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Prologue
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The dream had returned, and the sleeper tossed and turned with its urgency.
A forgotten city....
Buildings of shell and bone, ringed
by the chalk white remains of great beasts, a
landscape that should have existed
far beneath the sea but didn't...
A city so old it contained the death of time and rock.
The dreams had increased in frequency these past weeks.
Strange columns intertwined with
kelp that grew on without the salt waves around
them...
A shining altar, surrounded by
a vast blue pool, blue like a child's imagination, bluer
than the sky, the light off the
faintly glowing walls dissolved in the rippling waters....
The dreams had become a liability;
an unwelcome distraction in a time when he could
ill afford to let his focus waver.
Yet he could not ignore them, and the pull to the
north had become almost irresistible.
A bird's migration. A fool's folly. And he had
never been a fool.
Yet...
A young woman, back toward him,
long chestnut hair drawn in silky tendrils with her
hands up against the glowing
altar... praying, for something... he didn't know what.
And then a voice, barely a whisper, but desperation in it's dreaming depths...
"Help me..."
He awoke with a start, sheets and
pillow drenched with acrid sweat. Heavy-lidded
eyes caught a glimpse of the time
- 4 o'clock, still a while before dawn. Damn if he
wasn't getting any sleep any more.
Pulling himself up and out of bed,
he fumbled for the light switch, which gave way
beneath his fingers with a plastic
lurch. The light flickered dismally over the messy
room - clothing, weapons and equipment
were scattered about the floor with random
carelessness. He'd long since given
up trying to find any sort of permanence where
he lived, not since the troubles
began. Sighing, he lurched sleepily to the corner and
began to pack up.
It was scarcely an hour later when
he emerged from the small apartment. He was
used to travelling in the dark,
his profile garnering him attention he could ill afford.
Disguise had seldom worked, so he
had given it up to the safety darkness offered him.
He'd picked an apartment not far
from the local chocobo stables, in case he had to
make a quick getaway. A quick grin
crossed his face. It was odd to be leaving a
place in such a pedestrian manner.
He'd normally have been shot at twice, at least,
by this time, by some sharp-eyed
sniper at the wall.
The sun was not far from the horizon
when he reached Blackie. It hadn't been a very
original name for a black chocobo,
he realised. In fact, it was quite possibly the worst
name for a chocobo that had ever
existed, but ever since the last one had been shot
out from beneath him, he'd stopped
caring.
He paused a moment beside the dark-feathered
bird, gathering his thoughts. Idly, he
ran his fingers over the hilt of
his enormous weapon. It was a sword - though a few
had called it a '#&$^%ing gigantic
razorblade' - and despite the fact that the name
'C. Strife' had been since carved
into the top of the hilt, he still couldn't shake off the
knowledge that it wasn't truly his.
No, it had belonged to a much greater and more
deserving warrior than he, and all
he could do was carry it around in tribute; a true
SOLDIER, not this blonde wannabe
who had to creep from place to place in the dark.
Shaking his head to banish those
thoughts, he ran a tired hand through the spikes of
his blonde hair. The past was the
past, and he could do nothing but look toward the
future. Strapping the giant blade
to his back, he threw his leg over the Chocobo and
began his slow journey north - toward
Icicle, and toward the the shadow who
haunted his dreams with it's cries.
_________________
Flower girl...
Existence itself seemed to ripple; tremors in her emerald world.
She could not feel herself - everything
seemed fuzzy and unreal, like she wasn't really
there. Like a dream that she could
only watch.
It stirs...
The world of perpetual emerald was
changing now. She could feel again; waves of
ice and fire that swept over her
consciousness. She could feel again.
Images washed over her, too fast
to make sense. A blonde man, with aquamarine
eyes and an enormous sword. Cloud!
Others... a red-scarred firebeast and a tall man
in black with bloody eyes. Vincent.
Red XIII. The dystopian towers of Midgar with its
perpetual darkness. Cloud again,
sword held aloft, ready to strike... strike her. The
pain erupting in her chest as her
life spilled out on a glossy marble floor...
An unholy scream.
I need you... wake...
Tifa's burgundy eyes. A man with spiky black hair and piercing eyes... Zack?
Aeris...
Her green world split open and blue
pain flooded back in, thick and nauseating. She
struggled against the force trying
to crush her, invading her nose and mouth and
lungs in a rush of icy coldness;
her limbs flailed wildly, like a grotesque puppet caught
in a drowning net of icewater. Desperately,
she raised her head to the light and tried
to reach out toward it...
_________________
The blonde-haired warrior had seemingly entered the world of the dead.
The air had become unnaturally warm
for this far north, his breath no longer spilling
out in a fine mist of clouds against
his mouth. But he scarcely gave it thought - his
mind was dominated by the truly
bizarre vista that lay before him.
It was as if the ancient sea floor
itself had risen to the surface. If he closed his eyes
and breathed, he could faintly believe
he could smell the death of salt water. Conical
shells, gleaming a sickly off-white
colour, jutted out of the ground. They seemed
arranged, somehow - as if they were
the work of some unseen designer, rather than
an unordered landscape feature.
Still, they paled in comparison to some of the other
sights around him...
Enormous skeletons. Huge vertebrae,
creating strange pathways and routes across
the uneven surface. Jagged bones
creating strange stairwells and ladders. He'd
thought it wood, at first, bleached
white by the sun, but the perfect symmetry and
smoothness of them was all cold
bone. Too neatly ordered to be random;
like the garden of some sick creator.
Help...
The voice cut into his head like
a knife, loud and piercing, and he clutched his head in
pain although nothing had emanated
from his ears. It cleared quickly, however, and
his eyes were drawn to the middle
of a set of three cone-shaped houses that dotted
part of the ground.
That voice... he was needed there.
Wariness and even conscious thought were
pushed beneath a layer of sheer
urgency and before he could even breathe he was
running into the nearest dark opening
he could find.
He gave the strange interior of the
house no thought. It didn't matter. Nothing
mattered. All that mattered was
the voice, he had to get there! Where he knew and
didn't know both at the same time,
but questioning was long since over.
Down a strange ladder, into a cavernous
hall that could have fit an army. Had he
been thinking, he'd have realised
he knew this place. He had been here before,
hadn't he?
The structures here were definitely
created by someone, glowing luminescent to
counteract the pervasive gloom of
the buildings. Somebody had once lived here;
somebody had carved the walls and
smoothed the floor and made the shining altar
with step-like pillars all around.
He followed them as they descended, jumping easily
from stair to crude stair.
And at the end of them was where he finally saw it.
Impossibly blue water. A shape he'd
thought was a fish before a hand broke surface,
pale and flailing and human - and
most likely drowning. The thrashings of the shape
were getting limp and tired, and
the beating of his heart inside his head was so loud it
could have filled the cavern. This
was what he had been running to; this was the
voice. He had been made for this
moment.
The sword on his back clattered to
the ground unheeded and he dived into the water
without even thinking. It was cold,
bitterly so, and he had to fight against the thick
water in his efforts to get nearer
the sinking person. They weren't far away now -
one more push forward, then -
brown locks of hair spilling over his shoulders like
trailing vines as he grabbed an
arm, not even pausing to look as he turned back
toward the sandy edge of the pool.
Her placed her - it was definitely
a her, he had always known it had been a her - out
of the water, gently on her side,
as she spluttered and coughed out a mouthful of
blue. The long brown hair that had
hampered him so before was in tangled streaks on
the sand, contrasting against pale
skin that was clammy in the chill. The dress she
had worn might have once been pink,
and as she finally opened her eyes, he noticed
that they were the colour of emeralds...
So absorbed in staring at her was
he that he failed to notice she had stopped
coughing and had started doing likewise.
Her beautiful long-lashed eyes went through
a myriad of emotions; surprise,
shock, and then impossibly - recognition.
He was snapped out of his trance
only when her blue-tinged lips began to move, and
a melodious voice escaped her lips.
It was slightly rough and strained, as if she had
not used it for eons.
"C... Cloud?"
_________________
The light was getting closer, warmer.
Strong hands were pulling her, even as she
struggled to breathe in something
other than the choking blue that was beginning to
chill the back of her throat.
Her head broke the surface of the
water and she began to gasp, gulping in huge
lungfuls of precious air, sweeter
than anything she had ever tasted. She fell back,
finally succumbing to the ache and
pain in her lungs, trying to choke out everything
on the gritty sand beneath her.
It was a while before she was able
to open her eyes. She'd stopped coughing now,
her mind at once both sleepy and
frantic, trying to clear the fog around her memories.
She strained her eyes against the
light of the cavern, so different to the dark she'd
known, searching for something to
gaze on - and was rewarded when a face swam
into focus.
His face was pale, his cheeks red
from exertion, clothes sticking to his body from the
water he had pulled her out of.
Atop his head was an unruly crown of golden spikes,
jutting out haphazardly. His features
were sharp, though he had high delicate
cheekbones, mouth drawn in a tight
line of curiousness. And his eyes...
She'd seen those eyes before. They
were the colour of deep red wine, rich and dark,
and her brain searched for a name
to put to those eyes. But the eyes had an equally
familiar and yet alien glow about
them, rich blue flecks shining out from the red as if
they were precious stones; mako
blue, her brain told her as it broke awareness.
Mako. They had the mako glow she
had grown so familiar with, but it was strangely
different, patterned there amongst
the velvet red. But there was no mistaking it, and
her memories rallied as she opened
her mouth, lips parted in a bewildered smile.
"C.....Cloud?"
_________________
Your name was Cloud...
... I came crashing down?
Tall blonde cornfield hair aqua
eyes you could drown in not for colour but for glassy
depth of the brain - roughsmooth
angelic voice tinged with Nibelheim accent that
came out when you got enthusiastic
about something anything me fighting long
sharp steelfine sword fought
like something possessed and made my eyes hurt with
your grace...
Memory moves like a fish in water,
darting here, there, touching on things random
and beautiful - soft petals of
flowers brushing as they passed from hand to hand -
I've been waiting so long, but only five minutes of sweet mortal time, time, time -
Does time have no meaning, then?
Torn brain, split-hurt, wavering
blur of memories I'm sure it's him but angel voice
has gotten deeper, eyes are bloodied
red, face I'm not sure too soft where once
was angular glass-sharp cut,
hair perhaps ashen gold instead of harvest, but, but,
it's him
it has to be him
who else would come for me?
falls on his knees in front of
me, hands trembling like a little child's, lips parted with
his eyes filled with wonder as
he looks up at me and says (I've been waiting so long) -
"..Holy Aerith?!"
_________________
He could do no more than gasp her
name as she looked up at him, piercing green
eyes boring into him, filled with
longing and hope and joy. He stumbled backward
awkwardly, unsure of whether to
run away or fall to his knees in reverence, as a part
of him screamed he should. He felt
like a child again, stumbling, clumsy.
How could he have been so blind?
So ignorant? To have trudged all the way to this
godforsaken place with her in his
dreams, in his nightmares, haunting his every waking
moment, but not realised who she
was?
The Holy Aerith. Saviour of the planet.
His reaction had not gone unnoticed
by the Holy One. Her eyes clouded, the joy and
hope fast being taken over by traces
of pain and confusion. That jolted him into
action, and he immediately threw
his face toward the ground in supplication. His mind
raced for the right words.
"Uh... I greet you, Holy Aerith, our, ah, Saviour!"
If I ever use the word 'greet'
in cold blood in casual conversation ever again, I
should shoot myself.
Face down, he heard her rise slowly,
and groggily walk over to where he had
prostrated himself. Heard her laboured
breath, then finally felt a soft hand settle on
his cheek and pull his face upward.
Cirrus Lockheart-Strife had never
contemplated what looking into the face of a god
would be like. Yet he looked now,
his eyes finally gazing closely on Her face. He let
out a choked breath at the beautiful
face that gazed back at him.
She stared at him for several moments,
recognition, shock and then pain flashing
across her eyes. A tear escaped
from those green orbs, joining the rivulets of water
slowly coursing down her face.
"You're - you're not him. I thought
you were; you look so like Cloud..." Aeris faltered.
She felt drowned in an unfriendly
sea without anything to buoy her to the top. "Um,
and you don't have to go down on
your knees," she added.
"Cloud?" His brain raced and he flushed
slightly, giving a nervous chuckle. "Um, I'm
told there's a - family resemblance,
ma'am, um, your Holiness, but - "
"Cloud? Family resemblance?" Her face lit up. "You're his son?"
"Add a few greats on to that, your Holiness. Three, to be exact."
She froze like a rabbit, staring
at him in wild disbelief. Great-great-great grandson?!
"But then - where's - "
Her voice was drowned out abruptly
by a low rumbling, one that grew steadily deeper
until Cirrus could feel the ground
beneath him begin to shudder. Bits of stone and
plaster began to land next to him
and turbulently stirred up the now-angry waters,
and they both gave a horrified upward
glance.
The roof was collapsing.
__________________
A/N: Piett: And so it begins.
Guardian: Yet Another
Aeris Resurrection 'Fic - but this time, with 98%
less fat. And then we
can all have a sausage party in the Rebuilt City
Of Midgar!
Piett: Yes. Hail, Jason and Kimberly!
[/injoke]
Thus begins the first
part of what will hopefully be a very long (6-8+
chapters) epic.
Fear not, you won't be plagued with hordes of original
characters, we're trying
to keep this as much to the core FF crew as we
can possibly manage
when most of them are dead :P.
Guardian: That will not,
we guarantee, bore you to tears. Or be like
every other Aeris Resurrection
Fic in eternity.
Piett: So be good little
FF.net patrons and review! Oh, and those
with serious shipping
Jihads best keep your "X/X sucks!" comments to
yourself, the shippers
handbook goes out the window here. Stay tuned!