A/N - Written a good while ago, when I was still fairly new to the fandom. Nothing much to say, except that writing this made me feel heavy inside.

Disclaimer - Not mine, no.

Thanks to - (And this is a HUGE thanks to) Su-chan, for beta-ing, putting up with my nonsensical ranting and convincing me to publish this. You always cheer me up. )

Legacy

She's beautiful.

Twilight casts long golden streaks through the curtains to play on her dark hair, pulled into uneven twin braids by Braska's inexpert hands. Her face is pale, round, like the full moon.

She raises her doll, humming softly, and giggles shyly, turning to seek attention from her father.

For a moment, he's transfixed by her gaze, blue as the sky on a fine day, green as life itself.

"Daddy?" A tug at the fabric at his knee. She clambers into his lap and he envelopes her with his arms, the long, sweeping sleeves of his Summoner's robes. Being barely four years old, she still fits neatly in his embrace.

So small. So unfair.

She's humming again, the Hymn of the Fayth. Countless visits to various temples have etched it into her memory, the song of creation and destruction, and to Braska it seems wrong for a child so young to be acquainted such a solemn melody.

"Daddy? Daddy, can you tell me the story about Yunalesca again? I like that one, it has a happy ending. And I like Yunalesca. That's were you got my name from, right?"

Of course. The very first Summoner to defeat Sin and bring the Calm to Spira. Thus her story became legend, known in every tongue that the people of the realm had to offer. It's ending is pleasant because the people of Spira do not know otherwise, joyous because they forget to account for what has been lost in exchange for a dismal gain.

He recites the story, and it requires a whole half-hour.

Yuna snuggles deeper into the folds of the robe, and if not for her constant verses of quiet humming, she may as well have been lulled to sleep by her father's voice.

The story ends, and the conclusion brings a smile to her face. She repeats the words like a charm as though to ensure the hope they would come true. "And they all lived happily ever after."

No. Not really.

"Lady Yunalesca was a - a Sss-sss-"

"Summoner," Braska provides a gentle prompt. "She was a Summoner."

"Sum'na," Yuna attempts bravely. "You're a Sum'na too. Are you going to do nice things like Lady Yunalesca?"

He sighs, smiles to hide his uncertainty. "I'm going to try."

"Wow." Her eyes grow wide. "I think you will, Daddy. You'll do nice things for Spira 'n' make people happy, 'n' you'll be famous, just like Yunalesca! 'N' I can tell my friends that my Daddy's a - a Sum'na and he made the Calm." At this, Braska is afraid that Yuna will burst with pride.

It's almost more painful than he can bear.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna be a Sum'na too!" She proclaims, waving her doll in a movement that would one day allow her to send souls to the Farplane. "I'll see all the temples, 'n' make lotsa friends! And I'll have a rod, like Yunalesca did." She pauses and considers this. "Or maybe I won't. I'm gonna be just like you, Daddy! I want to save Spira!"

---

When Braska's Guardian, an outcast warrior monk, finds the Summoner hours later, it's long past sunset and the room is cold. He sits with his daughter in his arms and he can't seem to muster the strength to let go.

"This cycle of destruction," Braska muses, more to himself than his listener. "When will it ever end?"

"That is not for us to decide, my lord." The Guardian is honest. Blunt. He watches his charge ghost a hand over the girl's hair, barely brushing past stray locks, tender and heart-broken.

"I named her Yuna." He smiled ruefully. "I've appointed her with such a terrible, terrible task. And do you know the worst part?"

The Guardian doesn't speak. To do so would be an insult.

"She'd follow through. Smiling all the way to the end."

For the first time in a long time, the Guardian chooses his words carefully. "You have chosen the path of a Summoner. Your sacrifices carry the hopes of Spira."

Oh, yes. That cruel, evasive figment. Hope.

"Yes, Auron." His voice is heavy. "What you speak is true, but how much longer will we be forced to hope? How much longer will we be trapped in this dream that is the momentary Calm before Sin returns to destroy our people? How much more will we have to sacrifice before the Calm can be finally bought forever?"

There are some questions that are doomed to silence as their perpetual reply.

---

Four years later, Braska will journey, travel with his offering to Sin to parley for peace. At each temple, he will pray. For strength, for courage, for compassion. On behalf of the world that sat, dependant on his shoulders, he will pray that what he has given is enough.

And with the only part left of him that he hasn't laid forfeit for the sake of Spira, he will pray for Yuna, pray that she be spared, pray that she might find it within herself to forgive him.

May she one day have her happy ending.