Faded Dreams, Falling Like Rain
A Final Fantasy VII Fan Fiction by Sarah Digna Yudlowitz
Dream . . .
Dream of death . . .
Dream of moonlight . . .
Legal Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its characters belong to the company of Squaresoft. I do not claim these characters or the concept of the game for my own. This work is not to be distributed, sold, or posted anywhere without the consent of its author. Comments and encouragements are always welcomed, as they are a part of the enjoyment of writing Fan fiction. Please take this into consideration while you read the following fiction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brief summary: With the death of Sephiroth, something in Cloud dies, almost bringing him to the brink of a madman. Vincent attempts to console him, telling him that he and Cloud are very much alike in the respect that they mourn for the shell of a man that died not at the hands of Cloud, but back in Nibelheim when lies penetrated him. He was a man who was supposed to be the perfect soldier . . .
Prologue
The wind blew wisps of sun-blessed blonde hair around the boy's head. He looked sadly over frozen lands, his heart shattered and saved in one night. As he watched the Highwind depart slowly, away from all of the danger that surrounded the world, Lifestream crept quickly passed them, it's silver iridescence shimmering, blessing the night with the light of day. Its divine presence bore all mystery. It was a blessing from the spirits of the dead and long gone, offering the answers to the question of life's purpose itself. It swirled and danced around distance in an elaborate show of beauty, making the North Crater much more than a wound to the Planet. It made it a thing of beauty, just like itself. As meteor finally collapsed, ash rained down upon pure snow, even upon the pristine snow that was marred by the blood of a man who had failed to become something much more than human, more alien than science had made him . . .
"Cloud," a soft voice whispered, unevenly, shaken. The boy snapped out of his reverie, tensing visibly, his knuckles becoming white as he gripped the rail. He continued to feign awe as the strands of Lifestream wove together, spreading its healing touch to the Planet. His mouth became a hard line and hearing the voice behind him, that of one of his many friends along this ultimate victory amongst many small ones, almost made him sob. He blinked back a few tears and squeezed his sapphire eyes closed. Imbued with makou, he would never forget his uneasy past, emblazoned on a path made by Shinra. ". . . I see," the voice continued, sounding silenced of the emotion that it was willing to give up when it spoke the boy's name.
Cloud Strife . . .
Sephiroth . . .
Shinra . . .
SOLDIER . . .
SHINRA . . . . . . . .
The voice faded, and along with it came its fading footsteps, but Cloud hardly noticed. In the back of his mind, a voice screamed at him. Vincent. It had been Vincent. Cloud slowly turned his head to find the man in a similar state as his own, leaning against the railing. Slowly, the raven-haired man flexed the finger-like claws of his mechanical arm and with the other, his long fingers memorized the cold unforgiving metal that had replaced flesh a long time ago. The rejoicing that filled the airship drowned in Cloud's head, making him dizzy as he stared at Vincent, knowing where his mind dwelled, where it had died against his own will. He only had the traces of love that he once knew to hold on to, a love to him that came with only one name, one destroyed soul who lived in a world of lies: Lucrecia. One such lie was given to her by Vincent, who only did so to keep the woman in her perfect shell of apathy. Vincent had lied that Sephiroth was dead, but now that was really an actuality. Cloud doubted Lucrecia knew anything about what occurred outside of her protective shell. This must have hurt Vincent greatly; that his Lucrecia was a shell of a woman now . . . just like how Sephiroth had been.
Cloud absently found himself drifting from the railing of the airship, only to be slapped hard on the back by the hand of Cid Highwind, who offered Cloud a toothy grin, a cigarette wedged between his lips, its potent smell and stream of smoke giving away who he was almost instantly to anyone aboard the Highwind.
"Kid, why the mopey-mope face?" Cid asked Cloud inquisitively. His large blue eyes twinkled in the night, giving them a sort of unreal depth, the Lifestream enhancing their brightness. Cid was happy to have Sephiroth's death over with, happy to have the Planet safe from him and Jenova, but he sensed that in Cloud's brooding makou eyes, he missed the man who had once been his idol. "Hey, Sephiroth was long dead, right? The man you admired was gone long ago, five years back in Nibelheim, wasn't he? Cheer up, Cloud. This should be a celebration! So get your scrawny ass into a good mood! It's no time to feel sorry for yourself!" With that, Cid gave Cloud an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder. Cloud stared ahead at Vincent sadly.
"Yeah," Cloud mumbled, "Sephiroth died five years ago, his former self washed in the flames of my birthplace." But he knew that as he murdered his former idol, as the Lifestream swallowed him, Sephiroth had released his mistake and begged for forgiveness, his mind filling Cloud's as he finally disappeared, and then his role of puppet had been severed. The last of Jenova's hold had died with this man. He was sure that Sephiroth was his old self as he died, his silence speaking in volumes. Cloud turned away as Cid left, concern crinkling his brows together. He began to cry silently. He was still a boy who depended on dreams, but now they were shattered, drifting with the wind as Lifestream played its magick and light bounced of Cloud's hair. He drowned in its warmth for a while, just standing there. Who was he?
Chapter One
Silver caught on silver, igniting a flame that stoked two fiery blades as much as it ignited a fierce storm of rage and exhilarating adrenaline in an inexperienced heart. A dance of boots on the pavement followed, claiming souls with the familiar clank, as if hollowness had spread throughout the population, sinking to the marrow with a tumultuous uproar.Broad of shoulder and chest, too muscular to be called a woman and too delicate to be identified as a swordsman, this first man proved them all wrong against any prophecy of failure at his sword-hand. In the throes of his new-found supplication, the other man fell, his shorter more frail frame denying him the right to even be called that of a man. He stared fixedly at the older man's calloused sword hands that gripped his weapon as it was an extension of his lean body, which was that of almost a serpent, but feral enough to be a cat's. The man waited, his glowing jade eyes awaiting the boy's blubbering to end.
He wanted the boy to fight as if danger threatened him. In a way, it did, but in another way, this man would never harm the boy, only harden his resolve. He was merely a teacher to a poor student who had neglected the ways of SOLDIER and for that, he needed to be taught a valuable lesson: Life is not a game. This was not a camp or an easy walk through a park.
But to no avail.
The boy bobbed his blonde head, almost afraid to continue to stare at the man's silvery white hair cascade around his shoulders with the wind, his sword reminding him that this was this was the man he idolized: The only man who wielded such a sword, Masamune. For the thousandth time, the boy wondered - almost aloud this time - why President Shinra had allowed this sparring to take place. He was obviously far within the grasp of even being able to comprehend what this man was.
He looked up again, a shame in his eyes and put a name to the feminine face that was deceptive to strength and the seduction of powerful magick: Sephiroth. Even in saying his name inside his head had strengthened his resolve more than Sephiroth himself had gained to. Whereas he felt broken and shamed a moment ago, renewed vigor returned to him.
"Sephiroth," cried the boy, fighting to stand ready with his blade, "I am Cloud Strife, and I came here to be like you. I want to know your strength and power!" he roared, wracking his thin frame. The man ahead of him laughed haughtily, looking upon him as only a face in a crowd who had confessed this to him. He let the Makou in his eyes coalesce, two pools becoming a window into what he truly was, but at that same instant, a wall clamped down in-between him and the boy, more durable than steel and blood. Cloud, for an instant, sensed chagrin in the man buried within the shell of a hard warrior.
"Passion and fire in battle often will lead to rash decisions, which may prove to be fatal . . . and your last decision as well!" With this, Sephiroth charged unceremoniously at the boy, swinging sideways to catch the front of the sword with an upward arc which wrought the weapon free of his grasp that had made his small knuckles white with the exertion of doing so. A small whimper escaped the boy's throat as the weapon went flying over his blonde head. In a moment, he felt the blade of Sephiroth's Masamune at the hollow of his neck. The man smirked down at the boy, obviously amused. "Well, fetch your weapon, Cloud," he said, the boy's name rolling off his tongue as if it were a plague. His silvery hair, like a spider's spindly web, whispered about him like a brightness that fringed the dark that must have been buried in him.
"I-If I move . . ." the boy protested, acknowledging that the blade at his throat was indeed real as blood threatened to coat the length of Masamune. Sephiroth, however, shook his head in a stately manner, placing a food down firmly over the hilt of Cloud's discarded sword, kicking it upward to land it in his empty hand. He then took a few steps backward, releasing the boy of his sword's foreboding bite. In his other hand, the Shinra sword extended toward him, reminding him once again of the reality that pain was real. He accepted the sword, understanding that Sephiroth only sought to help him understand the craft of the sword, and battle as a bonus also. Sephiroth spoke, his hard voice that hardly complimented the delicate silver that wisped and twirled and danced like flames. Silently, Cloud wondered what the man was like when not doing this, his exertion and exhaustion clearly known, but never shown openly. Cloud was amazed, cowed by awe, hardly realizing as Sephiroth swung his attention to him once more, his Makou eyes studying him with intensity.
"Distracted, are we?" Sephiroth asked, no emotion to determine either in the planes of his entirely smooth face or his voice. With that, he turned on a heel. "Practice," was all that he said before he was gone. Cloud blinked after the man, looking down at the hilt of the Shinra sword. His sapphire eyes grew hard, mustering up all of his nerve, and then he ran after the receding image of the man's leather battle uniform flapping behind him in the wind. The boy ran after him, even being as bold to tug the man on his forearm. Sephiroth merely looked down at him. "What?" he asked, returning his attention to the halls of Shinra's Head Quarters, leaving the training facilities behind.
"Uhm, I . . ." Cloud could not get passed these words, no matter how much he tried. Sephiroth only walked ahead. Whether he was being patient or ignoring Cloud completely was not known, but as he continued to struggle to find something to say, Sephiroth reached the elevator and at its door, swung to look intensely at the boy.
"What do you expect me to say, Cloud?" Sephiroth asked, smiling slightly, clearly amused. The boy did not even dare to look up at the man. Frustration showed in the crease between his two sun-colored brows. He was also clearly shaking. "Hmm," was all that Sephiroth said to this as he turned to push the button on the elevator. Cloud's voice then sliced through the air, halting the push of the button.
"I'm sorry," he said, never looking up from the floor. Sephiroth turned, his leather swinging with him with a crisp sound, looking down at Cloud unexpectedly.
"Raise your face and your eyes," Sephiroth said bluntly. Cloud obeyed, watching Sephiroth awkwardly, almost feeling like bolting as the man studied him. This amused the man as well. "What are you afraid of, boy? What did you apologize for? Your attempt was earnest, and although not the best first attempt I have ever seen, you do show promise. Is this what you are afraid of? That you would not meet my approval?" Slowly, the boy nodded, combing through his messy blonde hair. When he had joined SOLDIER, he had cut off the ponytail that had tamed his shoulder length hair through his childhood. He didn't regret it at all. It was part of his old life. Sephiroth smiled a bit sadly at the boy and then abandoned him in a hurry, disappearing behind the elevator door. Cloud stared on in confusion, thinking he had surely not gained favor with the man. He had remained worthless, just as though his failure to be somebody in his hometown was branded upon his forehead to be forever carried with him. He sighed as the elevator gave a small dinging sound and changed to the sixty-eighth floor, currently a laboratory where Hojo had made his home in place of Professor Gast.
*****
" . . . . I'm afraid he isn't doing so well," a familiar voice said, drifting from outside of Cloud's door as if it were a distant ghost, something he couldn't reach. Soft goose down blanketed him, protecting him from anything outside of his mind. The voices floated around him, barely acknowledged. It took him an eternity to understand that whoever outside was engaged in a conversation with someone else on the phone, an even longer still that that person was speaking about him. Silently, he put a name to that person, who he could only identify as Vincent Valentine. His voice was low, rare, and a kind of sadness that always came with it was fringed with worry. Clearly, he did not want to speak with whomever it was on the other end of the line. He listened for a while, wrapped up in the blankets that Vincent had clearly provided for him.
As he finally shut his eyes, the door creaked open. Cloud held them shut, hiding in the goose down from the man he should have been running to, rather than running from. He heard Vincent move almost silently through the room, then felt the bed shift as he calmly and gently sat on the bed next to Cloud's supposedly sleeping form. A minute went by. It was an impossibly agonizing stretch of time for Cloud. He could almost feel the blood red, almost brown eyes that Vincent had bore into his mind, but thankfully after a time, the brooding man spoke.
"I know that you're awake," Vincent said slowly, almost apologetically in one long sigh. Cloud nodded, slowly opening one sapphire eye at a time, makou meeting the glow that was left in Vincent's long dead eyes, only kept alive by the experimentation that he was subjected to by Shinra's scientist, Hojo, who had replaced the work of the genius that preceded him, Professor Gast. Vincent didn't say anything else. His soft glance encompassed Cloud, replacing any words that could have fit . None of them would have anyway. Cloud marveled at the man sitting next to him, once more uneasy with his silent unspoken words. Vincent had taught him that sometimes words were not needed, but in this instance, Vincent was waiting for Cloud to speak to him. Cloud understood, and slowly sat upright, glancing to the left side of the bed he had been lying in for an unknown amount of time where his armor was laid out neatly on a dresser.
"Where am I?" he asked, nervously working his hands through his blonde hair.
"You tell me," came Vincent's response. He stared at Cloud, wanting to know an answer to where his mind had withdrawn, but he had known that as soon as Sephiroth died, a part of the boy had died as well. It was the same in Vincent's case. When he had been a Turk, having Lucrecia stolen from him by Hojo who just merely wanted a specimen to train from birth, it had shattered Vincent completely. He had never been there to protect his love from the harm of Hojo. The man had punished him for knowing what he was doing was not only morally wrong, but would certainly ruin any chance of a normal life for the baby who would grow up as a mere toy of science. His punishment for not being there to help his Lucrecia was an eternity of sleep and he often regretted having joined up with Cloud and his party. He told himself it was a way for him to atone himself. If he could free Sephiroth of the lies that bound him to insanity and Jenova, perhaps it would mean the difference for Lucrecia to know that Sephiroth was alive and well, but now was it was different; entirely different. He could only tell himself this once and over again a million times in his thoughts as he gazed down at Cloud. This boy shared a sorrow alike to his. He had lost who he was, and Vincent believed that he had lost himself too when he could do nothing for Lucrecia but live through unspeakable nightmares in restless sleep.
"I want to know why," Cloud began, something of hidden tears in his voice, " . . . why he had to be corrupted. Why I had to follow that with undying admiration. I want to know why that blurs the lines between know I think I am and who I really am." To this, Vincent smiled sadly.
"I think you need to rest a bit more," the man said, standing. His raven hair spilled over his cape as did, slightly turning away from Cloud, but then turned back for a moment. "And you'll need to answer that yourself, Cloud Strife, but it does not mean that you will ever be alone. No, not like I," he said, his last sentence hanging in the air like a fading note upon a violin, something to contemplate over. With that, Vincent left the room, deftly lacing his fingers through his hair in an idle motion as he closed the door and faded down the hall like the specter he so represented.
