Tidus isn't expected to be pulled in, a listener to the events, but not as privy as he would like - not before this moment. So it's a rush, hearing Esteban's voice fill the space of the luggage carriage, and then for space to then turn non-existent, expansive, endless. The cries, wails, a cacophony that brings down reality to them to this new one. The same way that the memories of Zanarkand's people had changed a room into a view of the stars, into glimpses of a life long gone.

But there's more feeling here, so much. Tidus's throat and chest tighten as they push in, but he refuses to buckle.

As far as he can keep it together. But then the line breaks and so does he crumble too. For however long; until his senses can return, his cheek cold against the metal of the carriage floor, his body more nerves than anything solid, yet still heavier than a shoopuf.

And even with the splitting pain devouring his head, his eyes not yet opening, head bowed and barely able to pick himself up...

"We have to - get out there!"

Can the train even hear him? Does anyone? Tidus doesn't care, can't use his brain that's throbbing that far. But he doesn't need that to shout louder, no care for the way it hurts to even hear himself:

"You've got to let us go out and save them! We'll do the anchors! We'll do anything!"