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He was an odd sort: awkward, clumsy, and always telling the tallest of tales. At least, the others thought they were tall tales. Yuna believed him. When she told him so, he broke into the widest grin that barely fit into his face.
“I wish you could see it,” he later said. “Zanarkand; the city that never sleeps.” His glance cut over to her face, the grin still in place. “I’ll take you there someday.”
The offer had come nonchalantly, his face a picture of resplendent jubilance, almost bright like the sun, unaware of the fate that awaited her at the end of her pilgrimage.
It was apparent, from the first few moments of meeting him, that Tidus’s Zanarkand was not the same as the Zanarkand they all knew. Sir Jecht, her father’s guardian, used to tell her the same thing. No wonder; they were father and son, as she later learned. She noticed it in the way they carried themselves; their hearty laughs; their staunch refusal to let anything, not even their predicaments, dampen their mood. A trait she would like to copy one day. Tidus always frowned every time someone noted the similarities, but nevertheless, they had become a source of comfort for her.
It was during a warm afternoon that Yuna found him practicing blitzball outside the inn on the road to Luca. Wakka and his team would be competing in the tournament there. Tidus, too, apparently—a trump card to finally break their twenty-three-year losing streak. Wakka had looked so confident when he announced this to everyone, much to an aggrieved Lulu, because it was clear to everyone that Tidus wasn’t—shouldn’t be—right in the head. Not when he spoke of cities of dreams with lights and revelries all year round in a place where ruins had stood for a thousand years and overrun with fiends, right? But when he displayed his skills in front of the Besaid Aurochs, no one could dispute that he might be—at least, regarding his status as a blitzball star player—telling the truth.
“I see you, you know.”
Yuna blinked, then straightened her back. Tidus had stopped tossing the ball into the air, now cradling it against his hip as he stared at her through the gap in the leaves. Heat flushed across her cheeks; Yuna covered it with a cough.
He crossed to her hiding spot behind an array of green plants by the inn's side door, sitting on the white stone steps. His lips curled into a mischievous grin.
“Wanna play?” He offered her the ball. “You always look like you wanna play with us.”
“I—” She paused, gauging the ball in her hands. In all honesty, she hadn’t wanted to play—never thought to join them. She’d always been content watching from the sidelines on her breaks between summoner training. But there was something about Tidus’s style that reminded her of Sir Jecht and, hence, her father. She looked up. Tidus cocked his head to the side and nodded encouragingly at her.
He was already moving away before she could give an answer. Yuna found no reprieve.
“I don’t know how to,” she finally replied even as she followed him to the small clearing beside the inn.
“I’ll teach you.”
Easy for him to say, but Yuna tossed the ball to him nonetheless and listened to his instructions on how to catch. She never understood the rules but Tidus’s animated face as he tried to explain as simply as he could was enjoyable to see. At some point, she’d begun to smile, which made him pause.
“What’s that look for?”
“Huh?”
“That smile.”
Yuna wiped the expression from her face. She hadn’t realized. “I just… thought it’s fun.” Tidus didn’t break his gaze. “It’s always fun watching you play—you guys play,” she quickly amended.
He smirked, seemingly noticing her slip. Yuna shifted her eyes away, a blush coloring her cheeks.
“Wakka said they've been on a losing streak, but I’m gonna change that. Just you watch. The Aurochs will be the one to dominate the Luca tournament.” The smirk turned into a confident grin, and once again, Yuna couldn’t help the smile returning to her face.
That night, Macalania Woods stood silent. No wind rattled the trees; not even a breeze to ripple the water. Sitting on the sandy bank with her clothes dripping wet, Yuna had pulled her knees to her chest and whispered the words that had been weighing on her mind:
I’m sorry.
For not saying anything. For keeping things to herself.
Tidus stopped wringing water from his clothes and looked at her. Yuna stared fixedly at the still water. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him prop his arms on the ground then direct his gaze upward to the star-studded sky.
“If anything,” he spoke, his voice soft, “I should be the one who apologizes. I said all those things without really knowing what your journey is about.”
Yuna shook her head. “I kept it a secret. The others doubted your story but I didn’t—”
“Then it was as much their fault as it was mine!” Yuna flinched at the edge in his voice. “Wakka, Lulu, Kimahri, even Auron… They kept quiet as I babbled on about beating Sin and going places after this pilgrimage was over. But beating Sin would mean—” His breath caught; Yuna’s fists clenched around her hakama. “I wanted to show you Zanarkand. My Zanarkand. But never at the cost of your own life.”
Silence followed his angry outburst. As though shaken, the previously tranquil pyreflies now bobbed and hovered by the lake. She had always known what her fate would be and accepted it unquestioningly. She still did.
“But you said you were happy,” Tidus went on, “and maybe I can understand why they let me be.” She glanced to her side. Tidus was looking at her, a smile to his lips tinted blue by the pyreflies’ glow. “That’s why we’ll make lots of memories together—the best, greatest, most fun memories you’ll ever have that you’ll face Sin with the bravest of smiles.”
She wasn’t lying when she told him he made her happy. To see him laugh, and smile, and talk like a tomorrow existed beyond the summoning of the Final Aeon. It had freed her from the constraints of her friends’ worries and sorrow.
She felt the tension leaving her grip on her hakama. She would leave, but Spira would be protected and her father’s legacy preserved. That was enough for her.
“Thank you,” she said past the growing lump in her throat.
Before she could second-guess herself, Yuna leaned her head against his shoulder, relishing his warmth and steady presence. He was her sun: blinding and brilliant against the darkness of the night. Would they call her selfish for hoping that he could stay with her? He anchored her, past her fear and pressing doubt, a reassurance that everything would be alright.
It was like waking up from a dream.
The sun rose on the city of Bevelle, painting it in hues of pink and gold. The people were still asleep. At times, Yuna would hear soft steps on the corridor outside: maids preparing for the day. Yuna’s clothes had been laid out on her bed. She couldn’t sleep. She sat at her desk, watching the backdrop of an inn room within a sphere. Her friends had recorded it when they had been staying in the Calm Lands. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Someone cleared his throat. “One, two… Test,” came a voice from the sphere. Her throat ached when Tidus’s face appeared in the projected light. “Hey, is this thing on?”
“Yes, it is, doofus, now hurry up!” Rikku was barely visible from the corner.
“Uh, right then.” Tidus cleared his throat, sat straighter, and looked directly at her. Yuna’s breath hitched. “Hey, Yuna,” he said. “Congrats on defeating Sin.”
It had been a week or so since their battle with Sin. Yuna’s life had been a whirlwind of meetings and reforms with the remaining Maesters of Yevon, and then meetings with the people to confirm that Sin was finally, truly gone. An Age of Eternal Calm, they’d said. Yuna had smiled throughout it all.
Later today, she would address those same people on a stage at the Bevelle courtroom. Her speech lay beside the sphere on a piece of white parchment. Someone had written it for her, made her promise to read and remember every line. She hadn’t liked the contents very much. Nerves getting the better of her, she had gone and walked around her room, searching every drawer and cabinet for something that would catch her interest, until she came across the sphere in a bag—Rikku’s.
Now the tears she hadn’t been able to conjure trickled down her cheeks one after another. Her heart had seized at the sight of Tidus’s glowing smile. Rikku quickly shoved him aside after he’d said his piece and said it was her turn next. Yuna laughed at that. Then the others took turns, and when it was almost over, Rikku sat in front of the sphere again, only for Tidus to grab her arm and push her out of the room. She protested, but Tidus said she’d have lots of time to congratulate Yuna later. He shut the door before Rikku could get a word in.
“Now that that’s settled,” he mumbled. He looked around, looked at the sphere, scratched the back of his head, then sat in front of it again. He closed his eyes for a while before taking a deep breath, and when he opened them, the bright blue of his gaze, so like the pyreflies’ light in Macalania, met hers.
Her lungs constricted.
“If you’re seeing this, Yuna,” he began to say, “I guess that means I’m not there anymore.”
The tears that had started as a slow trickle became a steady stream.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you. I guess I didn’t want to worry you. I only learned about it too when we were traveling across Mount Gagazet. Bahamut came to me and pleaded for my help. You didn’t want to abandon your people; I didn’t either. If there was a chance to free you from your shackles, then I’d gladly do it, even if it’d cost me my life.” He laughed, somewhat self-deprecating. “I guess we’re more alike than we thought. Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep all my promises, but I hope I did keep one. You have all the best memories stored in those spheres I had Rikku record.” He paused. “I’ll always be with you, Yuna.”
The recording stopped. Tidus’s face remained for a second longer, before the light vanished, and the sphere dimmed.
Yuna gasped. Anguish she’d managed to keep at bay now surged like the high tides of a tsunami, threatening to drown her whole. Sobs racked her body until it was all she could do to remain in her seat.
There had been times when Yuna thought it had been a dream: the silly laughs, the funny jokes, the kiss in the lake. He’d been too perfect, knowing just what to say and what to do, keeping her spirits up when she had been on the verge of breaking. And then he was gone, just like that, with no trace in the world. She’d whistled at the pier time and again, but no fresh-faced boy with a sunny smile ever rushed to her side. Her father had left her keepsakes to remember him by, but Tidus was someone who should not have existed in the first place.
The sphere sat silently on the desk. Her fingers twitched; she pressed the play button again.
“One, two… Test…” Tidus’s face came on. “Hey is this thing on?”
“Yes, it is, doofus, now hurry up!”
Tidus left no keepsakes, but this sphere was proof that her memories were real. As the morning light seeped through the curtains, Yuna’s lips curved into a gentle smile.
~ END ~