-The Seraphim Story-
-A 'Final Fantasy VII' fanfiction-
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Lost Pathways Orphanage was running riot with children, all of them busy making last minute preparations before they all gathered in the large recreation room to hear Tora's bedtime story before chuffing off to bed themselves. Some children meandered in the kitchen, trying to finish glasses of warm milk quickly without spilling it down their fronts or burning their mouths. Others were scattered in the bathrooms, brushing their teeth and completing any other necessary night time cleaning routines. The rest were in their bedrooms, gathering soft toys, blankets or other sleep aids so they could be comfortable in the recreation room without the need to make another trip.
Ethan supervised the whole shebang while the orphanage owner herself rifled through the bookcase in her study, placing mental bets on the story that Nero would choose tonight. Pulling several books from the shelf, Tora carried them all to the recreation room and settled herself in the recliner as the children stormed the door and got comfortable either on the couches, on the cushions or on the floor.
"Where's Lily and Emma?" Tora's eyes never missed a child, sweeping the room to make sure all were present and accounted for.
"Emma's helping Lily finish brushing her teeth," replied Ryan from his place on a large red cushion, "Lily accidentally spit up all over herself."
"That's alright. We can wait for them." Five minutes later both girls walked into the room, Lily's face bearing the traces of a small tear attack and her pyjamas changed to some clean ones. She took her seat beside Emma on a purple cushion, still whimpering on occasion.
"It's alright, Lily," Tora smiled at her, the Wutaiian easily understood by the six-year-old, "I do it myself on occasion, too." The young girl immediately brightened up, "Nero, I believe it's your turn to choose the story." The silver-haired twin stood up and shuffled through the rest of the dysfunctional family with as much pride as he could muster, his chest slightly puffed out and his face set into one of determination. He reached the front of the room and paused at the small pile of books beside the recliner, examining each of them with a critical glowing green eye.
"Come on bro, you're only picking a story!" Justin called from the couch beside Ethan.
"I'm getting there!" Finally Nero pulled a book from near the top of the pile," This one, Tora." Tora took the book as Nero navigated his way back to his seat beside his twin brother, her gold eyes examining the title.
"Perhaps I should've left this one in the shelf." she laughed, holding up the cover to all the children. The book was bound in a dark brown leather, the golden words 'Seraphim Story' stamped across the front. The edges of the covers were slightly worn with time and use, but the pages were still as fresh as the day they were first printed.
Nero made a pouty face. "Would you really, Tora?"
"Of course not, Nero. You know I pick stories that I believe the chooser likes." The pout morphed into a grin, and the silver-haired pre-teen nestled into the couch to hear his favourite story.
"So it looks like tonight the story is 'Seraphim Story'," Tora leaned closer to the children, "Anyone want to tell me what a seraph is?"
"It's an angel." Adelaide replied.
"Thank you, Adelaide. A seraph is indeed an angel, and this story tells us about three particular seraphim. Shall I begin?" At the chorusing 'Yes!', the loudest being from Nero, the orphanage owner opened the leather cover to the first page.
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Humans never know when they walk with angels, and angels themselves never realise they're angels until someone tells them. Even then, they choose to deny it, passing off their powers as something ungodly and destructive. Often they choose to live their lives in solitude so as to disprove their ideals about the destructive force of their powers, but this destructive force only comes about when an angel feels threatened, or worse, angry. Not many humans can claim to have ever seen an angel, and often those who do claim to have seen an angel are often passed off as 'crazy' or 'downright stupid'. The notion of angels existing is enough to have one passed off as 'crazy'.
But there did exist such a thing as angels, three of them choosing to walk amongst humans in order to protect them from the denizens of the darkness. But little did these three seraphim know that their greatest enemy would soon become each other and in time...themselves.
Long ago, these three angels were seen as the elite of their race. One of them had wings as white as a cloud, the sunlight giving them a silver sheen that made many envious of their beauty. The second had wings as black as a raven's feathers, the sheen on them the dark blue of the ocean on a stormy day. The third had wings as red as the blood that flowed through a human's veins, a deeper wine sheen illuminated by sunlight. In the scriptures, these three were simply known as Whitewing, Blackwing, and Redwing. Their true names were unknown but that's not to say their natures were unknown; scriptures told of their abilities to hide their true sensitivity except in the face of extreme pressure.
Whitewing was by far the more advanced of the three when it came to skill in weaponry, reaching the title of 'Archangel' within three years of serving under the Great One himself. Blackwing was known for his impeccable battle strategies, his men always following his command without fail. Redwing was the diplomatic one, his subtle manipulation matched only by his love for human literature. Together they were inseparable, but the events that Fate had for these three to push through would prove that this inseparability would be their ultimate downfall.
Not a day went by that Redwing and Blackwing would be seen out in the human domain, honing their skills so that one day their abilities would be recognised alongside those of Whitewing. Often Whitewing would join them in the human domain, never really participating but rather observing their skill.
"You let your guard down." he said to Blackwing one day as the two other seraphim drew back for another attack.
"I know, Whitewing," replied Blackwing, "Redwing began telling me about his latest human literature endeavour."
"Forgive me if I desire to share that which I love with my friends." Redwing retorted, twisting a long blade in his hand, "Shall we try again, Blackwing?"
The black-winged seraph shook his head and glanced over at the Archangel. "What do you say, Whitewing? Shall we test our skills against those of the Archangel himself?" Whitewing gave a small smirk and pushed off from the tree he leant against, a very long blade materialising in his hand with a burst of silver-white feathers. Redwing tightened his grip on his own blade, while Blackwing swung once a very large and very heavy-looking blade.
"Shall we begin?" asked Whitewing.
"If you insist." replied Redwing, charging first and striking the first blow against Whitewing's blade.
Blackwing knew that the minute the words left his lips that he was being stupid, but as his great sword clashed with Whitewing's and sent sparks all over their field his mind was focused on nothing but the fight, and Redwing darting around Whitewing trying to find an opening. Whitewing smirked as the red seraph tried to run him through from the side and pushed Blackwing off his sword, catching Redwing's blade on his own and countering with a low swipe to the legs. Redwing jumped back to evade the attack and flew in again, his blade pointed straight at the Archangel like a javelin.
"Forgive me Blackwing, but I feel that this fight is between Whitewing and myself." said Redwing, landing deftly beside his old friend. Blackwing stared at the red seraph with wide eyes.
"Redwing..." he tried to say, but the words were lost as Redwing extended his wings to their full size and summoned his strength into his sword. Whitewing gave no flinch or cower, allowing one corner of his lips to quirk up instead.
"I see you are letting your head get in the way of you battling," said the Archangel as he parried a blow from Redwing, "Are you sure you are the diplomatic one?"
"I refuse to let you have all the glory!" Redwing screamed, slicing the air in front of him. Powerfully charged scythes shot straight toward Whitewing, but the Archangel manoeuvred himself so that the trees surrounding their battle ground took the blows, each one falling with a loud crash.
"Is this what it's all about? Whitewing being an Archangel?" Blackwing roared over the sounds of clanging metal and turbulent winds. Whitewing's long wings drowned out his voice as both he and Redwing took to the skies, their swords still meeting periodically. Redwing pushed more of his strength into his blade and swung down at Whitewing, the long sword of the Archangel catching the attack and vibrating with the sheer force of it. The Archangel countered by pushing the red seraph away from his body and dropping to the ground, landing on his feet and dismissing his weapon.
"Cowardly move, Whitewing." scoffed Redwing.
"This is a petty fight and I refuse to go on." replied the Archangel. Redwing landed back on the ground and dismissed his weapon also, pushing past Blackwing and walking away from the clearing.
Blackwing looked over at the white seraph. "I don't think I'll ever understand him."
"You've known him longer than I; you understand him plenty." Whitewing said, following Redwing's path back to their domain.
=^w^=
"Oh, come on guys, you can't be asleep now..." Tora looked around the recreation room, some of the younger children already fast asleep and some of the older ones about to drop at a moment's notice, "Alright then, we'll leave the story there and continue it tomorrow night."
"Aw..." Nero yawned, "I wanted to hear how the seraphim parted..."
"I think you can make up endings in your dreams tonight, Nero. Those who aren't too tired take one of the younger ones to bed then go yourself." The older children nodded and began to shake the younger ones gently, coercing them into an upright position so they could all shuffle off to bed and dream of white, red and black feathers. The orphanage owner followed them to make sure none of the older children (namely Nero and Justin) put the younger children into the wrong beds, then moved off to her study to put the books away.
"Of course, I know how the story ends..." she murmured to herself, opening 'The Seraphim Story' to the back cover, where a photograph of three SOLDIER personnel sat in a small clear pocket. One had long silver hair, one had raven black hair and the third had crimson hair the colour of human blood.
"Thank you for giving me a legend to tell." Kissing each of the members of the photograph, Tora replaced the book in the shelf and stood back, admiring the bookcase for a few seconds before turning around to turn off her computer and go to bed.
Oddly enough, that night the orphanage owner swore she saw three angels standing at the foot of her bed – one with white wings, one with black wings, and one with red wings...
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Author's Note: Alright, so I might've butchered the friendship of Sephiroth, Angeal and Genesis; shoot me.
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DISCLAIMER: The disclaimer applies to the characters and settings of the 'Final Fantasy VII' series – SquareEnix – and Tora, her orphanage and her orphanage children – me.