotten weak and he allowed the strength to escape which landed him hard onto the ground.

His mind began to went blank, his eyes were staring onto the concrete floor with lights attached, his hands brushed across the floor slowly. He stopped in front of him and he lifted his hands, his attention now turned from the ground to his own palms.

"So you're saying I'm not real. I don't even exist in the first place."

The Fayth looked away, refusing to look straight into the dream that he had made up along with the other Fayths. It was cruel to tell someone straight in his face that his existence was nothing but lies. It was selfish of them. Jecht was chosen out of all the dream Zanarkand people, because they had saw something in him that they had wished that might change Spira. Perhaps he would be the hero to release them and the people from the one thousand years curse.

Jecht was bold and dared to make a difference in his own world, the Fayths had watched him grew in the dream. However, he had disappointed them now. The cycle continued and they could not stop dreaming, nor could their existence came to a cease.

The Fayth stole a glance at him, watching him looking into his own hands as his expression went from rage, confusion to emptiness.

"These hands..."

He had spoken, perhaps unconsciously, hearing how his voice was as weightless as the pyreflies that had floated on top on the city where they were. The Fayth began to wonder if he could bear to continue to watch him.

"I held the blitzball with this pair of hands. I held my wife with this pair of hands. I held Auron and Braska when they were almost pushed over the cliff by a darn fiend." The volume of his voice raised as he repeated the words.

"I held my son when he was a baby with this pair of hands."

His voice cracked, and he sounded almost desperate. The Fayth had watched him grew, and he had never saw Jecht behaving like what he was now.

Jecht lifted his head up and looked straight into the face of the Fayth. Is he crying?

"I have touched and held many people with this pair of hands. Please don't tell me that these are not real!"

The Fayth felt a choke in his throat, he could feel the desperation in him and he looked away once more. He could not bear the emotions in his eyes and his voice. "I'm sorry..."

Jecht's hands fell restlessly in front of him, he looked back down onto the ground and remained silent. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, and a particular one hit him hard back into where he were.

Making a difference.

They both remained silent for a long time, it was then Jecht looked back up to the Fayth. The pair of familiar eyes that he had seen and the confidence that showed so clearly through his grin.

"You will help me to bring my boy to Spira."

"What?"

"You will help me."

The Fayth could not understand what Jecht was thinking, but there was something about his smile and the fire burning in his eyes that assured him that this man knew exactly what he was doing. He gave him a final nod as agreement and vanished as he heard the summoning of Braska.

Jecht watched as the Fayth disappeared from his sight. He could hear Braska calling his name. He stood tall and watched the starless sky, ready to be summoned.

His fist grabbed tightly, and a smirk on him.

/We will make a difference/.