Somewhere on the outskirts of Edge the landscape of pure white was interrupted. Blood soaked the snow, crimson stains on a blank canvas.
That was the first thing Vincent saw, the blood. Hastily he followed the gruesome trail until a brighter shock of red came into view. Vincent's heart sank when he realised that the figure was lying in a pool of their own blood. He'd hoped the trail was just from a flesh wound.
The brighter red turned out to me the man's auburn hair. Now closer, Vincent could see that he was a young man, no older that mid twenties. He sighed sadly, why did such young people have to die? Why did they have to suffer for the mistakes of others? The cloaked man didn't know the story behind the grim scene before him, but it rang to much like the one he'd witnessed in his dreams. Only the man lying on the floor in his dreams was himself.
Vincent blinked, he could have sworn he saw the man's chest rise slightly. But then again maybe he was imagining it, no one would be able to survive having lost that amount of blood. Well, if that excluded Sephiroth. And from what he could see, this man was not Sephiroth.
The man coughed, nearly causing Vincent to jump. The sudden realisation that the red head was not dead spurred him into action. Unbuckling his cloak, gently wrapping the young man in it in a vain attempt to retain any of the heat still kept by the drenched fabric of the man's black turtle neck.
As he lifted the red head up from the snow something heavy and metallic slid into the white below.
Balancing the man in his clawed arm, Vincent reached into the snow and picked up the fallen object. To his surprise it was an ornate rapier, a pair of silver wings formed the hilt and a blue orb was embedded in the pommel. What surprised Vincent more was how, with such a fancy weapon, the man had managed to get injured. Then again he could have been injured before the fight. If indeed there had been a fight at all.
Deciding it would be best to keep the sword with its owner, Vincent wrapped it in a spare corner of his cloak next to the unconscious man.
By the time he reached his small apartment in Edge, the man had began to mumble incoherent words. All Vincent wanted to do was see to the red head's injuries and go to sleep, the words the man spoke hurt him. It wasn't what he said, because he couldn't quite make out what he was saying anyway. It was that awful tone of sorrow and regret that coloured every sound that passed the man's lips.
When he removed his cloak from the man and placed the rapier next to Cerberus, Vincent was surprised to find the man's clothes completely dry. They couldn't have dried out in that amount of time, especially in the cold air. Vincent checked his cloak. But, no, that was dry to. Strange.
After removing the man's turtle neck he found a wealth of gashes and bruising, but the most severe wound cut down from his left shoulder. Though, strangely, that wound did not appear to be the cause of the bleeding. It looked as if it was an old wound, that never properly healed.
Sighing, Vincent placed the man on the spare bed and left the room to find bandages and healing ointment.
When he returned the find scent of burning reached his nose. At this he could feel Chaos stir slightly, rustling in the back of his mind. Vincent pushed the feeling away, walking over to the man's bedside. As gently as he could, the raven haired man began to clean the others wounds. Again the faint smell of smoke drifted up to him. Frowning, Vincent looked around the room but could see no smoke anywhere. Then his eyes fell on the man's face; tears trailed down his pale cheeks, wine red tears that burned the sheets they dripped on to. Horror flitted across Vincent's own crimson eyes, how could a human cry red tears!
He shook his head trying to remove the image from his mind. Vincent turned back to cleaning the cuts and gashes; somehow they were less disturbing that the man's red tears. Maybe that was because he was used to seeing such injuries, however he was not accustomed to seeing people cry crimson tears that burned anything they touched.
After a wile Vincent became aware of some one watching him. Finishing tying the last bandage, he turned his head to look over at the red head. Crimson eyes met azure orbs. For a moment Vincent was taken aback at how similar to Cloud's the man's eyes looked. Only this man's crystal blue eyes looked far to old to belong to Cloud, even after all he'd been through.
"Who are you?" The red head asked. His voice a low whisper, with a hit of some accent Vincent did not recognise.
"Vincent Valentine."
"Genesis Rhapsodos."