Path of a Summoner

Despite New Yevon’s threats, the apprentice summoners and young guardians that were slopped off into the ranks of the warrior monks were rarely dispatched after rebuilding efforts were well on their way. Bevelle’s architecture was restored to its former glory, but its grip on Spira was forever lost. There was little purpose to keeping armed warriors on hand.

The new organization’s leader promised a return to the balance that Yevon once provided, through the restoration of their culture. Young volunteers from across Spira were released under New Yevon to hunt down spheres containing records of Spira’s history.

Amalthea couldn’t be bothered, and had no interest in restoring Yevon. All she wanted was an escape, and a chance to put to use the abilities she’d been honing for years as a guardian in training. New Yevon was wasting their time, keeping them uniformed but basically confining them to cleaning duties. She felt trapped, without even the small consolations promised to her when she was forced into her new role.

Thankfully, her restlessness was a shared symptom between her and the other summoners and guardians no longer needed by New Yevon. Mobius took this opportunity to form his own secret society, which he called Respira: those who would breathe new life into Spira. Through this, they organized meetings in their free time to continue sparring in secret. This was how she kept herself in fighting condition, and it was little acts of rebellion like her mother’s long sash she wore over her rarely needed uniform that kept her stable.

Within New Yevon, a position had opened for a single person to review the spheres brought in by the hunters to see if they actually contained valuable information or not. Mobius, left to his own devices, had volunteered, and his duties with the monks had been adjusted to fit this new role. When he wasn’t reviewing spheres as New Yevon’s sole record keeper, he was busy reading, scouring over texts leftover from the thousand years of Sin’s reign of terror.

Truthfully, though he spent little time doing anything besides studying, he was looking for a way to fit into the new world without summoners and guardians. If that meant taking former summoners and guardians and storming Yevon himself, that’s what he would do.

Often, though, studying meant breaking to places they weren’t meant to be. Yevon’s secrets were tightly guarded, even under Trema’s insistence that they were preserving their history. Mobius was the only one allowed to view the spheres he received, and he never spoke of their contents either. Their libraries were equally well-kept.

“Trema frightens me,” said Amalthea, mumbling softly as she paced the area behind the desk Mobius was seated at in the abandoned library. “He’s the only one permitted to use the libraries, and I’ve only seen him come here once. If we get caught…”

She couldn’t quite place why the ancient looking man made her so nervous, but that’s how it was. Insubordination, even in lazy New Yevon, was a serious offense. Their plans to desert had yet to be solidified, so there was no room for error.

“That is why you are here, watching the door for me, isn’t it?” said Mobius, not looking up from his work. He nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose by the frames.

It wasn’t just the prospect of desertion that had her worried, either. Mobius was neglecting himself, and spent far more time than was actually allowed sleeping. He woke too early, began the day’s work, then after dinner, he would slink off to the library, with or without Amalthea. She was sure he would run himself ragged, but she was far more destructive to herself than he was, her nerves very close to eating her alive.

“If you’re worried, you don’t have to be here with me,” he said. “I don’t exactly need protection from the old priests. Kianpraty said he was looking for you, before you came to meet me. Sounds like your friends miss you.”

“Well, we’re not really that close,” she shrugged, picking at her nails. “I mean, we get along, but we’re just letting off some steam. I can miss a few nights to be with you.”

“Well, there’s nothing to fear from Trema, since he’s never here either,” admitted Mobius, pressing his thumb to his lips while he thought. “But there’s no risk of anyone else coming to check either. Trema has all of Yevon’s secrets under lock and key. No one but me has access to the spheres brought in by the hunters. Don’t you want to know why?”

Amalthea tilted her head towards him, turning away from the door hesitantly. “...Why?”

He turned away from his books to look at her, resting one arm over the back of his chair. “Because, there are no spheres to view. After I review them, they’re treated as if the hunters brought in junk spheres and destroyed. Trema has no interest in preserving history.”

Amalthea blinked, then gave a sharp laugh. “All of that effort, all of those sphere hunters clogging up the city, and it’s for nothing? Why go through the trouble?”

“Because he’s intentionally covering it all up,” he said, smiling faintly, as if he found the whole thing amusing. “I don’t know why. I can’t pretend to read minds. Maybe he’s trying to prevent something like Sin from ever happening again. Most of the spheres of any value are of Zanarkand, before the war a thousand years ago. I suppose he’s trying to cover up the events leading to its creation.”

“So that’s why you’re so interested in the spheres,” said Amalthea, nodding. “Because of the dreams, right?”

“There’s a lot to learn from these ancient records. To be honest… Some of the more interesting ones I’ve kept for myself. Not that Trema himself could tell the value of one from the home videos.”

“You’ve been stealing from the sphere stash?” she asked, eyes wide. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, your presence has become a little scarce recently. I hear Levy has been making eyes at you ever since you destroyed him during a sparring match,” he said, chuckling as he turned back to his reading. “But it isn’t as though you would stop me. Both of us are looking for a purpose, aren’t we?”

Amalthea sighed. He was right. “I hate this place. I’d do anything to get out of here. Even the friends I’ve made here aren’t worth having no freedom and nowhere else to go. And Levy should try keeping his eyes to himself.”

The lifestyle of a warrior monk on reserve was destroying her. She was exhausted from balancing her daily chores as well as keeping her activities during her free time a secret. Mobius might be spending all of his time reading late at night, but she spent her nights restless and frustrated, and more importantly: wide awake.

Mobius hummed a little at that, smiling. “If your nerves really are getting the better of you, you’d better get comfortable. There’s enough material here to keep me busy for quite some time.”

“I can’t get comfortable,” she mumbled. “When are we doing to do something? We’ve got enough people who spent their entire lives training in combat and magic to make a break for it. All of them will fight for you before they lift a finger for Yevon.”

He sighed in response, running a hand through his recently trimmed hair, though it remained barely past his shoulders. His own wear became evident in his eyes. “There’s nothing I can do right now. This is the only way to keep access to the knowledge I seek.”

That’s what he’d meant to say, anyway. Before he finished speaking, the library’s door was flung open. A lone guard making the rounds must have heard them speaking. Mobius had been correct when he said a guard entering the library was a very rare occurrence, proven by the stunned expression on his own face.

“You,” growled the guard, narrowing his eyes at Mobius. “What are you doing down here?”

Mobius froze for a split second, his mind racing. “Studying,” he said, somewhat truthfully. “As record keeper it is my duty to have a comprehensive knowledge of Spira’s rich history.”

“Even if I believed Lord Trema gave you permission to enter his personal library, that hardly explains why you brought her with you,” he said, jerking his head towards her with suspicious eyes. “I caught the other orphanage guardians practicing their training on each other not fifteen minutes ago. One of them told me where I would find her, and I’m shocked that it would be one of the most trusted members of New Yevon I find snooping around here.”

“I assure you, I was the one who asked her to be here,” urged Mobius, rising to his feet as the guard approached Amalthea.

The guard was no longer listening to him, interested now in the sea green scarf hung over the girl’s uniform. Her body shook as it felt like her worst nightmare was coming true. Right when they had gotten comfortable in their new lifestyle, right when they were getting ready to make a move, it was all going to end.

“Your uniform isn’t to be disrespected with trinkets,” he said, his hand reaching towards the fold of the scarf at her shoulder.

“It’s my mother’s,” she breathed. “It’s all I have from her--I wear it all the time.”

“Maybe the other monks are too soft on you,” he offered. “None of you whelps are better than the rest of us, even if you were a guardian. We all have to follow the same rules.”

Amalthea backed into the shelves behind her. The guard, with his hand still outstretched and his breath so close she could feel it as he towered over her, snatched her scarf away. It came away easily, only causing her to stumble slightly as the loose knot that fastened it was undone. He was still too close, between her and Mobius. The sea shimmered in the guard’s balled up fist, rippling in the air as his hand fell to his side.

She shrieked, and Mobius was standing beside them suddenly. As her hands started to claw at the guard, he put his own arm out to hold her back from him.

Mobius overestimated his strength, however, and she shoved him aside easily. She barrelled into the guard with the butt of her issued firearm that hung from a belt around her shoulders, causing him to groan in confusion.

Amalthea tossed her gun aside, then lunged at the guard herself, punching him in the stomach repeatedly. As the wind was knocked out of him, he fell to his feet and released the scarf to hold his thoroughly bruised midsection.

She stopped paying attention to the guard, scooping the sash up in her arms and running back to Mobius before he could catch his breath - or her, for that matter.

Mobius dragged his hands down his face as he weighed his options. Things were going to get a lot harder, if Amalthea was made to suffer for her actions. On the other hand, they weren’t ready to take over yet, either.

But there was a third option.

“Alright. It looks like I can grant your wish after all,” said Mobius, looking pityingly down at the injured guard. “I want you to run and get the others. It sounds as though they’ve been disciplined themselves, but you must find them. Tell them to grab everything they have and run. We’re leaving tonight, even if Trema himself tries to stop us.”

Amalthea was cradling her mother’s scarf, and her eyes went wide in surprise. “They will try to stop us--what should I do?”

“Do what you have to. Nothing is more important than escaping right now. Tell the others the same thing,” he said. “Now run as fast as you can. I’ll take what I can from here and I’ll meet you outside.”

“You can’t go alone,” she whispered, shaking her head. “If more monks come after us…”

“My magic is stronger than you think,” he said, smiling slyly. “Just trust me. Besides, even if I don’t make it, you’ll get your freedom.”

Amalthea paused for a moment to consider this, then nodded faintly. She didn’t say another word, springing out of the door as if a darting viper.

Mobius turned his attention to the writhing soldier once again, raising his arm. The air in the room went dry and reeked of sulfur. His hair, shorter than it had been before being dumped into the warrior monks’ ranks, rustled and stood on end as the magic surged through him. His fingertips began to crackle as a glowing light emerged from them, sparks flying from around his arm.

He couldn’t leave any loose ends. The fewer people who tried to stop their escape, the better. Especially when he needed to borrow a few more of the library’s sacred tomes.

---

 

The departure from New Yevon had created quite a disturbance within the organization, but was kept very quiet outside of the temple.

When they were settling things with New Yevon, the reasons given were disgustingly simple. They were embarrassed, frankly, that a young group of prospective summoners and guardians had caused so much internal damage. There were several casualties to the warrior monks present during the mass desertion; mainly injuries, but at least one soldier had lost their life. In addition were the stolen spheres, as well as a very large sum of money from their vaults, a portion of which was generously donated back to the temple by an anonymous source. This was all organized, of course, by the man designated by Trema himself to protect the secrets of Spira’s past. While that information was not common knowledge, the significance of his position was not lost on those under Trema, who sought to cover the whole thing up as well.

As such, while Mobius was no longer a member of Yevon, he was allowed to live within Bevelle in a modest home, and he aided the others in getting back on their feet as well.

Now that Amalthea had everything she wanted, her friend, her freedom, she was elated. The only thing missing was that she could tell Mobius didn’t feel the same way. He was still working, spending a great deal of time with his books, and the other half of that time asleep.

He spoke of dreams of Zanarkand, insisting that he was studying even in the resting world.

“In order to return things to the way they once were, I must bring back Sin,” he said one day, finally confessing to her his wishes. “The pilgrimage must continue. But without the beast, there’s no reason for the pilgrimage.”

Amalthea stood behind him at his desk, as she so often did. She brushed her fingers through his hair, which fell much longer down his back after only a year, and began to braid it idly as he spoke.

“Sin?” she asked softly.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he said, humoring her by holding still.

“I’m not,” she admitted. “It’s… kind of scary. I know you were working on… on learning how to create a Fayth. The idea of bringing back Sin just doesn’t feel real to me.”

“Like a dream?”

“Yeah, kind of. I can’t say I’d be too sorry if Bevelle burned again because of it,” she said, pressing her lips into a line. “I’m just glad to be away from Yevon, but if anything happened to them…”

She finished braiding the small portion of his hair, then undid the loose strands, sighing softly. “...How will you do it?”

Mobius frowned at that, smoothing his hair, then leaning back in his seat to think while he closed his eyes.

“It isn’t currently possible. I already made a breakthrough on the creation of a Fayth stone, as you know,” he said, shaking his head. “The secrets of the summoners of Zanarkand are poorly kept, but very rare.”

“Recent events haven’t helped much either. Even being able to review the spheres firsthand, I didn’t have time to properly analyze many of them,” he mumbled.

“But you kept the important ones,” Amalthea added pleasantly.

He nodded slightly. “But there’s no telling how many I dismissed that could have proven useful if I’d only known more.”

He rose out of the chair, pushing it closer to his workspace, and Amalthea stepped back to accommodate him.

“But none of that matters. If I can create a Fayth powerful enough to remake Sin…”

That caused Amalthea to snap her head up in attention. “The Fayth create Sin?”

Mobius paused to look at her somewhat oddly. He had a strange expression, almost pitying. “Sort of… Sin is created from a number of things, not the least of which is a regular Fayth. The temple Aeons were created to provide summoners with the tools to reach Zanarkand, but not meant to be used to defeat Sin. It might be possible, but the Final Aeon is what keeps the temple Aeons from being consumed by Spira’s natural order.”

He swallowed, then started to elaborate. “That is… each time Sin has been defeated, what actually happens is that Sin’s summoner takes control of the summoner’s Aeon, and then uses it to repair the husk that Sin becomes. Each Fayth used in the final summoning became the next Sin. Yunalesca’s own husband, Lord Zaon, would be the first. As for the others… guesses can be made based on the names of legendary guardians past, but we don’t know for certain.”

“The guardians?” asked Amalthea, feeling tendrils of ice curling in her stomach. “The guardians become the Fayth?”

Mobius rubbed at his neck, turning away from her. “You… didn’t know? Not a single fully realized pilgrimage has ended without tragedy. I’m shocked no one ever told you during your training… You must have known that the final summoning would have ended my life as well, didn’t you?”

Amalthea bit her lip, that chill refusing to leave her, but there was sorrow weighing heavy on her heart as well. “They told me that I would protect you until you performed the final summoning, and that doing so would kill you, but I had no idea about the Final Aeon…”

She understood now why callous Malach had said there was no place for children like them in the real world, but it stung. She didn’t even have any real plans for herself. But being lied to, and all while being used by Yevon…

She clenched her fist angrily. “What’s one more reason for Yevon to burn? I wonder if the others knew either…”

“Some of them may have figured it out, but it’s like everyone said. Where would we go after leaving, if we hadn’t done what we all did? And the Final Aeon becoming Sin is hardly common knowledge,” he offered. “As I said, I’ve already successfully created one Fayth stone. Ymir volunteered herself. She knew the risks of becoming a recognized guardian of Yevon.”

“What happens if you summon Sin? Where will you be in this equation?” she asked, forcing her fears back to where they came from.

“I don’t exactly know,” he admitted. “But my days as a summoner will be over, either way. I suppose… I’ll become like Yu Yevon, summoning Sin over and over. I have the souls of Sin’s victims within me, and the ability to create a Fayth powerful enough to bring forth the terror of Spira.”

Amalthea started to speak, her head tilting inquisitively as she brought forth another very good point, but no sound came out.

The vision was fading away.

“...Then what will I do?”