People hate dreams because they don't exist. Dreams are perfect, flawless, and they change as the dreamer changes. Yet dreams spring from reality, with all its deficiencies and faults, and therein lies paradox: how can something perfect change, and yet remain perfect? ---- Guadosalam was a dying city. It hadn't changed much, if at all, from when last she'd seen it, cold and dark and lacking in the hum of activity that spelled life. As she walked, the streets echoed with the sounds of her footsteps; she wondered if there was anyone at all left to hear them, or to remember what the city had once been like, only a few years ago. A cold wind blew, chilling her skin where it touched her, and she shivered, missing the warmth that came from being in the company of friends who cared. But she walked on. This was something she had to do alone, something she'd put off for far too long by Spira's need to rest, to rebuild and to heal. Only a little while- a few years- had passed, but time inevitably brought change- and release from memory.Yuna welcomed and accepted change- hadn't she been willing to give her life for it, after all? And Change, not Calm, she had brought, evident in the aura of general optimism that seemed to lie over all of Spira, the excitement and anticipation she sensed in the people she talked to, and the light in their eyes, when they spoke of the future. Things still weren't entirely smooth, what with fiends both human and not on the rampage, and the vagaries of weather wreaking havoc on the crops. And perhaps things would never be entirely as she wished them to be, but things were better now. People were starting to dream again- the dreams of a world without Sin, washing over Spira with waves of hope; fanning out to dance with the pyreflies and take tangible shape, like a rapture. It made it all too easy to forget. Guadosalam was probably the only place untouched by the passing of Sin. It was, as the only city designed and built entirely by Guado, unique, a fact which showed in the oddly curving architecture, faded clashing colors, and dimensions of door and chair that fitted comfortably neither Ronso nor human. Passing pilgrims used to stop every few steps to gawk, but Yuna did neither. Guadosalam was hardly new to her, after all. And yet, as a familiar red building came into view, she fought the temptation to stop. There were times still when she wondered if everything had been a dream, after all, if everything had never really happened and she would wake up any time to find herself in her old bed, her childhood bed, her father by her side to dry her tears. ...dreams? Under the cover of her ---- "Bahamut?" Yuna exclaimed. She sank gracefully into the customary greeting. "But I thought.. I called.." "You called for a dream," The fayth said, his face hidden once more by the folds of the purple hood. "And dreams don't exist. But the farplane can't give you that- nothingness- and so you summoned the reality behind the dream." He paused, and Yuna could almost feel him smile, a wry smile. "Me." ---- Yuna reached out to touch his shoulder. Her fingers tingled for a while, then passed through his body, leaving her grasping at nothing. "Perceptions," repeated Bahamut/Tidus/the fayth, his voice sounding low and serious and somehow incongruous, coming from that slim illusion of a body. "The power of belief. What if you told yourself that everything you learnt today was a bad dream, and made yourself forget it? What if you told yourself that it was really Tidus- your Tidus, the one you learnt to fall in love with, standing in front of you now, your dream come true?" He was looking at Yuna directly now, and although she still couldn't see his face clearly, she could feel his eyes, a burning, unearthly water-blue, staring at her. "You have strength of mind enough to make yourself believe what you want.