First attempt at fanfiction, please don't judge too harshly.

Thanks to my beta reader SweetDragonSeeker

CHAPTER ONE: CUTTING EDGE

Zen stood atop a hill a short way out of Midgar staring bitterly at the city. It had just not been fair to stand in the midst of all those children who's Geostigma was simply melting away, and have his remain as it had been. Of course his luck had never been that good, so what did he expect.

He moved to return to the city, supposing that he would live out the rest of his no doubt short life as he had been for the past few weeks. But as he turned, a cold feeling fell over him, his vision flickered, and a deep voice spoke in his mind.

"I may fall into oblivion… but there is still hope for my legacy… it and my power fall now… to you…" Stunned, Zen collapsed, and fell into unconsciousness.

He awoke the next morning lying on the same hill he had been on the night before. Vague memories of staggering through the city after the Shinra building crashed down to earth around him swam in his head. He remembered yelling… screaming… and crashes, as he ran towards Midgar's exit.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and started down the hill towards Midgar. The Shinra building was no longer visible over Midgar's wall, proving that it had not all been a dream, that Sephiroth really had returned, and Cloud again, had defeated him.

Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, looking wildly around for his chipped old sword, the one thing that he had left from his father. He spotted it a short distance away, leaning against a tree that stood at the top of the hill. He hurriedly closed the distance and picked up the old thing. He didn't know why he treasured it so, it was old, the leather around the handle was coming off, and it was not even very sharp. Not sharp at all. He thought bitterly. As he ran his finger up the edge of the blade, he winced suddenly, drawing back his hand as blood dripped from a deep cut in his finger. "Great! Just great! Now even dull weapons can cut! What next?" he growled to himself, tearing a strip of cloth from his already torn shirt, and wrapping it around his cut finger. Scowling, he trudged back to Midgar.

A/N: please read/review. Please no flames. Thanks