It wasn't like it had become a routine now, coming to Zack's grave, but it wasn't what you would call a habit either. It was more like a reminder. Something to remind him that he wasn't, nor would he ever be, the hero everyone made him out to be. Zack was the hero, not him. Was that why he wouldn't use the Buster Sword? Why he wouldn't pick it up in a fight? Was that why he left it where Zack had fallen? He always felt guilt rack against his senses whenever he was here, too. He should have been faster, he should have been stronger, he should have reacted better. Then maybe Zack wouldn't have had to protect him. Then maybe he wouldn't have died. There were so many 'what ifs' and 'should haves'. Wishful thinking didn't, and wouldn't ever, change the fact that Zack wasn't here and that Cloud needed to move on from the past that was strangling him.

Heh, that was easier said than done. Things weren't as simple as they used to be.

Still, he should be happy right? Sephiroth was gone and the geostigma had been purged. And yet…his arm still burned from time to time as if the disease was still there. Sometimes he had to check just to make sure it really wasn't there. He was plagued with countless, sleepless nights that tried to tell him everything wasn't alright. Something was still wrong with the world around him. And like the fool he was, he ignored it. What could possibly go wrong now? Everything that could go wrong already had. And several times over for extra measure it seemed. He didn't have much left to lose anymore, maybe besides what little sanity he'd been left with; had it ever existed in the first place. People could argue that there was Tifa. Or even Denzel and Marlene, the people close to him. But in all honesty…they were better off without him. Which was why, even a year after Sephiroth's fall, he had resumed his life of solitude and again walked away from the life of a hero that had been forced on him. The hero he wasn't and the hero he didn't deserve to ever be. He was alone.

And no matter what anyone said, he always would be. So long as his memories existed.

CHAPTER ONE.

The sky was the same as usual, the same grey, clouded, depressing sky that seemed to always dominate the skies over Midgar Edge and its outskirts. Whatever little light there was that managed to peak through the clouds threw wild, haunting shadows across the deep canyons and dirt ground. There was a light drizzle that pelted evenly against Cloud Strife and his Fenrir as the bike made its way through the emblematic weather. Cloud wasn't sure where he was headed, but at the same time he knew exactly where he was headed. It didn't make much sense, but then again, not much did these days. An entire year had gone by since he'd saved Midgar Edge from Sephiroth's wrath. Looking back on that always reminded him of just how much he really owed Zack. He'd saved him not once, but twice. He should be dead now. He shouldn't exist. But he did. And it was all because of Zack.

He was also always reminded of who he really was and what the people of Midgar Edge would always think of him as. Why did they have to label him as a hero? He'd only killed Sephiroth for his own benefit. Had he waited any longer, Sephiroth would have killed him first. He did it to save his own life and that was it.

"Come on, you know that's not true."

Fenrir came skidding to a halt as Cloud slammed on the brake, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as if he expected to see something. There wasn't anything there, of course. Still, the voice had seemed so real to him. He'd really thought there had been someone behind him. Cloud let out a quiet sigh and turned back around, taking his hand off the brake to start it back up. The bike came to life, sending up a cloud of dust as it sped off and it wasn't long before the ground was gliding beneath the wheels of the vehicle. But it didn't take more than a few minutes for him to bring it to a halt again. He was at Zack's grave. Coming here seemed to have become an automatic reaction whenever his thoughts took a turn for the confused, or whenever they reached the point where even he couldn't understand them. Putting the kickstand into place, he walked over to the cliffside and found the Buster Sword lying on its side. The ground where it had stood was torn and tossed up, like someone had wrestled to get it out. Like someone had been really desperate to pull it out. In a force of habit, Cloud quickly shot a few glimpses around himself to see if anyone was still around. Well, one thing was for sure: whoever it was wasn't here anymore, and was most likely long gone. He bent down and curled his fingers around the sword's blood stained handle and smashed it back into the ground. He lingered there for a while, his hand still holding the sword.

"Having trouble letting go?"

Cloud didn't turn around this time. But he did take his hand off the sword's handle, taking a small step back while keeping his eyes fixated on that spot in front of him.

"You know, it IS your sword."

He shook his head stubbornly. "That sword belongs to a hero," he replied.

"A hero, huh? Well, aren't you a hero, too?"

Again he shook his head no. He wasn't a hero by any stretch of the imagination. "I'm no hero," he murmured to himself.

"Hey, do you know what makes a hero, a hero?"

Cloud narrowed his eyes silently, not sure what he was trying to get at by asking such a question, especially to him.

"Heh-heh, well, I don't really know either, to tell you the truth. I guess it depends on who you ask. The definition of a hero is probably different for everyone. But I know this for a fact: every hero has had their share of mistakes. We're not perfect, Cloud. Despite what people think."

"Every hero I've ever known, or even heard of, had to die to get there. I'm not dead."

"But…you did die."

Cloud's dark blue eyes shut for a moment before he looked past the Buster Sword to Midgar Edge, the city he'd called home once. The city he'd saved. The city he'd abandoned. The city he'd died in, and the city he'd been sent back too. So many points of his life as of late, whether they had been good or bad points, had somehow saved that same city in the end. But did that really make him a hero? That couldn't be what made him a hero to the people who knew him. Because if it was, then just about anyone could be a hero. There had to be something else to it. There had to be another reason. It couldn't be self gratification because that wouldn't be a hero. That would make them vigilantes.

"I may have died…but I'm still here."

"Maybe it wasn't your time. Maybe you're still needed here."

"Maybe."

He wasn't convinced. An entire year had gone by and nothing had changed. He was still the same person he'd been for almost five years now. The same mako-fused monster. Involuntarily, his hand reached up and clasped his left arm, his grip tightening when the pain wouldn't go away. It was like it was warning him of something. Danger. Danger. Something's wrong. Something's coming.

"Cloud! Look out!!"

In a split second decision, Cloud dodged unsteadily to the side, yanking the main piece of his sword from the bag slung across his lower back. He turned to face whatever had just smashed its claw down where his head had been and for a small instant, froze in recognition. It was a summon. And not just any summon; it was the Bahamut SIN. The very same creature he'd fought a year ago with Vincent, Tifa, and the rest of AVALANCHE. But, how could it still be here? Hadn't he killed it way back when? He'd watched it burn in blue flames as the foot of the structures it had destroyed. Cloud dodge rolled the other direction when the Bahamut brought down its other set of claws to crush him. It wasn't going to give him any time to figure it out. So first things first. One step at a time.

He would have to kill it again.