It's there in his sights, a bottle -- and it would be strange, if not for everything that sweeps in with it, the emotions jingling with the glass container. Tidus doesn't need to perceive it closely to know - that every detail, every grain and drip and every piece contained inside is formed from him. And Gibbs, usually kept inside his heart - his connection to a far off land; a connection to his friends, a connection to himself - keeps the image of the bottle secure. A trinket firm in the back of Tidus's mind, a signal to Esteban that they're holding on, clasping onto reminders, memories, representations.

But Tidus has to think now of Inigo, knowledge sweeping through both of them - or all three - that he has to go and find their friend. Inigo. The name, somewhere in Ylisse; where the flowers used to bloom in fields close to the castle where Inigo grew up. A world he saved but doesn't view a home; the world he's in, and doesn't want to be.

Tidus reaches out, heart, mind, and everything there is to with, for the light of the tether that he starts to become drawn towards.

A man waiting, in a field in bloom.