-- Hmm. /Hmmmmm./ >< Notes at the end. Final Fantasy is (c) Squaresoft. This story is for entertainment only. --
Setting: ~20 years before FFX.


Night approached the Sanubian Desert with reluctance, stealing its way across the sky as the sun sank behind the dunes. It brought only small relief from the heat, but in the summer months, every bit counted - the hammer had been gentled by a covering of velvet. The clamor of construction had died away with the last of the daylight, and the compound of what was to be the new Al Bhed Home seemed eerily quiet to Braska without the constant hum of machinery.

He was impressed with their speed. At their strongest, the citizens of Bevelle had labored years to recover from an attack by Sin; they worked by hand, restricted by the requirements of the Temple. With machina, the Al Bhed had accomplished in a few months what would have taken more than a year to complete under different circumstances. Cid's dream didn't seem so ridiculous anymore.

"Ready to give up yet?"

The summoner smiled, and glanced over his shoulder. Beginning conversations like that was becoming a tradition, of sorts. "Not quite yet. Maybe tomorrow."

Cid snorted, joining him at the edge of the sand. "I think you just don't want to go back home. Not that I blame you."

"If I go home..." Returning to Bevelle would be unwise, it was true. The temple was not known for its tolerance; Braska would be branded a renegade at best, a traitor and heretic at worst. He would spend time in prison either way. But eventually, they would allow him to finish what he'd started, and that was his true desire.

"Why go home, if you're just going to leave again?"

Why, indeed. "It is my home, Cid. And... the aeon is there, as well."

Silence descended for a time. His pilgrimage was still a sore spot between them, and Braska suspected it always would be. Cid wanted him to give it up and remain with the Al Bhed - or at least he thought that was what the man wanted. He was insistent on that point, and there had never been much discussion about Yevon, or other obligations he might have. Those were a moot point - more than a year had passed since his arrival, and any committments he'd made to the temple would have been passed to another.

"How can you just... go through with it?"

"With what?" Braska focused his attention on his friend again, surprised he was pursuing the matter. "The pilgrimage?"

"Yeah. Don't you have any family you'd be leaving behind? Something?"

"No... I have no attachments." Braska looked out to the sands, away from Cid, and let the prevailing wind lift his hair from his shoulders and tickle his neck. "My mother was killed by Sin, and my father died protecting his summoner. I have no siblings, or extended family. I am exactly what Yevon wants in a summoner." He tried to smile, and lighten the tone of his words. "I can defeat Sin without any regrets."

"There's no reasoning with you people, is there? Damn Yevonites." Cid gripped his shoulder and turned him away from the endless sands. "What about the rest of us?"

Braska opened his mouth to answer, but he swallowed the words. His explanations were getting weaker; he remembered all too well how unhelpful they were to those left behind. Your father's death was an honorable one. The battle with Sin has been won because of his efforts. Be proud. How comforting.

Yes, he was proud. He'd loved his father so much he still couldn't quite express the feeling with words, and knowing he died bringing a Calm almost made the loss tolerable. But pride couldn't erase sorrow, and the Calm only meant that he would never see his father again, or hear his laugh, or ride on his shoulders to a blitzball game in Luca...

But killing Sin is worth every ounce of pain. Killing Sin will destroy sorrow. It heals with time. He knew the words were in his eyes, because Cid's anvil-hard expression softened, and the grip on his arm grew more gentle.

"Don't tell me it's worth it." The gruff, stony composure Cid paraded around Home was showing its cracks now. He gripped Braska's other shoulder, as if he thought he had to hold him there. "There's no Calm long enough or good enough to take your place, got it? And if I have to keep you around until we both die of old age, I'll do it."

"A captive audience?" Braska allowed himself a faint laugh, trying again to lighten the mood. That was part of being a healer; one learned to wear a smile when facing grim situations, and laugh when the pain was at its worst, because the old adage that said laughter is the best medicine was part truth. And if the sick must die despite his best efforts, then he wanted to see them go to their rest with a smile upon their lips. In a world plagued by Sin, one had to steal what happiness one could find.

If he could heal his people as a priest, why not Spira as a summoner, so people might live with a smile for once?

"The Yevonites think you're dead. They'll scream 'fiend' if you go back now." Cid clapped his shoulder hard enough to send the priest staggering. "Nice way that would be to start your journey."

This time, Braska's smile was a genuine one, and he reached up to cover his friend's hands with his own and give them a reassuring squeeze. Cid would never admit to wanting comfort, but it would be given anyway. "That would be a warm welcome compared to the reception I'd get once they realized where I've been all this time."

"Sure you really want to go back to that?"

The summoner's reply was silenced by another voice, ringing from behind. "Well well, brother... is this the lady friend Kep said he caught you with the other night?"

Cid's hands flew away as if burned, and Braska laughed. "Lady friend? Why haven't I heard about this?"

He felt Rika approach; she draped her arm over his shoulder and grinned, almost of a height with him. "It's your hair, Lord Braska. If it gets much longer, we won't be able to tell."

"Really." Braska lifted an eyebrow, fingering the ends of his hair. "Should I shave it off again?"

Rika went to join her brother, the grin never leaving her face. "Don't be silly, my lord! Your hair is fine - we just need to get you out of those robes."

It took him a moment to swallow his shock and laugh with her. There was a moment, just a split second, when Braska had met her eyes and felt sure it was not a joke. But she enjoyed surprising him and poking fun at his 'ridiculous Yevonite customs', and as long as it remained a game, there would be no problem. But Cid was very sensitive about Rika; he'd taken on the role of parent and guardian in the past, and his desire to protect her, the summoner had come to realize, was the drive behind his attempt to gather their people on the island. A united Home would be stronger than the broken shards of their last gathering.

It was Yevon, not Sin, that had destroyed their former home. Braska was surprised the man had spoken to him at all, but that significance only made him appreciate their friendship more. There was nothing worth risking it for.

"What do I want?" Rika was asking incredulously; Braska scrambled to gather his thoughts and tried to catch up with their conversation. "It's six-thirty. Remember what you said you'd do at six-thirty?"

"Oh... yeah... I'm sorry, Rika." Cid rubbed the back of his neck, eyes shooting between his sister and his friend. "I..."

"-Forgot," she finished for him. "I know."

Braska bowed and let his customary half-smile cover his thoughts. "I think that's my fault, Rika. I'm sorry."

She waved his apology away. "It's always Cid's fault."

"Even so..." He looked back to Cid, and said more seriously, "I'll think about what you said. But we should continue our talk later - there's one more person I must check on before my rounds are over, and they will not appreciate it if I'm late."

"Right - sorry for keeping ya."

It felt odd to turn away from someone without performing the prayer; it was no longer reflexive, but even after his immersion into the world of the Al Bhed and the years he'd worked to quell a habit that was, to them, an offense, Braska still had to consciously stop himself from making the motions. A lifetime of training was hard to overcome in such a short time, and he had every reason to hold on to it. Eventually, he would leave these people and return to Yevon and the pilgrimage. If he went to them with Al Bhed habits, his chances of regaining their trust would dwindle from slim to nothing.

But that was still a long time in the future, he supposed. His current plans involved supporting the construction of Cid's new home, and he would not leave until it was finished. Too many people depended on his presence. The dead needed Sending, the sick needed healing; the newcomers trickling in were more than enough for Cid to handle, even with Rika's help - Braska did his best where he could, and hoped it would ease their burden.

It was a pretty trap he'd let himself be caught in. Two years ago Cid's words wouldn't have moved him, but as their ties grew stronger, so did the temptation to take him up on his offer and remain with the Al Bhed. They would not discriminate against a summoner who decided to give up the journey. To them, he was more useful alive, Yevonite or not.

Cid had told him, once, that if he wanted to die badly enough, he should work on finding a reason to live instead of getting himself killed. It made sense... and Braska wished it didn't. Where was his unshakable resolve? He'd started the journey to the temple at Djose without any doubts, ready and even eager to gain his first aeon and prepare for Sin's return. Sabela had met him in Bevelle with the intention of resigning her post as a Chocobo Knight to become his guardian.

What would have happened if she'd survived the encounter at the Moonflow? Would she be with him now? She would have fought the Al Bhed into the ground before letting them smuggle her summoner away; perhaps his journey would be finished now and they would be waiting for the end of the Calm, if not for that strange quirk of fate.

His only guardian, killed before their journey even started. The Al Bhed, trying every trick in the book to convince him to change his mind. He'd lost one friend, and gained others. Was it a sign from Yevon?

Perhaps it was. Maybe he should listen.



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It's kind of rushed... I wrote the beginning after the ending, and when I started, I wanted to get it out before something could stop me. (Like a computer problem. Again. ^^) I thought of this when I was struggling with a nothing-scene between Rin and Braska. I couldn't make that one work, but this one just flopped right out when I was about to pound my head into the keyboard. ^^ It could almost work as the beginning of a story, although there are a few bits here and there that I would have to work out of the scene. Like Rika - she'd need a proper introduction. I did say I wanted to write something about Braska and his wife, didn't I? Whether it'll happen or not, well...

If nothing else, it's a good starting point for the vague history I have in mind for Braska. But I don't like it. If I can't like it, that means I didn't do a very good job. Of course, I can probably blame that on the fact that I write these so fast, and that I don't focus very long on any of them... By that logic, I should have higher hopes for the stuff I'm being careful with. ^^


Finished: 12:44am, 09-03-02. Edited 7:03am. Yes, I stay up way too late. Or is it "early"?
Listening to: Truth (Utena OST 1)