—Father's Day.
It was one of those days the Cetra adored, embellishing it with all the devotion and frequent visits she could shower. A basket of flowers hung on one arm, and a small Pyrex tray of an assortment of freshly-baked cookies—oatmeal, chocolate chip, and even carrot—held in her hands. The journey to the Lifestream was easy as usual, passersby accumulating as they gathered around the statue of the Goddess as if it were a plaza, celebrating the occasion.
It baffled Aerith as to why it seemed to matter much more in the Stream than it did on the surface; either humanity overlooked their own faults or simply forgot, or perhaps chose to forget, or ignored it. Was it really that easy to forget that in a year, a special day—aside from every day—was solely dedicated to a father? Were children of Gaea certainly that 'forgetful'? Minerva wasn't forgetful of her servants, her children…how could essences that molded into beings feel the same?
It was that sole irony with regards to paying respects that sometimes made Aerith wonder about things. Perhaps it was too shallow for others, but for Aerith it was a trifling, somewhat philosophical idea for the Cetra.
It was difficult to comprehend for her why sometimes, half her race would even bother to create such a day and yet neglect it; parents were jewels, ancestors meant to be praised for their hard work and responsibility to bring an infant into the world, whether they wanted to or not. And whether they were clear with her intentions or conversations, parents deserved the love and support of their descendants.
—Aerith would be one of those people to exert some. The lights of the Stream illuminated her path, small orbs of light lifting and feathering into the air in praise of the valiant males that cared for their children and sent prayers above, like knights defending their king and sending prayers before heading to battle. It was a very common resonance once an occasion occurred within the cradling comfort.
She found her father—her mother, Ifalna, embracing him and gleefully greeting him, quietly praising him for the wonder that he is. It was hard for Aerith not to notice and for the butterflies not to swell in her stomach. Her father, although she never got to know him while she was little, was her hero—the intellectual scholar, a knight whose weapon was a syringe. A funny thought, and Aerith giggled at the thought of it, but it wasn't too hard to see that his forte was science. And although her father's existence wasn't resonant above, he was persistently evident down below.
Running to her father with the treats in her hand, Aerith gleamed like a rainbow. A variety of feelings and well wishes weaved out of her as she greeted her parents with joy, the three celebrating her father's existence overall.
As she asked her mother Ifalna to hold her basket and after she set down her Pyrex of cookies, Aerith embraced the renowned Gast Faremis, squeezing him so tight as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let him go or opened her eyes.
"I love you, papa. Happy father's day. And I hope you know how much you mean to me, even after you've gone."
