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ETERNAL GUARDIAN

By Hawkin Ohara

Sacred Mount Gagazet

An immense spire of rock, ice and snow that lanced high above the mountain ranges in the northern reaches of Spira.

Its summit lost amongst thick swirling mists and clouds, the cover making it appear as though the very tip pierced the heavens themselves.

To the world, and to those who followed the teachings of Yevon; it was a sacred place. The final bastion and trial that pilgrims of the summoner’s Way must conquer to reach the final stage of their journey which lay beyond the icy slopes, the Holy City of Zanarkand. Whereupon they would receive the weapon that would vanquish the great calamitous terror, known as Sin, that plagued the world and bring peace, if only for a short time.

Yet the mountain would not allow just anyone to ascend its labyrinthine passages. Only those who had truly proven themselves strong and faithful would have any chance in reaching the summit and to the prize beyond.

Scaling the mountain would require considerable skill, strength and endurance. With frigid temperatures, frozen ice falls, deep crevasses and perilous ledges, the landscape was a trial in itself and that was without the waves upon waves of beast-like fiends that made the mountain their home, lunging out through the haze of snow to attack the unaware ascendants.

And that is what had happened, high upon the snow-covered slopes, where a wail of grief joined the chorus of the ever-howling winds.

* * * * * * * * * *

The snow was falling fast in the upper passes of the mountain, landing and vanishing into the permanent blanket that enveloped the high altitudes.

The wind roared, blowing the blizzard down and over the narrow passages and thin bridges of stone that made up the mountain path.

On a wide ledge at the foot of one of these bridges, there knelt a figure, his heavily tanned skin and brightly coloured garments contrasting harshly against the pure white snow around him.

Tears were falling from his deep brown eyes as fast as the falling snow around him as he worked meticulously, placing stone upon stone in a large mound that was slowly enclosing a large wrapping of torn and stained cloth that concealed the body of his fallen friend.

Virik sobbed, building up piece by piece, the new cairn that would entomb the body forevermore.

“I’m sorry….I’m so sorry” he kept repeating, over and over with each crack of a new stone building the mound.

Virik had failed, completely and utterly in his duty.

He had been a guardian, a soldier honour-bound to protect the life of his summoner, Lord Iskiah, as he travelled across the lands on a pilgrimage to gain the means to defeat Sin and bring peace.

But that peace would never come now from Lord Iskiah, not now that he lay dead in the icy snow.

Virik could see how it had happened vividly, they had just made it past the lower passes when the blizzard set in, the heavy snow and winds hindering them as they advanced, hoping to reach the deep caves that lay near the summit.

Yet the wind pounded harder and the snow became a whiteout as they advanced higher, and it was as they paused to attempt to seek shelter that it emerged out of the shadows.

A Bashura!

Eight foot tall, purple furred, with four arms thick as tree trunks and its massive feet and four bulky hands bearing foot long, razor sharp claws.

The two of them only had a moment to act before it was upon them, fists raised to strike.

Virik had raised his long broadsword just in time to parry the punch as Iskiah readied his magicks to aid his guardian.

They were completely on the back foot, the great fiend pressing its advantage, barely giving Virik an opening to land a blow as the four powerful arms sent a continuous wave of blows.

Sensing that the battle was not going in their favour, Iskiah began his summoning ritual, flames blazing in his hands as he prepared to call forth the guardian Aeon of their homeland.

But the creature was drawn to the brightness of the flames and easily batted away Virik’s next counterattack, before its next punch sent the guardian to the ground, winded. The fiend’s blazing eyes glowed angrily as it then advanced on the summoner with a roar.

The great hell beast, Ifrit, had just taken form when the monster landed its blow directly on Iskiah’s chest, blasting him back against the mountain rock before he fell to the ground.

The infernal fire beast let out a roar of rage before it’s body burst into a cloud of pyreflies and dispersed into the snow.

The momentary display of colours and light gave Virik the opening he needed.

With a roar, he plunged his sword into the purple furred back of the beast and through its heart. The roar in pain was lost in the wind as the beast thrashed about before it fell to the ground, pyreflies surging from its corpse and vanishing into the blizzard as the fiend faded into the aether.

The moment the beast was felled, Virik dropped his blade and hurried to the side of his fallen summoner as he laid sprawled on the ledge.

Virik did everything he could, from the strongest potions to using the downs of the Phoenix, the blazing feathers merely fizzled on Iskiah’s wounds, providing no respite as he took his last breaths.

They shared one last gaze, a weak smile.

“I’m sorry” Virik had whispered, tears beginning to fall but Iskiah just touched his cheek.

“So…so am I” he wheezed before his arm fell and his body became limp.

The bright eyes glazing over, as they saw no more.

The wail could have caused an avalanche, the scream of pain and woe Virik had let forth had seemed to echo endlessly around him in his grief.

He had failed to protect his summoner, his best friend…his one love.

Virik didn’t know how long he wept over the body, ignoring the wind and the snow as it piled up around them.

In a moment where his grief subsided, just for a moment, he decided to do what others had done, he had seen them on the journey up the mountain, though he had never dreamed he would need to make one.

Buriel Cairns, markers which denoted where summoners and guardians long past had tried to scale the sacred mountain only to fall at the final hurdle.

Virik moved across the ledge, passing the point where his sword still lay, his puffy eyes scouring the ledge for more loose rock and stones.

As he gathered them up in his trembling arms, Virik couldn’t help but reminisce in his despair. Of days gone by in the blistering sun that shone daily over the tropical island of Kilika in the southern seas.

He recalled his childhood, short as it seemed, he believed he had once been a happy child until the day that Sin attacked Kilika port and his parents were washed away into the sea. With no other family to take him in, Virik had been left in the care of the Temple Monks along with many others who had been orphaned in Sin’s wake.

Forced into the teaching of Yevon to keep a roof over his head, Virik trained as an acolyte in the temple with focus on becoming a Warrior Monk.

For this, he had to train his body hard. Each and every day he would run up and down the temple steps, from the top of the mountain where the temple lay to the deep jungle below.

And that was how he came to know Iskiah, a young man near his own age whose father was a well know Blitzball player and member of the island’s home team, the Kilika Beasts.

He too trained on the stairs, as his hero once did, the great High summoner Ohalland, vanquisher of Sin and a star Blitzballer in his time.

The two continued to bond as they ran, racing one another up and down the stairs, laughing and joking before they were separated by their daily duties. Virik with his studies and weapon training and Iskiah with his father, training to follow in his footsteps to become a great Blitzer.

The only time they saw each other outside of training was when Iskiah and his father came to the temple to pray for victory before they travelled across the ocean to Luca, where the great Blitzball Stadium was situated.

Their appearance always caused a bit of a stir amongst the regular visitors to the temple as well as the monks and nuns.

Through their training sessions and occasional meetings in the temple, Virik could tell Iskiah was a strong athlete, but he didn’t have the drive that would make him the athletic star his father wanted him to be.

He was however, a very devout follower of Yevon, his faith being the driving force that kept him training rather than a passion for the game. And it was this faith that put both himself and Virik in a situation that would change their lives forever.

On a visit to the temple with his father, Iskiah managed to slip away in the general commotion his father enacted whenever he visited, meeting up with Virik in the monk’s chambers.

Iskiah had seemed strange that day, saying he had seen visions and dreams calling him to the temple and to go deeper into its chambers, where something was waiting for him.

He had begged Virik to help him follow these visions and to help him go deeper into the forbidden parts of the temple, where only the summoners, apprentice summoners and guardians were permitted to step.

Being the loyal friend that he was, and the fact that he had felt something more developing; Virik agreed.

Through sheer luck, the two managed to sneak their way through the central chambers to where the entrance to the temple’s Cloister of Trials lay. They moved quickly, making their way through puzzles of fire until they stood silently before the shield like door that guarded the true treasure of the temple.

The Chamber of the Fayth.

When they arrived, they found the door risen and open, the shining passage beyond warm and welcoming.

That was also when they had been discovered, the Temple Monks charging into the antechamber to apprehend the heathen intruders.

Iskiah took his chance and charged ahead through the open door which immediately slammed closed behind him, sealing him within the chamber beyond and leaving Virik at the mercy of the guards, who showed him none.

Beaten and berated, the monks threatened him with excommunication for his heathen acts and were about to deal another blow when a sudden burst of song filled the room and the flames in the sconces blazed high and bright.

Everyone had frozen, in shock and awe as the door to the Fayth’s chamber slowly reopened and Iskiah emerged, staggering but beaming, bathed in the light from the chamber beyond as the Hymn of the Fayth rang around them in a joyous chorus.

“I’ve been chosen” Iskiah had declared, “I’ve become a summoner!”

* * * * * * * * * *

The event had been unprecedented in the history of Kilika Temple, an uninitiated forcing their way into the Chamber of the Fayth and emerging as a fully-fledged summoner.

The now dubbed Lord Iskiah caused a bigger stir than his father ever had in the temple and his father himself was in absolute awe of what had happened, yet he was filled with great pride for the blessing that Yevon had bestowed upon his son.

Pride…and sadness.

Iskiah was taken in immediately by the monks and given intense training in the ways and duties of a summoner.

Virik however, was not so blessed.

Reprimanded and flogged for his conduct, allowing an unauthorised person to enter the Cloister of Trials let alone intrude upon the Chamber of the Fayth.

Had Lord Iskiah not emerged as he had, the two would likely have been excommunicated from Yevon and thrown out for their sacrilegious actions.

In the weeks that passed, Virik was demoted down to the lowest standing in the temple, essentially a slave to the lowest acolyte and knew that any chance of becoming a Warrior Monk was now lost to him.

He occasionally caught sight of Iskiah in the temple corridors, but he dared not speak to him less he invoke further punishment, but he was sure he caught the occasional smile and glance in his direction which made his heart flutter.

Then came the day Virik had known was coming, the day that Lord Iskiah would set out upon his pilgrimage across Spira to attain the Final Aeon and defeat Sin.

Everyone gathered in the Temple courtyard, speeches were given and cheers rang out.

Then the priests asked the Warrior Monks and acclaimed fighters of Kilika to step forward, and Lord Iskiah was asked to choose those who would become his Guardians, the souls that would give their lives in defence of their summoner.

Lord Iskiah stepped forward, turned to the crowd, and spoke only one name to the skies.

“VIRIK!”

It had been the greatest shock, not only to Virik, but to all the assembled priests and monks, who immediately and vehemently objected to his selection.

But Iskiah was steadfast against their protests, claiming simply:

“My guardian should be someone I can trust; I trusted Virik to see me to the Fayth, and he did so. I became a summoner because of him, and I don’t think I trust anyone stood here today as much as I do him!”

All eyes had turned to Virik, who was stood stock still at the back of the crowd, his eyes filled with tears at his friend who simply smiled at him with that mischievous grin.

And he found himself smiling back as he accepted, swearing the oath of the guardian to see Lord Iskiah upon his journey.

Until the End!

And that was just what he intended to do, from the morning they boarded the ship from Kilika Port, heading to the neighbouring island of Besaid to Iskiah’s first temple away from home.

As they travelled over land and sea, Virik saw how Iskiah’s training had prepared him for what was to come, he was now proficient in various magicks and skills that would boost Virik’s own abilities in battle, allowing him to take down fiends that blocked their path with ease.

And when the fiends were too strong, he called forth his Aeon, the great hell beast of Kilika, Ifrit!

The first time Virik had seen it he had been in absolute awe as the conjured beast easily toppled the foe he had struggled with before it vanished back into the aether.

Compared to the power of a summoner, his own power was negligible, but Iskiah encouraged him, continually saying that he could not complete the journey without his guardian, his best friend!

Together they travelled, returning to stop again at Kilika before they headed North to Luca. Iskiah had been eager to show him the town when the ship docked into a berth beneath the enormous Blitzball stadium that was the pride and joy to many of the citizens of Spira.

The day had been a wonderous one, exploring a place where joy reigned and any fear of Sin was momentarily forgotten.

It had been then that Virik knew he was truly in love with Iskiah, the laughter and happiness they shared that day confirmed the feelings that he would never be able to share but that he would treasure for eternity, so long as he stood as Iskiah’s side.

All too quickly, the moments bliss was gone, and they continued on their journey northwards, trekking the Mi’ihen Highroad and the Mushroom Rock Road to the temple at Djose, then crossing the sea of pyreflies that was the Moonflow.

It was at this halfway point in the pilgrimage, that its seemed Iskiah’s resolve was shaking. With each Aeon he attained he had grown stronger, and yet he seemed to become less like the eager young man who had set out on this noble journey.

Virik could see the strain growing behind his merry smile with each step northward and his heart ached that he could do naught to relieve it.

They passed through the Guado city of Guadosalam, pausing momentarily to visit the Farplane, the resting place of the dead, who’s souls had been guided there by the summoners who had performed the Sending.

Virik had remembered when Iskiah had performed this grim duty, where a group of young Crusaders on the Djose Highroad had fallen to a horde of powerful fiends. Iskiah had banished the fiends with his new Aeon, a unicorn stallion cloaked in powerful lightning, before he had attempted to revive the fallen, only to find it had been too late.

Then he had raised his staff…and begun to dance.

With each movement and step, pyreflies erupted from fallen bodies, spiralling around the summoner before flying away into the sky as their souls ascended to the Farplane.

It had been beautiful and terrible to witness.

And he relived it when they entered the Farplane itself, a small platform amid a veritable ocean of pyreflies in a scene of never-ending twilight.

It was there that Virik had seen his parents for the first time since they had died, their images appearing before him like ghostly spectres, cast by his thoughts and memories.

He had been prepared for it and then he looked over at Iskiah, who stood staring at the spectre of a woman who had his hair and face.

His mother, taken by Sin like his own parents.

As they left Guadosalam, Virik observed that the visit to the Farplane had re-steeled Iskiah’s resolve and together they pressed on into the darkness of the Thunder Plains, where they dodged between bolts of lightning that lanced down from the ever-present storm clouds above, finally taking shelter beneath the glistening, frost covered trees of Macalania Woods.

For two people from a tropical island, this had been the biggest trial they felt they had yet faced. They kept themselves huddled up in the warmest clothes they had, and Virik had trouble keeping himself in check when Iskiah insisted that they rested in each-other’s arms to keep warm.

Those moments of closeness were memories that Virik would keep till his dying day.

Marching through the beautiful forest of ice to the great frozen lake, below which lay the next temple on their journey. The stop was brief, for they wanted to move on, and they were thankful that their next location was close, the weather warming as they crossed a long Highbridge towards a place they both stood in awe of.

The Capital City of Bevelle and the heart of the Yevon faith.

The city was on the water, like Luca, and was a place of wonder and faith, Iskiah seemed so at home that Virik thought he would never leave, and privately he hope they wouldn’t.

Many summoners of the past abandoned their pilgrimage here, becoming high priests of Yevon while their guardian’s joined the ranks of the Warrior Monks.

It would have ensured a potential long life in each-others company.

But Virik knew, as Iskiah knew, that so long as Sin existed, there would never be the guarantee of a long life.

And that was why they had to continue.

After praying at the great temple of St Bevelle and receiving its Aeon, the summoner and his guardian left the last city on the road, passing momentarily back through Macalania Woods to emerge onto a wide-open space of rolling green fields that was broken and shattered with many craters and chasms.

The Calm Lands, the place where the first High summoner, Gandof, had endured his final battle with Sin. And beyond it, from their vantage point, stood the final trial of the pilgrimage.

The Sacred Mountain of Yevon, Mount Gagazet, beyond which lied the Holy City of Zanarkand, the end of the known world and the goal of the pilgrimage.

“We’re almost there!” Iskiah had said, his stare distant and empty.

“Almost at the end” Virik had replied.

The two men had looked at each other then, the understanding flashing between them.

“Please stay with me…until the end!”

Iskiah’s beg had been so pure, so desperate that Virik had felt tears fall down his face.

“I’ll never leave” he had choked in response, “I’ll be by your side forever”.

They had embraced each other then, holding each other as though the world would shatter and fall away beneath their feet.

Virik wanted to tell Iskiah everything in that moment, to confess it all and damn the consequences.

But he remained silent, and the two broke apart, wiping their eyes.

“Right….one last hurdle” Iskiah has sniffed, turning to the path that led into the rolling fields.

Virik remembered the smile he had given him then, pure and scared, but determined.

“Let’s go!”

* * * * * * * * * *

The final stone fell into place atop the newly constructed cairn with a loud thud.

It was the largest and heaviest as it was to be the headstone where Virik would ensure that the mountain and all who scaled it would never forget the name of Lord Iskiah.

Kneeling before the grave, his fingers now numb with cold, Virik pulled a knife from his pack and with loud, peeling scrapes, he began to carve runes into the smooth face of the boulder.

Each plunge of the knife was like a dagger through his own heart, his breath catching as Iskiah’s name slowly emerged on the stone.

With one last ring from the polished metal, the job was done.

The carved face of the stone shining through the snowstorm, the words visible and clear.

“Here lies Lord Iskiah of Kilika”

The blade falling from Virik’s numb fingers and vanishing beneath the pristine snow at his feet.

The message was short, but it was all he could muster, no room or time for the many things he wanted to immortalise.

The things he wished he could have said.

Regret and grief welled up inside him, and he had to force himself to add the final decoration to the grave marker.

He picked up the discarded staff that had been a gift from the monks at Kilika, it had almost snapped in two from the force of the Bashura’s attack.

Carrying it with reverence, he placed it atop the mound, securing it so nature could not blow it away.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork and the tears returned in full measure as he moved his arms and legs in the familiar motion of the Yevonite prayer, his hands curling to form an invisible sphere before his chest as he bowed to the grave, his watery eyes closed in silent reflection.

Another inescapable fact was that his friend’s soul would never reach the Farplane, for there was no summoner present to perform the Sending.

His friend’s soul would be forced to linger on the mountain, unable to find peace, and therefore it would fall to despair, becoming envious of the living until it reformed as a fiend, like the Bashura that had killed him.

The thought was too much for Virik to bear and he broke down completely, dread filling him that he was powerless to prevent his friend’s fate, just as he had been powerless to prevent his death.

The minutes passed and Virik remained where he stood, his body slowly numbing as the wind whipped the snow around him.

He wanted to stay there, to die at his friend’s side and be with him forever, just as he had promised mere days before when they arrived at the Calm Lands.

But he knew Iskiah would never want that of him, he would want him to live his life, to move on from this tragedy and make a new future for himself.

But what was there to live for now?

His best friend, the love of his life, was gone.

He was now a guardian who had failed to protect the life of his summoner, if he hadn’t been made to feel shame before, he would now if he ever dared enter a temple of Yevon.

Especially Kilika, the very idea of what would happen when he returned to the warm shores to deliver the news of Iskiah’s death ignited a fear in him he never thought possible.

Yet where else was there to go except home?

Despite travelling the length of Spira, the only place Virik had ever felt he truly belonged was at Iskiah’s side.

There was nowhere else he wanted to be.

But now he had no choice but to go on alone.

“G…G…Goodbye Iskiah” Virik whimpered, bending down to retrieve his sword before taking one last look at the grave, “I..I’m so sorry”.

His last apology hung in the air as Virik mustered his courage to do what must be done.

With a wrench of his heart, he turned away from the stone, looking back down the ledge before he took the first step, back the way he came down the mountain path.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was surprising how each step down the slopes was harder to take than every ten steps it had taken to climb.

The pain inside Virik growing with each crunch of his feet as he drew further and further away from where Iskiah lay, tears still dripping icily down his face.

He was so distracted in his grief that he occasionally had to catch himself before his feet carried him over a ledge or into a crevasse, the icy terrain unforgiving to his grieved mind.

He shivered violently, the chill intensifying as the wind suddenly roared, masking the sound of an approaching growl.

Had Virik not have seen the flash of movement in the corner of his eye, he would never have reacted in time.

Spinning in the snow he swung his sword in a wide arc, the glistening tip carving through the belly of a snarling, red furred, wolf like fiend that had lunged out of the haze of snow.

A Bandersnatch.

The beast let out a yelp as its body was thrown to the ground, pyreflies surging from wounds, a clear signifier of its demise.

But Virik did not relax as his ears caught the sound of more growls, edging closer and closer.

Keeping his sword ready, he backed against the mountainside as the fiery glare of the beasts slowly emerged through the falling, white curtain.

“Fuck” Virik grunted, his eyes clocking at least five, a full hunting pack, all of them snarling, their long fangs dripping hungrily, long tongues lashing the air, tasting his scent.

There was that moment, the calm before the storm, where Virik braced himself, hands gripping the hilt of his blade in anticipation for the battle.

A second ticked, the snowflakes fell, and both man and beast lunged!

The Bandersnatch’s sprang at him with fangs bared, but not for nothing had Virik spent hours training at the temple.

Unlike when the Bashura had attacked, he was prepared.

His blade whirled through the snow, carving through the beasts with ease, sending them flying backwards, pyreflies surging into the air.

Three, Four, FIVE!

Again and again he cut them down, and yet more were emerging, drawn from the scent of death and battle.

Virik was skilled, but even numbers can overwhelm.

“AAAAGH!” he screamed, sharp fangs piercing his arm as one of the beasts finally slipped through his defences.

Throwing the creature off with a roar, he whirled his sword one handed as blood dripped from his wound, staining the snow.

The beasts danced around Virik’s blade, spotting the man’s weakness and beginning to rally, scenting victory.

Virik was wincing, his arm hanging limply while his other shook with the strain of wielding his blade one-handed.

“Theres too many” he thought desperately, trying to dodge as another beast lunged, only to yell out again as he felt fangs latch onto his leg and he staggered, his blade falling down as he collapsed.

They were getting closer now, ready for the kill!

“So this is it” Virik thought, his vision growing blurry through his pain, “The end of my story…Iskiah….I’m sorry”.

He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, waiting for moment the Bandersnatch’s would take down their prey.

But it never came.

There was a sound though!

Not a canine-like bark or howl….But a powerful, bestial roar!

The sound seemed to shake the very mountain and Virik yelled at the fangs biting his flesh suddenly wrenched free.

Opening his eyes blearily, he saw the blurred outline of something huge flash across his vision, scattering the beasts who were yelping and howling in anger and fright.

The newcomer was darting around, making beast like swipes at the fiends who were disappearing back into the blizzard, canine whines fading into the shadows.

Within moments there was silence, save for the howl of the wind.

The creature that had come to his aid then stood up and despite his weakened state, Virik could tell this creating was tall and powerfully built.

“Another Bashura?” he thought, thinking again of Iskiah as his vision began to darken, his body growing weaker. “Iskiah…I…I”

The silhouette of the large creature was moving closer, it was all Virik could see before the world around him went dark and his injured body collapsed, feeling nothing but the brief chill of the snow and the howl of the wind.

* * * * * * * * * *

Virik didn’t know how long he had been unconscious.

All that he recalled as he finally began to regain his senses was a burning pain in his arm and leg and a dull ache that came from just about everything else.

Grunting in discomfort, he opened a bleary eye and winced as he tried to move his injured body.

He realised he was laying on a hard stone floor and that he appeared to be in some kind of shelter, the roaring wind and falling snow had been replaced by a muggy, warm air that had the stale scent of stagnant water.

His blurry vision refocussing, Virik gazed up at a high, carved ceiling of what appeared to be a tall cave, huge stalactites pointing menacingly back at him through the gloom.

Slowly he rolled his head to look around him, and his eyes fell upon a blazing fire that was the source of the warmth and the dancing lights that were cast across the rough stone walls.

But before the fire was the enormous silhouette of a large, muscular figure whose profile was inky black in the fires glare.

All Virik could tell was that the figure had it’s back to him, appearing to gaze ahead into the flames and seemed completely oblivious to the prone figure behind it.

Small recollections began to seep back into Virik’s mind, and he recalled his saviour from the pack of Bandersnatches.

Yet he wasn’t sure if this truly was a saviour or just a bigger, angrier fiend claiming the prey for its own and had brought him back to its lair to savour later.

Virik’s eyes swivelled as he remained still and his wandering gaze fell upon his sword and pack, leant up against a large stalagmite several feet away.

Hoping that the creature wouldn’t notice he was awake, Virik rolled over and attempted to edge towards his gear, only for a terrible pain to lance through his arm when he attempted to crawl.

“AGGHHHH!” he cried out, unable to hold it in, his voice echoing around the cave.

Virik froze, his head turning back to the figure who hadn’t moved from where it sat except for its shoulders to sag and its head to shake, almost in exasperation.

Then in a slow, graceful movement, the creature rose up upon large, heavy paws that padded loudly on the cave floor and allowing its long, tasselled tail to lash out before it slowly turned on the spot, the firelight casting its features into sharp relief.

Nine foot tall, covered from head to foot in thick, dark blue fur, with blazing amber eyes that shone in the gloom and a single, spire-like horn that jutted out from the centre of its forehead above its lion-like muzzle.

Virik knew immediately what it was as it began to move towards him.

It was a Ronso, a race of powerful, leonine beastmen who were the tribal guardians of the mountain and were widely known for their prowess in battle and their ability to study and utilise the abilities of fiends they had fought.

They were also known for their brashness and short fuses which often landed them in trouble when they ventured beyond their familiar mountain slopes, a fact that caused Virik’s stomach to clench with nerves as the powerful beast moved over to him.

“Lie Still, guardian” the Ronso spoke, its deep, male voice rumbling like thunder, “Wounds still fresh, need time to heal”.

Virik gulped and winced, instinctively trying to sit up.

“Lie Still” the Ronso repeated, “Argan treated arm and leg, but need to wait or medicine not work”.

The pain in Virik’s arm and leg were evident to the Ronso’s claims and he reluctantly laid back onto the ground as the Ronso padded away to where his gear laid, reaching down and retrieving a bundle of cloth that he recognised as his clothes.

It was only then that he realised, as he looked down at his body, that the only thing he was wearing, besides the thick bandages on his arm and leg, was his small clothes.

The Ronso must have disrobed him before treating him, but he was hardly in a place to complain as the beast man returned, placing the bundle gently under his head as a pillow.

“Guardian outnumbered in battle” the Ronso said, sitting down at Virik’s side, “Argan chase off fiends but not find summoner”.

Virik felt an icy grip seize his heart and his vision blurred as his eyes grew watery.

The Ronso appeared to be examining his bare body, his fierce amber eyes scanning his muscles for injuries he may have missed before he growled and nodded.

“Argan search for summoner now guardian awake” the Ronso continued, making to get back to his feet.

“D..don’t” Virik said, his voice croaky, a tear streaming down his face while his chest burned, “There is no summoner…he…he died”.

Saying the words was agony but Virik tried to hold his composure as the Ronso stared down at him.

“Argan sad to hear of loss” he grumbled, bowing his head in silent respect before sitting back down at Virik’s side, “Argan hope summoner find peace”

Virik felt his throat tighten in grief.

“What peace?” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his composure slipped, “There was no one to send him! How will he find peace?”

The Ronso, or Argan Ronso as Virik had deduced from his self-references, watched on silently as the man before him openly wept, his grief spilling out as it had when he had constructed the burial cairn.

He seemed to be allowing Virik a respectful moment of grief before he spoke again.

“Mountain is sacred to all faithful of Yevon” Argan said firmly, “If summoner was faithful, Mountain will protect summoner soul”

Virik tried his best not to scoff, he knew the Ronso were devout followers of Yevon but there was no chance that a soul could be sent without a sending, no matter how holy they thought the mountain was.

Argan seemed to sense his disbelief.

“Guardian…” he began, only for Virik to interject violently.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he yelled, staring into the shocked amber eyes which tempered his voice, “…please….don’t….I’m not a guardian….not anymore…”

His gaze went back up to the ceiling.

“Virik” he added, “my name’s Virik, for what it’s worth”

Argan let out a sigh, exposing his long fangs.

“Virik lose purpose” he said simply, “guardian with no summoner is not guardian”

Virik didn’t respond, not even looking at the Ronso, so he went on.

“Virik will return home?” he asked, “Find new purpose?”

Again Virik didn’t respond, his mind ticking at the questions he had asked himself as he had made his way back down the mountain.

“I…I don’t know what I’m going to do” Virik replied simply after a while, “Theres nothing for me back in Kilika…except shame and disgrace…and any temple between here and there will hardly accept a failed guardian”

He looked back at Argan, holding the gaze of those fierce eyes.

“What do I do?” he asked pleadingly to the Ronso, “My only wish in life was to be with Is…Lord Iskiah”

Virik caught himself, making sure to venerate his fallen summoner.

“Now he’s gone…and I don’t know what to do”

Argan growled, a deep rumble that echoed over the crackling fire as he closed his eyes in contemplation.

There was a short lull while the Ronso pondered and Virik too let his mind drift into his own thoughts and predictions of where life could possibly take him now.

A grunt above him told him Argan had pondered a response, opening his amber eyes again and looking down at the Kilikan.

“In lost times, Ronso make journey up mountain” Argan said, “Climb test of resolve…Ronso speak to Mountain…seek advice…if Mountain sees worth…Mountain responds…Ronso have answer…Ronso grow wiser”

The response hung in the air as Virik stared back into the leonine face.

“You suggest I climb back up the mountain” Virik said slowly, an edge to his voice, “And ask it for advice?”

Argan nodded.

“Argan sought Mountains wisdom once” he growled, “Mountain answered Argan…Mountain answer Virik too…Virik must show resolve if Virik want wisdom, else shadows chase Virik through life…Argan offers Virik path, Virik make choice to go or not”

Virik felt his mouth go dry, the prospect of climbing back up the monstrous mountain again would be no easy feat, especially when injured.

He felt a twinge in his bandaged arm and leg.

“A…And if I choose not to go?” Virik asked slowly.

A faint growl sounded in Argan’s throat.

“Argan help Virik down Mountain” the Ronso replied, “Part at foot of mountain then Virik go where Virik wish…live new life…find own way”

He raised a paw like hand and scratched his braided mane of silky black hair whilst Virik opened his mouth to respond, but found he had no words.

No argument to refute the facts Argan has laid before him.

His paths ahead were very few and all of them led to an unhappy conclusion, the one that Argan was suggesting would be an ordeal in itself with very little potential reward at its end.

There was but one fact that made Argan’s option preferable.

He would have to pass by Iskiah again, he would get to be close to him.

“Alright”

The response was barely a whisper, made to the ceiling rather than the Ronso next to him.

“I’ll climb the mountain…see Iskiah one last time”

He turned his head to the blue furred beastman whose expression seemed softer.

“Will you show me the way?”

The Ronso let out a small growl before he nodded.

“Argan stay with Virik till body healed” he replied, “Argan show way up Mountain, but Argan not help Virik with climb…Virik must show resolve to Mountain…Virik must prove worthy of Mountain voice else Mountain will not answer”

* * * * * * * * * *

It had taken two full days before Virik was strong enough to leave the cave where he had been staying, the powerful Ronso assisting in his treatment and providing him with food and water, revealing a much gentler demeanour than his savage appearance would suggest.

The once blazing fire was now glowing embers as Virik pulled on his warm cloak over his bright, Kilikan attire, which despite being practical, was not suited to the harsh environments of Mount Gagazet.

Argan was waiting for him at the end of the short tunnel that led to the mouth of the cave, his bulky stature framed impressively before the freshly falling white snow behind him.

“Storm passed” the Ronso said simply, his heavy, lion-like paws crunching into the icy, white blanket. “Fresh snow hide dangers, be ready”

Virik nodded, keeping his long blade at his side as he stepped from the warmth of the cave, back into the frigid air that caught in his lungs.

The falling snow was much more forgiving that it had been on Virik’s last ascent, the large flakes falling like a curtain without the immense gales whipping them about, although as Argan had said, this was also a hazard.

There were moments where Virik had to catch himself, the fresh snow falling beneath his feet as he unwitting approached a cliff edge or a crevasse.

He felt a little annoyed at his guide, who did not assist him on these occasions, Virik knew it was because he would not violate his earlier words, but it still vexed him as he steadied himself back onto the path.

The Ronso, however, did show some willingness to assist when fiends crossed their path. Argan raced into battle with a ferocity that Virik privately thought was no less savage than the creatures assailing them.

Fangs bared and roaring, the beastman dispatched any that were foolish enough to come near him, tearing them to shreds with his massive claws and filling the air with pyreflies.

Virik wasn’t letting him do it alone however, though he still was aching a bit from his recovery.

His blade gleamed as it sailed through the air, taking down just as many fiends as Argan. The pair of them working as a flawless team to clear the way ahead.

“Virik is strong warrior” Argan growled as the last pyreflies of their fallen foes faded away, “Argan could tell when treating Virik, but now Argan see it”

Virik felt his lips twitch, the small praise lifting his heavy heart slightly.

“Yeah…but not good enough” Virik replied, cleaning his blade and readying it for the next foe. “If I were stronger…Iskiah would be…”

“Dwell not on past” Argan interrupted before Virik could voice his own despair, “Virik did what Virik could, what done is done, cannot be changed”

Virik’s eyes went wide and he felt a stab of annoyance at the Ronso’s brashness and dismissal of his feelings, scowling after the beastman as he continued up the path.

“What does he know?” Virik thought bitterly, his heart beginning to pound as they grew closer and closer to the place where Iskiah laid.

Virik was beginning to see familiar waymarks in the rock that were pointing him there like signposts.

The wind was beginning to pick up when they finally arrived on the ledge and Virik felt his knees go weak at the sight of the burial cain, only two days old and yet already half buried in snow.

Crunching his way towards it, he felt a lump rising in his throat with each step until he fell to his knees before the piled rocks.

Tears began to well in Virick’s eyes as he wiped away the snow covering his hastily carved runes, seeing Iskiah’s name reappear to the world.

“Here lies Lord Iskiah of Kilika”

The words seemed ages old rather than days, tears beginning to roll as they had two days previously.

Virik gritted his teeth and again performed the Yevonite prayer where he knelt, curling his hands into a sphere before his chest and bowing in reverence, praying silently for his fallen friend.

A low growl from behind caused Virik to open his eyes.

Turning his head , he saw Argan standing a few feet away, he was also bowed in the same pose, his large paw-like hands curled in the prayer stance.

He was growling words under his breath and Virik caught a few phrases on the wind.

“Sacred Mountain…protect soul of summoner…rest well on mountain slopes…praise be to Yevon”

Words of reverence and comfort for the fallen.

Virik couldn’t help but feel his earlier agitation with the Ronso melt away at this sign of respect.

Returning his attention to the grave, Virik continued his own prayer.

The snow was beginning to get thicker when the two figures finally decided to move on, Virik standing up while Argan waited patiently behind him.

“Argan sees Virik devotion” Argan said as Virik picked up his sword again, “Strong bond Virik and summoner had”

Virik wiped his face with his free hand before he turned to face Argan, his face set in a sad but proud expression.

“He was more that you’ll ever know” he said quietly, glancing back at the headstone.

“I wish I could have told him” he added in an undertone to himself, not noticing Argan’s feline ears twitching.

There was a brief pause, the snow whipping around them as the wind grew stronger.

“We head onward” Argan said finally, gesticulating along the ledge to where another stone ramp led up to a large crevasse in the mountain side.

“Not far now” he added as Virik joined him, staring ahead unseeingly.

He felt conflicted.

Virik wanted to continue this quest, wherever it led, yet at the same time it felt wrong stepping onwards without Iskiah.

Progressing further on the pilgrimage he would never finish.

“Storm cloud grow” Argan reiterated, padding forwards and staring back at Virik, “Do not delay”

Virik gulped and glanced again at the headstone, at Iskiah’s name.

“I’ll be back soon” he muttered with a sniff before turning back to Argan and nodding.

“Let’s go!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Argan’s earlier warning about the clouds became apparent as the pair ascended further, the dark clouds growing thicker and raining thicker snowflakes which obscured the path ahead.

The heavier wind roaring in their ears, masking the sound of Virik’s chattering teeth as he trudged onwards through the thickening snowdrift up the tallest and steepest slope.

“AAAAAAAAGH!”

Virik let out a yell of frustration, lunging out through the snow to grip the icy rock and pull himself over the crest of the slope.

“Made it!” he gasped, pulling himself into a large fissure to shield himself from the wind and snow while he caught his breath.

The sounds of heavy footfalls marked the approach of his guide who seemed wholly unfazed by the weather, pulling himself over the crest with ease and grunting as he landed shin deep in a snowdrift.

“Virik has done well” Argan growled, his amber eyes burning while his lips pulling back to give a ferocious grin, “Few summoners climb here”

He crouched down, his back to the wind and leaned against the fissure opening, his muscular body shielding Virik from the wind.

Virik leaned against the wall, allowing his body a moments rest.

His arm and leg were twinging but he felt he could still go on when he was ready but the increased altitude had brought an even deeper chill which he felt deep in his tropical bones.

Virik shivered intensely, pulling his coat tighter around him while staring up at Argan who was looking over his shoulder, his ears twitching in all directions to detect the approach of fiends.

The Ronsos attire couldn’t be more different that his own.

While he generally wore colourful, open front leather and linen tunics, sandals, shorts and a headband which was the style in Kilika, he had resorted to wearing a heavy cloak, tunic, woollen slacks and boots since walking through icy realm of Macalania.

Argan however was barely wearing anything at all, though this was not entirely surprising to Virik, as Argan had told him during his treatment that the Ronso tribe valued strength and that showing off their physique was a display of pride and power in their training and skill.

Argan wore a tight harness of metal rings and leather straps that were coiled tight around his chest and shoulders with decorative feathers interlaced to give it a tribal look, this was coupled with a simple, dark, leather-bound loin cloth tied tight around his hips with braided fabric that trailed to his knees with dark leather plates that were strapped around his thighs. Other than that his body was bare, his powerful muscles on display with his deep blue fur which darkened to black, similar to his hair, across his shoulders, upper chest, wrists and paws.

The sheer power of Argan’s form momentarily enraptured Virik as he began to truly appreciate the Ronso tribe’s custom, the result being that he stared rather gormlessly at the Ronso while he kept his vigil, letting the minutes pass away in silence.

“Virik has rested?”

The question was accompanied by an icy wave of wind which brought Virik harshly back to reality like a slap across the face as the Ronso shifted his body.

Virik shook his head wildly, his face going beet red.

“Y..YES!” he gasped, pulling his coat tight, getting to his feet and retrieving his sword. “I’m ready!”

Stepping out of the fissure, Virik could tell that the wind had died down but the snow was still falling thickly.

Gazing through the falling curtain. Virik’s eyes went wide as he saw large clouds, swirling and undulating beyond the ridge of the wide plateau that he and Argan were standing on.

“This place Providence” Argan growled, gesturing out to the clouds, “On clear day, all of Spira at feet”

Virik followed Argan’s gaze and imagined the swirling clouds parting to reveal the journey travelled.

“I wonder if I could see Kilika?” he thought to himself, watching the clouds rolling violently in the air currents.

Argan padded his way through the snow, moving around the plateau to where the path onward lay.

“Not far now” he growled, pointing up the path, “We climb higher”

Virik nodded and followed, climbing the path which coiled back on itself into a wider fissure than the one that he had rested in, providing some shelter from the wind and snow.

After walking a ways up the path, Argan came to a sudden halt and Virik almost walked into him.

“What’s wrong?” Virik asked, gazing around Argan’s bulk and spotting a strange structure that rose and bridged the path.

A tall, ruined stone arch that was engraved with ancient Yevonite symbols.

“We go no further” Argan said with a shake of his head.

“Are we there?” Virik enquired, thinking privately that this was an odd place for the Ronso to ritualistically call on the mountain.

Argan shook his head.

“Cave ahead holy ground” the Ronso iterated, “Ronso not permitted…only summoner and guardians”

Virik felt a pang in his chest.

“This must have been the cave we were trying to reach” he thought, staring past the arch to where the passage meandered out of sight into the shadow of the mountain.

He looked up at Argan.

“Where do we go from here then?” he asked staring around for another path but seeing nothing but a sheer rock face on either side of them.

Argan didn’t reply, he was gazing up at the arch in silent reverence.

Then, with a growling roar, he pounced.

There was the sound of claws on stone as the Ronso landed on the pillar and used it to propel himself at the steep wall opposite.

Again and again he bounced between them, rising progressively with each leap until he finally cleared the top of the fissure, disappearing over the crest for a moment before he reappeared and stared down at Virik who was goggling at him from fifty feet below.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Virik yelled, staring up at the Ronso as he folded his arms expectantly.

“VIRIK MUST SHOW RESOLVE!” Argan called back, his deep voice echoing richly off the walls, “VIRIK PROVE WORTH! MOUNTAIN WILL REWARD!”

Virik’s mouth fell open and he stared up at the pillar and then the walls.

“How in Yevon’s name am I meant to do that without claws?” he thought wildly, staring about for a foothold or some way to help him start up the pillar.

He could tell the structure was ancient without close examination although he did spot the worn claw marks of Ronso that must have attempted the climb in the past.

Virik stepped around the arch, examining it carefully and making sure he didn’t step too far further up the path.

His eyes fell on several large divots in the wall and pillar that seemed to line up.

“Has another human tried this?” he thought curiously, feeling the marks and realising they went quite deep, “I wonder?”

Virik raised his sword and held it at a strange angle, as though judging a distance, then he stepped forwards, jamming the edge of the blade into the pillar and then securing the pommel of the sword into the wall.

Stepping back, he grinned at the new stepping stone he had created.

“Right” he smirked, “That might work!”

He spent a moment to prepare, pulling out a coil of rope and securing it to the swords pommel before setting his pack aside behind some rocks.

He would return for it later and wanted to reduce his own weight.

“OK, time to put that training to use” Virik grumbled, coiling the end of the rope around his wrist and stepping back to give himself a running jump.

Bracing himself, he charged forwards, building speed before he leapt into the air and planted a foot onto the flat of the wedged blade.

With a grunt, he kicked off from the foothold and shot up into the air before he flung out his legs in a full spit to brace himself between the wall and the pillar.

“NGHH!” Virik grunted, feeling the strain on his injured leg as it quivered under the strain.

“OK…next step”

He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he yanked the coiled rope in his wrist which was followed by the metallic clang of his blade as it pulled free of its hold and dangled dangerously in the air below him.

Pulling it up quickly to his level, he lifted it above his head and hurriedly began to jab at the pillar until he found another slot.

With a grunt, he tugged down on the rope, wedging the blade tight against the wall before pulling himself up and bracing himself carefully on the blade, panting hard.

“Damn, that was hard” he groaned looking down at the floor ten feet below.

There was an ominous creaking from his blade below his feet.

“Gotta keep going”

Virik jumped up and shot out his legs again, not gaining as much height this time but still managing to push himself higher.

Far above, Argan watched Virik inching his way higher and higher, his large fangs gritted in anticipation and worry.

There was a moment where the Ronso almost leapt down in shock when Virik slipped and dangled from his wedged blade over a forty-foot drop to the craggy path below, luckily Virik was able to recover himself, pulling himself back up on the rope and securing himself one last time before the final jump.

Virik’s legs felt like they were about to give out as he stared up to where Argan was watching him, now mere feet away but just out of reach.

He could almost see the encouragement in Argan’s face, but the Ronso remained stoically silent.

“Ok…one…last…jump!” Virik panted, just as an ominous cracking noise came from his blade.

Glancing down, he saw a hair line fracture streaking across the blade, cracking the surface like sheet ice thawing.

“Oh crap!” he gasped, watching as the crack expanded with another loud snapping noise.

“NO NO NO!”

Virik attempted to jump just as the unthinkable happened.

He kicked off with his foot at the same moment as the metal blade shattered, the two halves plummeting down to the floor, the metal fragments ringing as they struck the pillar.

Virik felt as though time had stopped as he hung suspended in midair, arms reaching out desperately towards the ledge where Argan stared, the Ronso’s face a picture of shock.

“I’m not gonna make it” he thought fearfully, stretching his arm to the fullest extent as he felt gravity beginning to pull him to his doom.

And then the tips of his fingers caught the ledge, and he gripped with all his might, yelling out as his body slammed against the icy wall.

“ARGAN!” he yelled, staring up into the Ronso’s face as his legs flailed, failing to get a grip on the slick wall, “PLEASE!”

The Ronso seemed to be holding himself back, his deep voice almost quivering as he replied.

“Argan cannot help” he said through gritted fangs, “Virik must prove worth to mountain”

“SCREW THE MOUNTAIN ARGAN!” Virik screamed, his fingers burning with the strain while the sharp edge was cutting into his skin. “HELP ME UP!”

Argan shifted his paws awkwardly.

He wanted to help but his pride and honour held him firm.

“Argan cannot help” the Ronso repeated, balling his hands into fists, “Virik use strength! Argan see it in battle! Focus!”

At Argan’s words, Virik closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he willed his body to move as he felt the ledge slipping beneath his fingertips

A fierce burning flooded through him as thoughts of Iskiah flashed across his mind, of the times they had challenged each other in their training, pushing each other past their limits.

“AAAAGHHH!” Virik screamed, digging his nails into the rock as he pulled with all his might.

Slowly, he felt his arms beginning to bend, pulling his chest higher despite the protests from his muscles.

His head was above the ledge, then his shoulders.

With a howl of frustration and fear, Virik took his hand off the ledge and threw his arm forward and felt a rush of relief as his elbow landed on the cold rock.

“YES!” he thought brazenly, using the new anchor and scrambling with his legs, Virik was finally able to pull himself up and onto the ledge where he lay panting as every muscle in his arms and shoulders burned.

Turning his head towards Argan who had stood back to allow him room, Virik raised his hand to make a very rude gesture.

“M..made it” he grunted, rolling over onto his front and pushing himself up gingerly to his feet.

“And without any help from…..”

CRACK!

Virik’s words were cut off by a loud snap and sudden weightlessness in his stomach.

Glancing down, he saw the ledge at his feet was crumbling away and with his back arched, there was nothing to stop him from plummeting back down the cliff.

“No…” he whimpered as he stared up at the sky.

There was a flash of blue and Virik suddenly felt his body being yanked forward back onto the ledge and before he could yell out in shock, his face landed hard between a pair of furry blue pectorals.

For a moment the two men stood there, embracing as the cool wind and Argan’s long tail whipped around them.

Virik quickly pieced it together as his face blushed deep red.

Argan, in that split second, had raced forwards and managed to pull him back from the brink, saving him from a possibly fatal fall.

He had helped him!

It was a moment before they broke apart, Virik looking away awkwardly to hide his blush while the Ronso grunted and scratched his braids.

“Th..Thanks” Virik stammered, stepping away from the ledge to prevent a recurrence.

Argan also looked slightly sheepish, his amber eyes averted.

“Virik climb and reach ledge” he said slowly, “Argan not let Virik waste effort”

He gestured along the ledge to where the icy ledge they stood on continued around the edge of the mountain.

“Not far left to go” Argan continued, leading the way for a few paces, then he paused and turned to look at Virik.

“Argan think….Next time Virik not insult mountain” he said with a slightly ferocious grin, “Mountain crack more than ledge next time”

Virik chuckled humourlessly, not really knowing if Argan was serious or not but he privately agreed that he wouldn’t tempt fate again…At least not until he was back at the foot of the mountain.

* * * * * * * * * *

Argan took the lead, his heavy paws thudding upon the icy ground as he followed a non-existent path that he clearly knew.

Virik followed in his wake, shifting carefully as he no longer had his sword to steady himself, his boots occasionally slipping on the icy ledge.

Staring down at the chasm below, he saw the path he would have trodden disappearing into an opening in the mountain side whereas the new path they were on wove up the exposed side of the mountain face, disappearing higher into the clouds.

Virik gripped his cloak tighter around him as the wind and snow picked up again, the path growing more and more treacherous as the clouds around them pressed in like a fog, obscuring the way forwards. His only guidance was Argan’s long blue tail that lashed ahead of him in the roaring wind.

But it wasn’t just the roaring that was filling his ears.

Between the howling gusts and battering snow, something else was being carried to his ears, beginning as a high tone before it solidified into an eerie cry.

Like the song sung by the pyreflies at a Sending, it was a sombre and haunting sound.

Virik tried to voice his thoughts, but the sound was pulled away by the wind and Argan appeared not to hear. The large Ronso seemed to pause before his tail whipped upwards and Virik soon saw why.

The path ahead now rose in steep jagged steps, coiling around the mountain side as it rose to where the clouds above appeared to be shining with some strange light.

Gritting his teeth as he released his cloak to pull himself up, Virik was forced to endure the frigid elements the mountain was throwing at him while he pulled himself slowly up each step.

Higher and higher he climbed, the icy rock cutting into his numb hands.

He could still see Argan ahead of him, his paws on the steps ahead and his tail lashing through the snow until all of a sudden the steps ended and Virik fell face first onto the edge of a large flat plateau of rock.

“We here!” Argan said, his deep voice cutting through the high ghostly song that had grown louder and more intense as they had ascended.

Virik pulled himself to his feet and stared around, shivering.

The plateau was a natural formation in the mountain side set against a sheer cliff that rose about fifty feet above their heads.

As he gazed up, Virik’s mouth fell open.

The clouds above the cliff face were a rainbow of colours that radiated out in dazzling pattens that reverberated with the mournful song that was now clear and crisp in Virik’s ears.

Bright lights flashed through the rainbow and a faint, blue mist, brightened by the snow was cascading down the rockface, dissipating just before it reached the plateau where he and Argan stood.

As Virik took in the miraculous sight, Argan turned to him, his powerful body framed in the spectral waterfall.

“Virik has proved worth” he growled, folding his muscular arms, “Mountain will hear Virik voice”

Turning back to the rockface and gazing up, the Ronso let out a roar that echoed around the plateau and out into the swirling blizzard around them.

“SACRED MOUT GAGAZET!” Argan called, “I HONOUR THE NAME OF THE MAN WHO BRAVED MOUNTAIN TRIALS TO SPEAK TO YOU!”

Virik clapped his hands over his ears, the echoing cacophony of sound was almost deafening.

“ARGAN RONSO IS WITNESS TO HIS STRENGTH AND RESOLVE! HEAR HIS VOICE GAGAZET! THAT MAN’S NAME IS VIRIK!”

The Ronso’s last words echoed and then faded into the wind like a ghostly choir.

Virik slowly uncovered his ears as Argan turned to him and nodded.

“Mountain will hear Virik now” he said, padding over and resting a paw on Virik’s shoulder, “Go!”

Virik gaped up at the dazzling cloud as he allowed Argan to guide him closer, till he stood in the centre of the plateau.

He felt the paw leave his shoulder and the Ronso’s heavy footfalls as he moved away.

“Speak!” Argan growled, “Mountain will hear Virik!”

Virik glanced back, seeing the Ronso sat cross-legged near the path, his amber eyes glaring through the snow.

He looked back up at the bright lights above and the wispy waterfall and felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Am I really doing this?” he thought wildly, “Am I really going to ask a mountain what I should do with my life?”

It was absurd, completely ridiculous, the delusional fantasy of the Ronso.

Yet now he was here, stood where many Ronso surely had before, he couldn’t deny that there was something here that made the whole thing plausible, the very air had presence, some strange and otherworldly magic.

“M…m…” Virik stuttered, his voice quivering both from nerves and ever present cold, “My name is Virik!”

His voice called out but was quickly lost in the wind.

“SPEAK PROUDLY!” came Argan’s growl, “SHOW STRENGTH!”

The Ronso’s rallying call caused something in Virik to burn, a spark in his chest.

Taking a deep breath and raising his head to the sky, he called out.

“MOUNT GAGAZET! I AM VIRIK OF KILIKA! I HAVE CLIMBED YOUR SLOPES, BRAVED YOUR WINDS AND BLIZZARDS AND TAKEN YOUR IRE! NOW I STAND BEFORE YOU TO SEEK THE WISDOM THE RONSO SAY YOU POSSESS!”

The words echoed as Argan’s has, reverberating over the plateau and into the storm.

Behind him, Argan bared his teeth in a smile.

“SO TELL ME GAGAZET, MY PURPOSE IS LOST! MY SUMMONER, MY FRIEND… LORD ISKIAH…IS GONE…..”

He faltered slightly, the lump returning in his throat.

“So tell me…..TELL ME WHERE MY PURPOSE LIES NOW! I WANTED IT TO BE AT ISKIAH’S SIDE, AS HIS GUARDIAN WHEN HE DEFEATED SIN!....Even knowing that would mean he…he…”

Tears were falling now and he couldn’t finish the sentence, knowing the fate of all summoners who completed their pilgrimage.

“I WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE, ALWAYS AT HIS SIDE!....SO TELL ME GAGAZET! WHERE CAN I GO? WHAT CAN I DO?....HE WILL LIE ON YOUR SLOPES FOR ETERNITY AND I PRAY TO YEVON THAT HIS SOUL TRULY IS WITH YOU!”

He fell to his knees as he voiced his hope, the words that Argan had told him, that Iskiah’s spirit was safe and not one of the murderous fiends that roamed the treacherous slopes.

“PLEASE GAGAZET!” Virik shouted, his voice growing hoarse, “TELL ME? SHOW ME! WHAT MUST I DO?”

His last call to the mountain rang in his ears as the echoing choir faded once again into the wind.

Virik clenched his eyes shut as he knelt there, the wind whipping around him and the mournful song in his ears.

He waited….and he waited.

But there was no response, no word from the stone.

The mountain was silent.

Virik fell forwards onto all fours and began to shudder.

“I should have known” he muttered, fighting a sudden, mad urge to laugh at his own ridiculous hope that speaking to a mountain would give him peace.

The tears falling in earnest now he had finally arrived at the end of this ridiculous venture.

“At least it’s been an interesting distraction” he thought idly as he made to stand and mentally preparing himself for the inevitable long return journey back down the mountain.

Then something caught his eye.

A wisp of blue sailing past his hands.

Then another….and another.

Virik raised his head.

The ghostly blue fog that poured from the cliff above seemed to be thickening, the trailing waves now touching the plateau and seeping out from the rockface, moving like a spectral wave towards where he knelt.

“What the…” Virik gasped as the fog surged and swirled around him, a tingling chill running up his body where it touched him.

He looked back at Argan who was partially obscured by the rising mist, but from what he could tell the Ronso looked just as shocked as he did.

“Argan! What’s happe…” Virik began to ask before another voice suddenly filled his ears.

But it did not seem like one voice, it was almost like multiple voices were speaking the same words and each had mere seconds to speak, the voices shifting as the words filled his mind.

“…protect us…..protect him…..be…..our….guardian…”

Virik opened his mouth to speak but at that moment, the mournful song around him suddenly rose into a deafening chorus, the harrowing notes ringing hard in his ears as the fog swirled up and around him.

“…become….our….guardian…”

The voice was barely audible over the song which had Virik clasping his hands over his ears again trying to drown out the song that was shaking his very bones.

All he could see was the swirling blue fog, Argan was completely hidden.

He tried to stand but the chill seemed to hold him in place.

And just as the song reached such a pitch that he felt he could no longer bear it.

The voice spoke out again as one united voice.

“…Become…Our…GUARDIAN!...”

Then came a shock, like a lightning bolt, surging through Virik’s body from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head.

His whole body went rigid and he threw back his head and let out a howl that rang to the multicoloured heavens above.

A burning sensation began to rise through his body as the shock faded away and he collapsed back to all fours, panting hard while the fog spiralled faster around him.

“Nghhh wha…whats happening?” Virik gasped, his breath misting the chilly air as his body burned.

A cramping sensation in his hands drew his attention down and he stared down at his blistered hands and his mouth fell open.

The skin was already red and rough from the cold and wielding his blade but even as he stared, the skin was darkening, becoming tougher as his fingers swelled and thick leathery pads pushed up from his palms and at the tips of his fingers where the fingernails were blackening.

“M..my hands” Virik gasped, eyes wide as his hands grew larger, the now black nails cracking as they grew out, pushing into long, sharp claws before hairs began to sprout on the toughened skin.

Thick and blue, the hairs covered his swollen hand which now resembled a pair of large bestial paws.

Just like…

“A…Argan” Virik gasped, his new paws trembling before face as he flexed his fingers in disbelief, watching the large, clawed digits curl to his command.

Lost in the shock of his hands, Virik didn’t notice the fur spreading down his wrists, disappearing under the sleeves of his coat.

His breaths became heavier as his panic grew and with each deep breath he took, he found his coat and the Kilikan leathers beneath becoming tighter, as though the material was shrinking in the heat his body was producing.

But it was his own body that was swelling with every breath, his powerful body was expanding with new muscle beneath the tight clothes.

“Wh…what in Yev...Yevons name!” Virik grunted, planting his paws onto the rocky ground, the pressure in his chest grew painful, seams splitting apart against his growing frame. “WHATS HAPPENING TO ME!...I…I CAN’T B…BREATHE!.....RAAAAAAAAAGGH!”

A snarling roar left Virik’s lips as he threw himself up, his large paws clawing at his overtight coat and in one, violent movement he shredded the tight garments away, exposing his expanding torso which was already blue with his growing fur, the colour darkening to streaks of black across the top of his powerful pecs and over his muscular shoulders, his nipples darkening to black as the fur grew thick and tight to his form, outlining each of his defining muscles perfectly and keeping him warm against the wind and snow.

Bones cracked and muscles stretched, yet Virik felt no pain, only sheer shock and bewilderment at what was happening to him.

He now felt the same burning in his feet, the hard leather boots growing tighter as his toes pushed outwards against the tanned material.

“A..AAAAAAARGAN!” Virik cried through the fog, a deeper, gravellier edge creeping into his voice while he attempted to kick off his boots. “HAAARRRRRLP MEEE!”

His cry for help was lost amid two enormous snaps, the tanned leather on his boots giving out as the soles tore away, exposing what had once been a pair of human feet.

What now protruded from the ruined leather footwear hardly looked human, the skin was just as dark as his hand had been before the fur had grown in and long, sharp black claws had replaced the nails.

Virik stared back in shock as he saw blue fur beginning to sprout over the newly forming paws, feeling the thick pads forming like on his hands. Except now he watched the big toe on each foot pull back while the others stretched as his foot widened, the claw pulling in until it formed a dew claw near where his ankle had been.

Like when his hands had changed, the fur spread up from his changed feet, his legs beginning to pulse and burn as new muscle formed, pressing out against the tight woollen slacks and leathers beneath.

Yet there was another growth, larger and more prominent than his swelling thighs.

Virik felt a sharp pressure in the base of his spine that sent him back to all fours, his body writhing and his new claws digging into the hard rock.

Arching his back, he let out a loud snarl as his woollen slacks began to bulge just above his backside, a large throbbing lump that swelled with each pulse.

Virik knew what it must be, and he couldn’t believe it was happening to him.

He was transforming into a Ronso!

He didn’t understand how or why, all he could do was grunt and snarl as his body shifted further and further from what it had been.

There was the snapping of seams as his legs swelled and stretched, blue fur spreading like wildfire, now covering everything below his neck.

“Ngrrrrrr Noooo” Virik growled, his voice deepening further as he felt his last piece of human clothing surrendering to his growing form, the large bulge quivering, the pressure in his spine building to a fever pitch.

RIP!

It all happened at once.

The quivering bulge erupted as a long, blue, tasselled tail rocketed into the air, nearly the length of his whole body, it lashed through the air above him while the remainer of his slacks shredded away around his muscular legs and rear.

Now completely exposed, his body was free to grow without constraint.

Virik grunted and growled as his chest, back, arms and legs packed on even more muscle, adding extra height to his frame.

He twisted his head and gritted his teeth as he felt the changes moving up his neck, which was thickening as the fur continued to rise.

This was accompanied by a tingling from his scalp before he saw long ginger hairs falling into his vision, his hair was growing out at an incredible length, the formally short, styled haircut was turning into a long, feral mane. The long hairs falling about the transforming man’s shoulders before its shade suddenly changed, the colour darkening till it was like Argan’s, a deep jet black.

“Arrghh RAAAAAAAAWR!” Virik growled, his teeth were beginning to feel strange in his mouth as they became sharper and swelled in his gums, pushing out into long bestial fangs.

His face tingled as the fur passed over it, black hairs sprouting along his jawline to give him a black beard that contrasted to his blue fur which now covered his entire body.

There was barely anything human left about Virik now, his furry blue face the only thing that held any evidence of his past humanity.

But it was rapidly losing even that, large whiskers pushed out beneath Virik’s nose which was flattening and darkening before a pressure grew in his jaw.

Virik opened his eyes, thick tears falling down his furry face from his eyes which were now halfway between their original brown and feral amber.

He wanted to cry out!

Beg for help!

But with his eyes now open he saw something that caused him to freeze where he knelt.

Right in front of him stood a figure who seemed to be made up of the blue fog that was still swirling rapidly around him.

The figure was smiling down at Virik with a very familiar, mischievous smile.

“Is…Iskiah!” Virik gasped in his new deep, rough voice, his brightening eyes wide in shock and disbelief.

The spectral form of his summoner did not respond but it’s expression softened as it knelt down before him, raising its hands to take Virik’s furry face in its ghostly palms. Virik felt a strange chill when it touched him, but he allowed his head to be lifted, his eyes never leaving the face he thought he would never see again.

The smile on its face widened, the hands caressing Virik’s cheek softly.

“Don’t be afraid” came a soft whisper in Virik’s ears which were now stretching to points, “Stand proud…my guardian”

And before Virik could say or do anything, the ghostly Iskiah leaned in and kissed Virik squarely in the centre of his furry forehead.

The moment the wispy lips touched his fur, another powerful shock flooded through Virik’s body, and he threw his head back in a loud, bestial roar.

The trigger caused the final changes to surge across Virik’s body.

His nose and jaw cracking forwards into a feline snout showing off his new powerful fangs while his pointed ears rounded out to match Argan’s.

The strongest sensation occurred at the point where the kiss had landed, a pressure building in the spot were Virik knew the last change that would seal his transformation into a Ronso.

Their defining feature.

The pressure increased rapidly and Virik felt a sharp sting at the point of his skull, feeling the skin bulge as something pressed out from his very bones.

“Aghhhh…AAAAAhhhh….RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWR!”

Virik let out a bellowing roar as the last barrier within him was breached, his eyes shifting fully from brown to a bright, golden amber as an ivory spire erupted from the centre of his forehead, stretching out into a single, foot long horn.

The spectral form of Iskaih had watched on as the final remnants of Virik’s humanity faded away, its expression one of pride and of sadness it watched the newly minted Ronso fall to all fours, panting and growling, his naked, furry body heaving in the aftermath of his transformation.

“Live…my friend”

The last whisper reached Virik’s ears and he raised his muzzle in time to see his friend fade away into the wind as the spiralling fog began to dissipate.

“NO!” Virik cried out, his voice now a deep gravelly rasp as he threw out a paw towards where the spectral figure had been, “Don’t Go!...please…”

His pleas were swallowed by the wind and song, and he continued to stare at the point where Iskiah’s form had disappeared even as the swirling fog faded away and the deafening song softened back to its eerie tune.

Within seconds the scene had been as it was when they had arrived, the fog pouring and fading down the cliff face and the eerie song playing on the wind while snow fell gracefully onto the plateau.

The only difference was that instead of a man standing in the centre, a large, muscular Ronso now knelt on all fours, paw outstretched.

Virik remained frozen in his pose for a moment more, trying to reason if what he saw was a dream or not.

Then he looked down at his naked body and it all became devastatingly real to him.

“AHHHHHGRRRRRR!”

Virik let out a roar of fear and shock as he pushed himself into a kneeling position, staring down at his new paws and powerful arms and chest.

“I’m…I’m a….a….a…” he stammered, hearing his new deep voice that was like a gentle thunder.

“A Ronso!”

Virik twisted his head around at the words and looked over to where Argan was also now kneeling near the edge of the plateau, his hands curled into the Yevonite prayer and his head bowed in reverence.

When he rose back up, his amber eyes were filled with a mixture of shock and awe as he rose to his feet and slowly began to move closer.

“Argan not witnessed true blessing of mountain before” he said, his growling voice quivering, “Virik granted great honour this day, Praise be to Yevon!”

He repeated the prayer motion with his paws while Virik merely stared up at him, unable to respond through his own earthshattering shock.

“H…how….why?” Virik managed to gasp, staring up at Argan as though he was the font of all knowledge.

He needed to make sense of this, he had to!

Argan shook his head, his braided dark mane blowing in the wind.

“Argan not know if true” the Ronso replied simply, “Argan hear Virik plea, hear desire for mountain to show Virik way forwards”

He rested a paw on Virik’s muscular shoulder.

“Mountain answer Virik prayer” Argan concluded, “Virik is reborn as Ronso!”

Virik looked down at his body again, his long tail lashing around him.

He didn’t know what to do, what to think.

Then his mind went back to what the voices had said when the song was roaring in his ears.

“Become our Guardian”

Virik’s new amber eyes went wide as the ghostly face of Iskaih flashed into his memory and remembered his words as he smiled.

“Be strong my Guardian”

Tears began to well up in the shining amber eyes and he gritted his large fangs as he tried to contain his emotions.

“Is…Iskiah” he growled in a tight voice, “I saw Iskiah….he’s here….with the Mountain”

The words seemed to solidify the fact to Virik, the fact that his summoners soul was safe.

The paw on his shoulder tightened its grip as Argan smiled down at him, his fangs bared.

“Argan happy for Virik” he said happily, “Summoner safe, Mountain will protect”

He released Virik’s shoulder and moved in front of him, staring down at the transformed warrior.

“AND RONSO PROTECT MOUNTAIN!” he roared valiantly, spreading his arms wide.

His roar echoed again across the plateau, emanating Argan’s pride to the heavens.

Virik stared up at him from where he knelt, his eyes distant as the meaning behind Argan’s words resonated in his mind and he suddenly saw the way forwards.

Iskiah rested on the mountain.

Iskiah’s soul was protected by the mountain.

The Ronso protected the mountain!

In his old form he would not survive the mountain’s harsh conditions…but as a Ronso!

“I…can protect him….I can still be his guardian!” he thought rapturously.

Planting his paws on the floor, Virik pushed himself into a standing position, only to stagger and nearly fall as he felt the new configuration of his legs and foot paws.

Argan quickly gripped Virik to steady him.

“No Haste!” Argan growled, allowing Virik to rest against him as he tested himself on his new paws, “Slow steps! Virik adapt to body!”

Virik nodded, allowing Argan to guide him as he took his first tentative steps.

He only realised now that he was near enough as tall as Argan, his height must have increased by at least two feet, aided by the fact he was walking essentially on the balls of his formerly human feet.

He also found that he no longer felt the cold, the thick blue fur that covered his body insulating him against the ongoing blizzard.

Once Virik had got a feel and was able to walk on his own, Argan moved over to the shredded remains of Virik’s human clothes, sat down and began to fish around in the ragged material while at the same time, shrugging off the ringed harness he was wearing to expose his bare, blue chest.

“What are you doing?” Virik asked, watching the Ronso from behind.

He appeared to be weaving fragments of the fabric together and pulling tight in knots.

Stepping closer, he watched as Argan held up what looked like a loincloth formed from the shredded remains of his Kilikan leathers.

“Ronso show off strong bodies as sign of strength to intimidate foes and attract mates” Argan growled shakily, rising up again, turning to Virik and holding out the makeshift garment.

“But Ronso have dignity in battle and tribe….Ronso not disrobe except before mate!”

It took a moment for Argan’s words to sink in and then with a thrill of horror he looked down and remembered that his new body had been stark naked since his transformation, and even now was standing in all his glory before his fellow Ronso.

He was surprised his new fur didn’t turn red from the intensity of his sudden blush and he snatched the loincloth from Argan and hastily pulled it on, the rings pulling tight around his waist.

“Thank you” Virik growled, pushing his long black mane out of his eyes and looking down to ensure he was properly covered.

Argan nodded before gathering up the remainder of the shredded clothing and tying it together into a bundle which he threw over his shoulder.

“Sacred ground…must keep clean” Argan said simply, striding back towards the plateau steps.

He looked over at Virik and gestured for him to follow.

“Argan introduce Virik to tribe Elder” he continued, “Elder say if Virik can stay, Virik must show resolve to protect mountain in name of Yevon…else Virik must leave mountain and not return!”

Virik felt his body stiffen at the prospect of being forced to leave and living the life a Ronso beyond Mount Gagazet, doing it as a human was a scary enough prospect.

But then he felt his new resolve burn and he puffed out his new powerful chest in a show of strength.

“Iskiah is part of the mountain” Virik growled, following Argan’s lead, “I will fight to protect the mountain and protect him! As his guardian!”

Argan’s smile returned and he nodded.

“Argan lead way down” he growled, “We go home”

He turned away and began to head back down the stepped pathway ahead of Virik.

“Home” Virik repeated, feeling a slight burning in his chest at the word.

He may have been raised in Kilika, but truly it had never felt like home.

His home had always been with Iskiah, and so long as he remained on the mountain.

He was home!

Looking back up to where the rainbow of lights still crossed the clouds, Virik smiled.

“Thank you Iskiah” he said, his bright eyes reflecting the light, “I will protect you, so long as I live….and beyond”

He then turned and began to follow Argan back along the pathway, down the mountainside and onwards into a new dawn and a new life.

* * * * * * * * * *

The seasons rolled on and yet the ever-white blanket of snow that covered the slopes of Mount Gagazet remained.

High in the mountain passes, a muscular figure was sat before a half-buried monument on a narrow ledge.

Virik had changed much since his last appearance before his friend’s grave, his body was now more powerfully toned, wrapped in a feather adorned, ringed harness and the same colourful loincloth that his tribal brother had once woven for him.

His blue fur was broken by several scars, evidence of his training and dangerous battles fought in his defence of the mountain.

“I’m sorry its been so long” Virik Ronso growled his head bowed in reverence as his paws formed the familiar prayer sign. “So much has happened…”

He let his voice trail off as he stared at the burial cairn he had made so long ago, admiring the changes he had made that had been ravaged by the forces of nature.

The cairn still held the remnants of Iskiah’s staff, although it was sunbeaten and wind torn from its time exposed to the elements.

But there was also something now set beside it, the shattered half of a proud blade, it too weather beaten.

Virik smiled, a ferocious thing with his large fangs as his eyes fell on the shining runes etched onto the large central boulder.

“Here lies Lord Iskiah of Kilika”

_ _

The original message stood out against the snow, yet there were newer runes beneath that shone just as brightly.

“And his guardian, Sir Virik of Kilika”

_ _

It had been his final act of his old life, casting off the person he had been before embracing the identity of Virik Ronso of Mount Gagazet.

Argan had taken him back down to the foot of the mountain, to the settlement where the Ronso resided.

Many were shocked at his story, unwilling to believe the tale that he and Argan told.

But the Elder, an aged and wise figure, he listened to the tale.

When they were done, he had approached Virik, stared into his eyes and asked him to declare himself to the tribe.

“I AM VIRIK!” he remembered roaring, “I AM A GUARDIAN….I WANT TO PROTECT MY SUMMONER WHO IS IN THE CARE OF THE MOUNTAIN! I WILL PROTECT THE MOUNTAIN IN THE NAME OF YEVON!”

There had been a stunned silence and then the Elder had embraced him, declaring him one of the tribe and granting him his new full name, Virik Ronso of the Ronso Tribe.

“Living as a Ronso is a rough life” Virik growled to the grave, yet his smile never faltered. “We train our bodies, we spar with each other and we roam the mountain, protecting our home”

He let out a loud yowl of laughter and patted his muscular leg.

“But I’m happy!” he declared, “Ronso Elder is a wise Ronso who see’s a bright future in Yevon and his son Kelk is just as devout. He reminds me of you Iskiah, I think you’d like him.”

He chuckled.

“Elder even asked me to teach him to talk as a human, so he can be ambassador to Bevelle” he added with a smile, “Virik think he will be strong Elder one day….haha…I’m slipping into Ronso talk myself”

The Ronso laughed, his deep voice echoing into the wind and snow.

“In the end, its all for you!” Virik continued, “I will keep my promise to protect Mountain and You”

A sudden sound caused his leonine ears to twitch and in a single reactive movement, he seized a large spear from the snow beside him, springing up into a ready stance with fangs bared as a shadowy figure approached through the snow.

“Argan knew he find Virik here” came a familiar voice and Virik lowered his weapon as the familiar face of his fellow tribesman came into sight.

“Virik wanted to visit Iskiah” Virik replied, slipping accidently back into Ronso talk, “Been to long, wanted to check on grave and speak with old friend”

Argan nodded and performed his own prayer stance before the grave.

“Virik must come now!” Argan growled as he rose back up, “Elder give summons, scout say threat approaching foot of mountain”

Virik’s body suddenly tensed and his eyes glowed.

Securing the spear to his back, he hunched over, claws bared as he prepared to pounce.

He glanced sideways at the grave.

“I’ll be back soon” he growled before turning his attention back to Argan who also looked ready to pounce. “Let’s go brother!”

In one motion, the two Ronso charged, shooting along the path back down the mountain.

Diving across chasms and crevasses and bounding off walls like the beasts they were, their paws pounding through the snow as they raced each other in a spirited contest of speed and power.

Virik’s heart was racing and he felt a fierce pride as he took the lead, descending the mountain at a pace unmatched by any human feet.

“The mountain was threatened….Iskiah was threatened” he thought savagely, charging ever onward, as the mountain gates came into sight in the distance. “I will protect you….always….I am…your Eternal Guardian!”