"It's so dark...my chest hurts. Where am I?"
"You no longer walk the Planet."
"Oh, I see. So I'm dead, then."
"Yes, for the moment."
"For the moment?"
"It is not your time."
"Aerith!"
Tifa's voice snaps her from her slumber. Languidly, Aerith opens her eyes, taking in the dim, orange glow of candlelight in the corner of the room. The stale scent of pine lingers in the room's musty air.
She's standing over her, her hand on Aerith's shoulder, as she frowns, brows knit together in concern.
"What's wrong?" Aerith mumbles. She sits up in bed and brushes errant knots of hair from her face. Barret and Tifa exchange concerned glances.
"You were thrashing around in your sleep. I was worried…" Tifa says, trailing off.
Aerith brings a hand up to her temple; it's damp and cold, as is the rest of her body. The center of her chest throbs with each heartbeat. Even though it was a nightmare, the pain had been excruciatingly real, tangible — crippling. Not just the pain, either, but the wet warmth of blood gushing forth from the wound as she slumped over. The stark ice of steel jutting out of her. The clang of materia bouncing off the floor, ricocheting against the walls, echoing until the sound receded at last.
"Drink up," Barret says abruptly, thrusting a water canteen into her hands. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Aerith accepts — perhaps too eagerly — and downs the water ravenously. The cool sensation is welcome against her parched lips.
Tifa plops herself down at the foot of the bed and leans toward her. "So, you had a bad dream, I'm guessing."
She nods, wondering if she looks as fraught as she feels. She sets the water canteen down on the nightstand and reaches for the hairbrush in her satchel. The contents of her nightmare begin to dissipate, leaving little behind but the ghost of a certain image: the vision of Cloud's tormented face as he extended his hand toward her as she went limp. She gnaws the inside of her lip as she combs through her hair, yanking on the stubborn knots.
"Well? What was it about?" Tifa asks.
"I don't really remember, to tell you the truth." It's a white lie, Aerith tells herself. Tifa would be better off not knowing what happened. All of them would. "I just remember it feeling very real."
Tifa holds her chin between her fingers, lifting an eyebrow. Barret folds his arms across his chest. Neither of them believe her. She isn't in a position to disagree with their scrutiny.
"You sure about that?" he asks.
Aerith nods, though she knows for a fact that the act lacks conviction. She avoids their gaze and continues brushing through her hair in an effort to busy her hands. It seems as though she'll have to change the subject if she has any hope of evading their questions.
"I probably shouldn't be more worried about a dream than the reality, anyway." She hangs her head dismally. "Sephiroth has the Black Materia."
They all avert their gaze from each other toward Cloud. Cloud, who's incapable of articulating anything about the incomprehensible parts of him — of which there are clearly many. Tifa and Barret both scowl. Aerith chooses not to acknowledge that.
"When do you think he'll wake up?" Aerith asks as she begins to braid her hair.
Tifa shrugs, cavalier. Something is bothering her on a level that Aerith doesn't yet have access to. "Hopefully soon, but you shouldn't worry about that. Make sure you eat something. I'm sure you're feeling weak after that incident."
She musters a smile as an emblem of goodwill. "I'll try."
"We'll be stayin' right here 'til this bastard gets his ass outta bed," Barret declares, punctuating himself by shoving Cloud's unconscious form. "Can't have him pullin' that self-sabotage crap again."
So they intend to stay. Aerith purses her lips. That won't be very conducive to her plans.
"Actually, I'd like to be alone for a few minutes. Is that okay?"
A beat of silence passes before Tifa smiles and says, "Sure. We'll be outside with the others, but we'll be back soon."
"I dunno, I don't trust 'em by themselves…" Barret grumbles as he ducks under the doorway and joins Tifa in making their way out of the house.
Aerith sighs in relief and ties her braid together before sliding out of bed. She looks down — her dress is wrinkled and bunched up. A smattering of wine-colored bruises mars her legs. Stealing a glance at Cloud to ensure that he's still knocked cold, she lifts the hem of her dress up to her waist and sees a similar bruise blooming on her stomach.
Cloud. She frowns forlornly. He had not been in control of himself when he pushed her to the ground and rained his fists down on her. They did not hurt her as much as they could have — no doubt because some part of him was managing to hold back. She replaces her dress and smooths out the wrinkles.
She's made up her mind to leave. Realistically, she is the only one of them who can successfully summon Holy — and certainly the only one who can appreciate the City of the Ancients' dormant power. She tilts her head and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. Aerith is not willing to risk bringing them along and endangering their lives for a task that is solely hers to bear.
It would be easier, so much easier, for her to steal away without a word. She wants nothing more than to silently slip away, if only for her own selfish reasons. When she thinks of Cloud's face — the shock and subsequent disappointment that would be etched into the corners of eyes — she can't bring herself to abscond in such a cowardly way.
She walks over to where Cloud is sleeping and kneels by him, studying his face. Even in slumber, he looks troubled.
She's never attempted this before and only recalls that her mother appeared before her in a dream once long ago, when she was still alive. Aerith should be able to do the same thing, shouldn't she? She gingerly places her fingertips on either side of Cloud's head and closes her eyes.
"Planet, if you can show this to him…"
A warm sensation envelops her. Murky memories come swirling to the surface: her mother, her real mother, wrapping her arms around her, rubbing her cheek against the top of her head; Elmyra, wrapping her up in an impossibly soft cotton and chocobo feather blanket; Zack, cupping her face in his gloved hands, memorizing her face before (unknowingly) walking away from her forever.
A lush, verdant forest emerges from the darkness and materializes around her. The trees form a canopy that covers the sky and tints the world in green. Soft sunlight filters through the foliage as she hides behind a tree. Aerith peeks out from her position, searching for him.
"Cloud, can you hear me?" she calls out.
A delicate silence stretches on. Branches sway and leaves rustle above her. Maybe this isn't working.
Then —
Yeah, I can. Sorry about what happened.
His words are muffled, distant. Remorseful.
"Don't worry about it."
But I can't help it.
It's bizarre to hear his voice without seeing his face.
She weaves between the trees and takes in the sight of this forest that feels so familiar to her. The Ancients informed her that this was the grove that led into the Forgotten City.
"If you're going to worry about it, why not really worry? I'll handle Sephiroth. I want you to take care of yourself, okay? It wouldn't do for you to have a breakdown."
Finally, Cloud appears, fading slowly into view and floating down from the heavens with her. He touches down and, skeptically, surveys their surroundings.
"Where are we?"
"This is the Sleeping Forest. It leads into the City of the Ancients," she explains. She holds her hands behind her back and looks down at the earth beneath her feet. Dew drops, delicate and precarious, cling to blades of grass and shimmer in the light. "Sephiroth is going to use Meteor...we can't change that. But I can protect the Planet. It's my duty as a Cetra, you know."
Though he's typically so easy to read, she can't decipher Cloud's expression when she looks up. A sea of emotion, with untold depths and volatile waves is hidden behind those glowing eyes. She might just drown if she looks too closely.
"What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me that you're going to leave?" he demands. His eyes dart around uneasily.
"You don't need to worry about that. You already worry about too much." Aerith reaches for his hand and cradles it in both of hers. She runs her fingers over the rough leather of his glove and the calluses of his skin. "How about we just enjoy this time together?"
He furrows his brows and opens his mouth to protest, but seems to think better of it and relaxes his tense shoulders. She takes a step forward and embraces him. His body is terribly frigid, but she rests her head on his shoulder and plants a petite kiss on his clavicle. The smallest gasp escapes his lips and she can't contain a giggle.
Just as he goes to rest his hand on the small of her back, she withdraws and steps away from him. She can't allow the moment to continue, lest she have second thoughts.
"I'll be going now. I'll come back when it's all over." Aerith waves. The farewell is temporary — she hopes. She can't look him in the eyes.
"Aerith?"
She turns around to leave and runs toward the beacon of light where the forest ends, closing her heart to whatever Cloud says after her. If she listens, she knows she'll waver. She knows she'll choose the easy way out and stay with them. Her selfishness would get them all killed.
Aerith slips out of the cottage and takes a surreptitious route out of Gongaga to conceal herself from the party's watchful eyes — well, with the possible exception of Yuffie and Cid, who tend to be absorbed in their own activities. Her lip twitches. She can't dwell on them any longer.
She doesn't have a prayer of reaching the City of the Ancients on foot before the others catch up to her. Nonetheless, she runs as far as her feet will take her along the dirt path before she spots a chocobo caravan crossing the grasslands in the distance. The ostentatious sky blue and purple paint adorning the caravan is a sharp contrast to the dull blue of the dimming evening sky.
"Hey!" she yells, waving her hand as she continues sprinting toward it. Much to her relief, the caravan comes to a stop.
The driver, a rotund man with a remarkably well-groomed mustache, peers at her over his spectacles. "Yes? What can I do for a young lady such as yourself?"
Her lungs burn and ache for oxygen. Aerith catches her breath before she offers a coquettish smile and bows deferentially.
"Sorry sir, but are you heading north? If you are, could I hitch a ride?"
The driver holds the chocobo's reins with one hand and twirls his mustache with the other as he contemplates her request. "The north is a bit out of the way, but I suppose I can make a detour. It'll cost you, however."
"That's fine. I can make it the rest of the way," she assures. She had the foresight to pilfer some gil from her satchel before whisking away. She dumps the coins in the man's outstretched hand and climbs in next to him.
The driver whips his reins, spurring the chocobo to proceed jauntily ahead. Aerith's breath finally steadies. Gongaga Village shrinks away as the caravan moves, shrinking until it's nothing but a soft yellow twinkle against a backdrop of blue. A pang of gloom seizes her heart as she envisions her companions — her friends — calling her name and searching for her to no avail.
No, she can't think that way. What she's about to do is for their own good.
She doesn't tell the driver why she's going up north and he doesn't ask. The soothing sound of the wheels turning and the chocobo's talons kicking up dirt lulls her into light sleep.
Aerith's teeth chatter violently as she traverses across stone paths and barren earth. The air chills her to her core. She rubs her shoulders and ascends a staircase of seashells and oracle bones, ignoring the dull burning sensation permeating her leg muscles. Tears gather when she reaches the top; she nearly weeps with joy. She's finally here.
Yet, she can't shake the sense of dread that grips her faculties when she steps foot into the enclave. It appears exactly as it did in her dream; shimmering light shining down from the firmament, the serene blue walls, the unsettling silence. Cautiously, she saunters to the center, allowing the light to engulf her, before kneeling. Her footsteps resonate against the walls. She tries to surmise at why the Planet might have revealed this place to her in a dream.
Her heart nearly comes to a grinding halt, skipping a beat. She places her hand against the wall. If this place is as close in real life as its replica in her dream, then what followed may yet come true.
Aerith had accepted and even embraced death and sacrifice as possibilities, even likelihoods. There is surely some type of poetry in the last of the Ancients returning to the Lifestream. However, as her shoulders tense and a chill racks her body, she realizes that acceptance and embrace are not the same as want.
No, she doesn't want to die.
Sunrise in Costa del Sol. The earthy scent of rain, soil, and grass after a storm has passed. The salt of soup on her lips as a blizzard rages outside. Tifa's smile, Barret's moxie. Cloud — the entirety of him. Things that she will never have again so long as she lives behind the veil of the Lifestream.
Aerith banishes those thoughts from her mind as she kneels before the light. Earthly attachments will only serve to block her ability to summon Holy. Just as she closed Cloud off from her heart, so too does she close everyone and everything else off. She enters her trance, whispering praise to the Planet, and time ebbs and flows until she no longer becomes aware of it.
A single footstep resounding against the walls of the sanctum severs her concentration. She stays perfectly still, swallowing down her melancholy. So they managed to catch up to her sooner than she anticipated. She's so close to summoning Holy, so very close, that she can't stop now. Her eyes stay closed — her hands remain clasped in prayer.
The footsteps grow closer and louder. She can hear a man's rapid breathing in the quiet of the sanctuary. He's getting closer. She doesn't waver.
A shadow masks the light, and she lifts her head to see Cloud standing above her, his sword raised and ready to impale her. Mako flares and swirls in his eyes, his jaw squares — feral. It can't be him. Her mind breaks its concentration and a vision of them peering out of the gondola flashes before her.
Aerith can't decide if she'd rather die by his sword or the one she had dreamt of.
"Stop!" She recognizes Tifa's voice; it echoes throughout the barren chambers.
Cloud lowers his arms slowly, staggering backward and gripping the side of his head with his free hand. He groans, pained, and drops his sword. "Ugh...what are you trying to make me do?"
"Cloud…" she rasps.
She has fulfilled her purpose, and that should be enough for her to feel at peace with surrendering herself to the Lifestream. It should be enough, but it isn't, and when she senses a presence from above, she tries to hurry to her feet in a desperate bid for life.
But she isn't swift enough. The blade deftly slices through layers of skin and fat and muscle, through viscera, and her body is simultaneously on fire and freezing cold. Pain doesn't register — it is, in fact, far away, as far away as Cloud's agonized expression, as far away as Midgar and the flowers in her church. Those flowers are probably dead by now, aren't they?
There must be flowers in the Lifestream, she thinks optimistically, even as her eyelids grow heavy and her body goes slack. They're there, somewhere.
"Aerith!"
Before she can open her eyes, the voice continues.
"You were thrashing around in your sleep. I was worried…"
Portentous confusion grips her. No. She just heard this. Is she reliving her memories before passing on to the next realm? That can't be right either. She saw nothing before this moment. She opens her eyes, and Tifa is standing over her, just as she did before. The dim, orange candle light flickers in the corner of the room. Cloud lies still on his bed.
Aerith scrambles to sit up, tufts of hair dangling in front of her face. Her chest feels impossibly tight; her heart beats furiously against her sternum to the point of paining her.
"This isn't right. I'm not supposed to be here," she says frantically as she throws the covers off of her and leaps to her feet.
Tifa raises her eyebrows and looks to Barret for some input. It's no good, as he appears just as befuddled as her. She folds her arms across her chest and moves back to lean against the wall. "What do you mean?"
Aerith opens and closes her mouth a number of times, attempting to conjure an explanation that will satisfy all parties in the room, including herself. She fails.
"I'm supposed to be in the Lifestream," she murmurs. There's a certain shade of horror to this situation that hasn't fully sunk in yet.
Flummoxed, Barret's lip twitches. "Hold up. I was there. Cloud lost his shit, but he wasn't layin' it on you that bad."
"That's not it. Sephiroth...Sephiroth...!"
She paces the room and rubs circles through her hair. Sephiroth killed her. She felt it. It was as raw and real as anything else. Yet, she's back in this room, hearing Tifa say the same things she did just the day before, immersed in the scent of pine and dust.
Tifa's hands fly toward her shoulders, gripping them firmly, in an attempt to pacify herself more than Aerith. "Calm down, Aerith! What are you talking about?"
Aerith stops in her tracks and searches Tifa's desperate eyes. Barret scratches his head in her periphery.
Unlike yesterday, she volunteers the events exactly as they occurred. Tifa's face gradually drains of color before going completely waxen by the conclusion of her account. Barret doesn't stop shaking his head, dismissing Aerith's account before she's even finished.
"Sounds like a whole lot of crazy talk to me," he says.
"Are you sure it wasn't just a bad dream?" Tifa asks.
Aerith pauses and brings a finger to her lip, considering the possibility. Was it a dream? It could have been. It could have been anything. She has always been content in the knowledge that the Planet would provide answers to her questions should she need them. The Planet is quiet now, offering nothing despite her mental probes for explanations.
She closes her eyes to gather her thoughts.
Unbidden, the image of Cloud swinging his sword down upon her flashes across her psyche like a snap of lightning.
Aerith's eyes fly open and she turns to them both. "It was no dream."
They're still in clear disbelief and she orders herself to refrain from getting frustrated with them. All of them are silent for an excruciatingly long period of time. Aerith's cheeks burn with shame, though she can't quite pinpoint why.
Much to her surprise, it's Barret who speaks up first.
"You know what? With all this shit that's happened since we started chasing after this Sephiroth guy...maybe this ain't so crazy after all," he admits.
"But even if that's true, what does that mean for us?" Tifa says, her voice rising with frustration. "What do we do now?"
A wave of exhaustion abruptly washes over her and she throws herself back on the bed, staring intently at the ceiling.
"I guess…" she starts, "I guess I do something different, right?"