The sun scorched Thanalan with its relentless fire, turning the dunes into waves of shimmering glass. Zack Fair trudged alongside a line of wagons bound for Horizon, the weight of his bastard sword a comforting presence across his back. He kept his grin bright, his stride easy, but deep inside the memory of the trial still lingered. The five portals collapsing into one, the monstrous fusion that should have killed them all, and the way he and the others had fought side by side as if they had always been meant to. They had walked away alive, changed, marked by power none of them had carried before. Paladin. White Mage. Monk. Dragoon. Warrior. Titles that belonged to them now whether they wanted them or not.
When the guildmasters announced their verdict, Zack had expected they might try to bind the five of them together, make them a company to show off to the city-states. Instead, they had chosen the opposite. Each of them would walk alone for now, forging their own paths. Jenlyns himself had summoned Zack at dawn and spoken with the gravity of a commander addressing a knight. "You shielded your companions as a true Paladin would. But a single victory is no mastery. Prove yourself on the road. A caravan departs for Horizon today. Bandits, beasts—who can say what will assail them? Escort them. Protect them. Not as a gladiator, but as a Paladin."
Zack had smirked, as if he were being sent on a joyride rather than a test, though a strange weight had settled in his chest. He knew Jenlyns was right. He wasn't just swinging a sword anymore. Something inside him had shifted during that fight. Something bigger.
Now the caravan rattled forward, chocobos clucking nervously, merchants muttering about coin and spice, and a handful of guards sweating under the desert sun. They eyed Zack curiously. To them he looked like a reckless sellsword who had somehow talked his way into their ranks, a man with too much confidence and too wide a grin. None of them knew he had stood before a monster stitched from five worlds and lived. Zack liked it that way. Let them think he was ordinary. He would show them in time.
The desert seemed quiet at first. Too quiet. Zack's instincts pricked, and before he could speak, the sands ahead heaved and split. A swarm of antlions erupted from beneath the surface, mandibles clacking, eyes gleaming with hunger. The merchants screamed. The guards froze. Zack's grin widened.
"Stay behind me!" he bellowed, drawing his bastard sword in one fluid motion. The blade gleamed in the sun, almost alive with faint light, and then he was moving, charging into the swarm without hesitation. His first swing cleaved an antlion in two, spraying ichor across the sand. Another lunged at his side, but Zack spun, parried, and slammed the flat of his blade across its head, sending it sprawling.
The guards stared, half in awe, half in terror. "Is he mad?!" one shouted as Zack took on three at once.
"Mad? Maybe!" Zack shouted back, laughter in his voice as he deflected a claw and shoved the beast aside. "But I'm not letting anyone here die!"
More antlions surged forward, claws raking the sand. Zack planted himself like a wall between them and the wagons. His strikes were fast, reckless, but every step he took pushed the monsters away from the caravan. When one broke past his guard, racing toward a wagon, Zack didn't think—he dropped his sword, lunged forward, and caught the creature by its mandibles. Muscles straining, ichor burning his gauntlet, he shoved it back and reclaimed his blade, driving it straight through its skull.
For a moment he thought he might falter. His arms ached, sweat stung his eyes, and still more monsters came. Then a glow brushed his shoulder, a trembling Cure spell cast by one of the caravan's conjurers. The magic steadied him, and something inside him answered. His sword flared, not with fire, but with light—pale, warm, protective. The glow of a Paladin's oath, though he had never sworn it aloud.
The guards, inspired, began to fight back. Arrows flew, spears braced, and slowly, the tide turned. Zack stood at the center of it all, a whirlwind of steel and laughter, every swing of his sword daring the monsters to come closer. When the last antlion fell, silence rolled across the desert, broken only by panting breaths and the restless cries of chocobos.
The merchants gathered, eyes wide with awe. One man, bedecked in rings, stepped forward. "You… you saved us all."
Zack waved him off with a grin, though his chest still heaved from exertion. "Nah. You all held your own. I just… stood in front of the claws."
But the guards whispered among themselves, voices carrying in the still air. "Not a sellsword," one muttered. "A knight."
Zack pretended not to hear, though the words struck something deep in him. A knight, huh? He thought of Angeal, of Cloud, of all the promises he had once made. To be a hero. To protect dreams. Maybe this world had given him another chance to get it right.
By the time they reached Horizon, the sun was sinking low, painting the desert in blood and fire. The townsfolk cheered the caravan's return, children chasing the wagons, merchants unloading their wares. Zack tried to slip away quietly, sword slung across his shoulder, but the caravan leader caught him by the arm.
"What's your name, swordsman?"
For a moment Zack hesitated. He wasn't ready to be more than another wanderer here. He wasn't ready for them to know the weight he carried. "Zack," he said at last. "Just Zack."
The man clasped his forearm in gratitude. "Then remember this, Just Zack. You're no mercenary. You're a protector. The road has too few of those these days."
That night, Zack sat on the rooftop of a tavern, staring up at the starlit desert sky. His bastard sword leaned against his shoulder, still faintly glowing as if it remembered the fight as keenly as he did. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"Paladin, huh? Guess that's got a nice ring to it."
The laughter faded, leaving quiet resolve behind. For once in his life, Zack Fair wasn't chasing the dream of being a hero. Out here, under these stars, sword in hand and lives protected, he already was one.