Sirius stood in the endless weave of threads, gazing at the destinies he had bound, nurtured, and stolen back from death's grip. In Eorzea, Zack's laughter echoed across the training grounds as he clashed with fellow gladiators. Aerith guided seedlings of magic through her staff, her gentle words encouraging others. Galuf's booming voice carried across the Pugilist's Guild, drilling into younger fighters. Noctis's lance shimmered in mid-swing as he practiced forms under a Gridanian master, while Reks tested his shield against Marauder veterans in Limsa's salty air.
Far away in Dalmasca, Clive and Lunafreya tested their limits against monsters while Vivi and Serah learned to weave Paradigm Shifts with Mog's squeaky guidance.
They were growing. Slowly, steadily.
But Sirius's eyes lingered elsewhere—on a single thread, worn and fraying, blinking with sorrow. A life that had ended twice, both times in the name of others. A man who had given everything for guardianship, yet had been denied even peace in death.
Sirius's expression tightened. "So pitiful… but resolute."
He whispered to the ship, "Aether—stay here. Watch them all, and report to me if anything happens."
"Yes, Master," Aether's voice chimed gently in reply.
With a thought, Sirius vanished from the weave and stepped into another world. The air tasted of salt and sorrow. He was in Spira.
---
The battlefield was silent save for the drifting pyreflies. Bevelle's walls loomed, scarred by Sin's passing. Auron lay broken on the stone, his katana just out of reach. His body was bleeding, his breaths shallow, but his eyes still burned—not with fear, but with fury.
"Damn… them…" Auron's voice cracked as he tried to rise. He had failed Braska, failed Jecht, failed Yuna's mother. His duty remained, but his body betrayed him.
From the shadows, Sirius appeared, stepping lightly across the ruined street. His gaze fell upon the fallen guardian, and he knelt.
"You fought well, Auron. Too well, perhaps."
Auron's head jerked toward him, teeth bared. "Who—are you? Another… fiend?"
"No." Sirius placed a hand over the man's chest, and a faint glow pulsed between them. "You are not meant to linger here. Destiny would have you die now, broken outside Bevelle. But you refuse, don't you?"
Auron coughed, blood spilling from his lips, but his glare sharpened. "…I won't let it end here. I swore to Braska. To Jecht. To Yuna."
Sirius smiled faintly. "Stubborn. Just as I expected."
From his sleeve, he produced a small charm—the trinket, gleaming softly. He pressed it into Auron's hand.
"When destiny takes what you hold dear again, this will call you back."
Auron's fist closed around it, though his strength was fading. His voice rasped. "A… good luck charm?"
Sirius nodded. "If you wish to see beyond death, keep it close. Your path is not yet finished."
And as Auron's vision dimmed, the trinket's light steadied in his hand. His body fell, but his spirit remained—bound, tethered by Sirius's gift.
---
Years later, after Braska's sacrifice, after Jecht's fall into Sin, after Yuna's pilgrimage and the Final Aeon, Auron finally stood at the end of his long guardianship. Tidus was gone, his smile left in memory. Yuna and her companions had faced Sin and won. The endless cycle was broken.
And Auron—his time had come.
Pyreflies shimmered around him as he staggered on the ruins of Zanarkand, his body already fading. He smiled faintly, looking toward Yuna.
"This… is your world now. Guard it well."
His form wavered, dissolving. He accepted it—his journey was done.
But before his spirit could drift into the Farplane, a hand seized the thread of his existence and pulled.
Sirius.
The trinket in Auron's fading form flared, golden light binding his pyreflies back together. Breath surged into lungs that should no longer exist. Auron gasped, his hand clenching around the katana that had nearly slipped away.
"…What trick is this?" he growled, eyes narrowing.
Sirius stood before him, arms folded. "No trick. You were meant to fade here, Auron. To vanish, unsent at last. But I do not accept that end."
Auron's gaze hardened. "Then what do you want of me? Another leash?"
"No. A choice." Sirius's voice was calm, steady, unwavering. "You died once. Then again. And each time, destiny claimed you. But in truth, Auron… your world has no place left for you. If you return there, fate will kill you a third time. There will be no reprieve."
Auron's jaw clenched. "…So I am already dead."
"Yes," Sirius admitted. "But you can still live. Not as a guardian bound by Spira's endless sorrow—but as a fighter for something greater. There is another war coming, one not of Sin but of Chaos itself. It seeks to devour all worlds, all fates. I need warriors like you, Auron. Not because destiny demands it—but because you choose it."
The old warrior stared long into Sirius's eyes. Silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of choice.
Finally, Auron gave a soft, grim laugh. "Hmph. I've already died twice. What's one more gamble?" He sheathed his katana across his shoulder. "Very well. If this Chaos threatens all… then I will guard again. Not out of duty. But choice."
The trinket pulsed in agreement.
---
With a gesture, Sirius cloaked Auron's presence from Spira's weave. Light folded around them, and the ruins of Zanarkand dissolved.
When Auron's vision cleared, sand stretched beneath his boots. The city of Rabanastre rose ahead, its spires gleaming under the sun. The air was dry, not humid like Spira, but alive with markets and voices.
Auron adjusted his coat, his katana heavy on his shoulder. "Another world…" His voice rumbled with awe, though his face remained as stoic as ever.
Sirius stood beside him, calm. "Yes. Dalmasca. Here you will meet the others I have saved. Train with them. Fight beside them. And perhaps, Auron—finally live not for others, but for yourself."
The warrior's lips twitched, almost into a smile. "…We'll see."
And with that, Sirius led him forward, toward the threads of fate that waited for their newest guardian.