As a boy, he prayed to Yevon, with such earnestness that he already stood out among the initiates; if there was ever to be hope of redemption for Spira, it was imperative that the teachings be obeyed, down to their smallest minutiae – so he prayed, and took all else as meaningless vanity.
When the priests of Yevon turned against him, ill at ease with such selfless dedication, another source of hope made itself known: the one man whose good spirit reflected nothing of the others’ greed – and Yevon faded away until there was no such hypocrisy, no one-upmanship, no scriptures; there was only Braska.
But the years passed again, and as an old man – old before his time, even though his time had already been and gone – he offered such devotion to nobody.
Comments
You can comment on this fic if you like. Comments will be posted below after moderation. All comments are anonymous and email addresses, if provided, will not be published.