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They were... unprepared, under trained, overwhelmed, out of time.

The Revolutionaries.

The Government.

None of them held the sheer power to contain the wrath of Synthesis. And one by one, they were defeated even with the assistance of their Aeon or the power of machinery at their side. In the span of several minutes, the fight was no longer about fighting but the prospect of survival. Synthesis was merciless and picked them apart one by one until only one was left. It was this one, lone person that fled the scene in shame as they looked upon the corpses of their friends.

Synthesis left to continue the destruction it was leaving across the planet. Even the full might of the entire government was left in shambles in the face of this transcendental being. History would begin to repeat itself as the Cycle was, for lack of a better word; “revived”. Summoners would throw away their lives to stop Synthesis for a decade, only to return and signal the start of the next cycle.

And in the decades that followed, the one that escaped that fateful battlefield secluded themselves from the rest of Humanity. They were too shamed by their actions to return to civilization. So, they lived in Spira's wilderness. Hunting to survive and ignoring their emotions to stop the guilt from overwhelming their very existence. Watching as the Cycle came and went, reminding them of the spheres they watched with the others.

Then time caught up with them.

Left alone in the wilderness, the escapee laid on their deathbed. Hair, once the shade of the sun itself, was now gray. Eyes, once holding such warmth and confidence, betrayed their own inner turmoil. Skin marred by scars of battle, either by weapon or age. This wasn't the same person that so many had relied on. This person was broken, completely and utterly broken.

This person was once...

“Aaron de Maria,” a voice addressed.

The elderly man fought to see this person. His memory was hazy after decades in the open tundras of Mount Gagazet, of which he lived on top of, but the voice was unmistakeable. Many times had the Thief heard that voice in battle as they tried to reclaim the rest of the Aeons. It was their unquestionable leader and the once partner of Eric le Rou; Bahamut.

“Save your strength, child. You will only remain for so long at this rate. I wish to speak with you, Aaron, about the state of the world.”

In response, the elderly man coughed in laughter. “Pray tell, Bahamut. Why would I care for the squabbles of living men when I myself am not long for this world?”

“Because we can send you back.”

Any sarcastic retort died in Aaron's throat as he eyed the not-so-childish-being. He could see that the Aeon wasn't kidding. He was completely serious. And that meant he really had the power to send him back in time, give him the chance to atone for his sins. To fix the mistakes he made. To claim the love that alluded him in his own past. “And what would you ask in return, oh great King?”

Bahamut approached closer, closer, and closer until he was by the dying Thief's bedside. He sat on the old bedding and looked the former blond in the eyes, bellying just how serious the request was. The Thief was not fazed by the display as broken as he was. Others, the army in particular, would've mistaken this as confidence or bravery. They were foolish.

“To stop this from happening.”

“... pardon?”

The King frowned momentarily. “I thought I was particularly clear about the request, Thief. We, the Aeons, want to stop this from happening. This future. As we can not interact with the world outside of our bestial forms, we are interested in enlisting your help on this matter.”

“How would I stop th-?!” the elderly man stopped, coughing fitfully as he struggled to reclaim his breath.

Being old was terrible.

“You've seen the power the Revolutionaries can wield once they've had proper training. They weren't even at the peak of their power and neither were we, limited by the capabilities of our Summoners as we were. You can stop this by getting them prepared. By giving them the strength to stop Synthesis before the world has to resort to using the Cycle once more.”

Aaron finally understood. As he looked upon the child King, he understood. The Aeon were tired of Dreaming as they had when Lady Yuna was amongst the living. Tired of the constant fighting as their Summoners perished with the temporary defeat of their newest enemy. They wanted to stop Dreaming. Just as Yuna had promised them in her time, so to were they looking for him to promise the same thing in his time.

“... alright.”

Bahamut didn't bother to stop the smile that lit up his face. He was practically radiant as he laid his hand on the dying man's eyes, closing them as Pyreflies circled the small room. “Sleep.”

In that instant, Aaron de Maria knew no more.