Well, Isn't This Peachy.. (Open to anyone)

Why was a temple of the Fayth, so empty? Who had thought this to be a good idea?

He was seated in one of the antechambers, sitting with his feet under himself. Both gloved hands were placed firmly on his knees, and though he was in an almost-meditative state, his eyes were open. There were just the barest of echoes indicating people were even inhabiting the temple in the first place. How could they leave the Temple so unprotected? Certainly, no one in their right mind would desecrate such a place – and indeed, only a Summoner could truly reach the Chamber of Fayth inside.

Still.

He would have expected someone to be lingering at the door. Keeping an eye on something. Making sure that no one with ill-intentions would make their way forward. Behind his mask, his eyes remained half-lidded, as he watched the flickering electrical lights of Djose’s temple.

As always, whenever he passed through a place that was close to a temple, he would spend a few minor minutes there, to pay homage to the summoners that had come before. Each one, whether they succeeded or not, was a brave soul. Now, though, more than ever – with the new segment of memory ingrained in him? He felt he had to. He had to atone for crimes that were now a part of him.

The memories were clear. Words, cried out in desperation. A man who could not see his Summoner go further. Lightning descending from the heavens. A person who had sworn to lay his life on the line for his Summoner – murdering his Summoner in what appeared to be cold blood. There were fuzzy instances, parts that were burnt or missing – they hadn’t collected all of his spirit when making the memory sphere.

But he was there. Denied rest in the Farplane for his betrayal.

Not for the first time, he tasted blood. Integrating new memories was difficult, though not an insurmountable task. He’d done it twice before. He’d do it as many times as he needed to. But there were always things. Lingering remnants that would not go away, stuck like a thorn that only dug deeper as he tried to tear it out.

The sound of the doors made him look up.

A girl, carrying a staff, and dressed in flowing garments, stepped forward. She looked as perturbed as he had – for a few seconds. Then she simply paused… and started for the Cloister.

His brows furrowed. A Summoner? Possible. But A Summoner without her Guardians? No. He couldn’t see that happening. He pushed himself up, long black coat making barely a noise as it fell into place behind him. His boots carried him across the floor, and up the stairs, moving with a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.

As she stepped inside, he did, too, as the doors closed behind him.

“Wait.”

He looked at her, uncertainly. “Who are you? If you are a Summoner - where are your Guardians?”

( WC - 504 )

The way she spoke... he couldn't tell if she truly believed what she was saying, or if she was just saying something to make him go away. Was it so hard to see a Summoner worth her own salt? He watched her, passively, from behind his mask. She was a Summoner - there was no way she would allay herself with Bevelle. As such, he decided that hiding his face, and his emotions from her? It simply wasn't fair.

He reached both of his hands up to the Mime's mask, and worked it loose from his face. He took the hard, protective front, and slipped it in to his coat.

"I say..." He said, softly, his voice losing that muffled tone that one got when speaking behind a mask. "That a Summoner's worth is not measured by her ability to walk alone. It is her ability to reach out and touch others." He gave her a sad smile, fighting back the memories that were threatening. He had to remind himself that no matter how close they were to the surface, they were not his memories. He was not the man that had killed his own Summoner.

"A Summoner without Guardians is unusual to see, because we need to believe that she is surrounded by people who care for her. That if things do become too difficult, someone will be there to lift her up, on their shoulders if need be, to make sure that she can take the final step of her Pilgrimage to defeat Sin."

He looked down at her, though he was not much taller.

"I... am someone who believes in the teachings of Yevon. It doesn't matter how abandoned the temples become. I will always stop by and pay what homage I can to the Summoners of the past..." He looked almost hurt at that thought. "The summoners of the present." His own dark, black eyes looking into her own heterochromic ones. "And the Summoners of the future, should the Eternal Calm not come this time."

He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug.

"The Summoner and her Guardians are symbolic of the unity of Spira itself, against a foe far greater than it. Even if there is but a single Guardian, that's two people, driving each other to reach their goal. People need you - and your Guardians - so they feel hope. It's never been because a Summoner can't take care of herself. It's because she shouldn't have to face Sin alone."

He let out a breath, and he could all but hear Carmine chiding him for being overly sentimental. The Summoner standing across from him was defiant and strong-willed, but he didn't know why she felt she couldn't be strong while relying on others. His own powers, as twisted as they were, all came from his connections to other people - their pasts, their memories, all lingering inside him, waiting to bring their skills to bear.

"Please, don't take my question as a strike against you. It was not meant as such. I am just a humble Spiran, here to meditate on the Fayth. To see a Summoner at all was a surprise. To see her alone..?"

It was almost painful.

( WC - 549 )

Her retort was so full of pain... he just... didn't know how to comprehend it. A summoner who was trapped within her own existence - not embracing it, but resigned to it? It was... sad. Sad on a level he hadn't been expecting to feel, considering he barely knew this woman.

But the way she spoke - she had been betrayed. Abandoned. His gut wrenched at the thought - the guilt that wasn't his to harbor burned through him like a wash of boiling water. There was no amount of regret that would change those memories. Nothing he could do to release the man who'd performed those deeds from the confines of the Sphere. He didn't know he would want to, if he could.

The black mage that had betrayed his summoner centuries ago...

His eyes, dark as they were, hardened a little as she spoke. "Don't." He said, his voice harsh. "No one willing to give up their life for the good of their people is evil. You're right - I don't know you. I can't know the things you've been through. But you have to believe me when I say even the blackest night is punctuated by the stars. No matter what you've done, or who you've become - your goal is what sets you apart. Sets you firmly in the category of good."

Now, to be fair, Matt didn't know if he truly understood or believed in a concept of good versus evil. But he also knew that this woman - this Summoner - clearly did. She believed herself too tainted a creature to deserve guarding, and because of that, she was forced to do this alone.

However, when she spoke, and even went so far as to tell him he couldn't know of her plight... her pilgrimage... he tensed. His eyes remained focused on her.

"You're wrong." He said, quietly. "I have lived through a pilgrimage, just as you are going through it now. I have walked this temple and all the others. I have fought alongside a Summoner and my fellow Guardians." He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they had taken on a much softer, blue hue - as though the color that had drained from hers, had been given to him in return. Perhaps, for now, it was just a trade.

"I am unlike any other person you have met before, Lady Summoner. The men in Bevelle made me in to a thing that holds memories of those long dead. One of whom was a Guardian." His jaw hurt, it was clenched so tightly. "He was imprisoned in a Sphere, never to be given the rest of the Farplane, for his crimes against his Summoner, and Spira as a whole. For even after everything he'd been through - he killed his Summoner, on the steps of Zanarkand."

He didn't know why he was telling her this. Why any of it mattered. Clearly, she didn't care to engage in this. But he would not let it go.

"You say hope is blasphemy - I say hope is the only fuel that allows us to continue to live in a world with Sin. Without it, no man, woman, and child would live. We defy Sin with our hope. We are afforded the chance to kill it because of hope. Without it... why bother?"

He let out a quiet breath.

"Lady Summoner - though I may not be one of your guardians, and even though the memories I hold inside are those of a traitor..." He took a step back, and gestured calmly with his hands. When they rested, they seemed to form a sphere just above his chest. He bowed forward. "I wish you luck, and pray you reach your goal. If you wish it, I will be here when you return, with food and water - I know how taxing it can be to commune with the Fayth."

It was all he could offer - though he would serve her as a Guardian if he could, he knew that his path would never allow such a thing. He was a Sphere Hunter - he could not return to Bevelle until he was able to burn it to the ground.

( WC - 702 )