Hello everyone! I'm back! ...Again.

Just so you know, this is the sequel to "The Resistance of Fate," which has been on hiatus for some time now. I decided to branch off and start a new story to continue it. If you haven't read "The Resistance of Fate," you might want to do that before you read this one.

Anyway, I don't own anything that has to do with FFVII - that belongs to Square Enix. So, with that said... Hope you enjoy it!

~~~~Chapter I~~~~

A clock somewhere further along the street chimed out the hour. Midnight, and Aerith had barely slept. The analog TV in front of her flickered on and off with the fluctuation of power. She caught snatches of conversation on the news occasionally, but after the report just a few hours earlier, she couldn't bring herself to really pay attention anymore.

"This just in," they'd said, "a Shinra craft flying over the Forgotten City discovered something surprising: the lifeless body of the former SOLDIER and recent antagonist Sephiroth. His sword, the infamous Masamune, was also found next to him. The sword was coated in blood that tested positive to be his own. Which leaves us with a few questions: Did Sephiroth, the Hero of the War in Wutai, commit suicide?"

Aerith had looked at the reporter and shaken her head, but of course, the woman at the desk couldn't see her. She thanked the goddess for that. If they knew she had been the one to kill Sephiroth, what would they have done? Named her their new hero? Reviled her and thrown her into jail? Or would they forget about all of that and go back to their attempts to cage the last known Ancient?

"The employees who looked over the site found evidence that someone had been living in the house at the border of the Forgotten City. However, that evidence was left not only by Sephiroth, but by someone else," the reporter had continued. "A few articles of clothing, stained with blood and appearing to belong to a woman, were also found there. We can't be sure what this woman's relationship to Sephiroth was, but we do know that witnesses from the Icicle Inn area have testified to seeing Sephiroth with a woman who wore clothing which they described to be very similar to the garments found."

Aerith curled against the edge of the sofa and covered her face with her hands. In her mind, the scene replayed, over and over. She couldn't help but feel the hilt of the sword in her hands as she brought it down through Sephiroth's chest. She dug her fingers into her palms until pain shot through her hands, but even that didn't let her forget.

"Aerith," a soft, musical voice said in her ear, and Aerith felt the pressure of another pair of hands closing around her wrists, drawing her fists away from her face and pulling her fingers away from her palms, where they had left deep pink crescent moons.

"Aerith," the voice repeated. Aerith opened her eyes to see a pair of blue irises staring down at her with concern, their owner's blond bangs falling down over them. "You need to sleep."

She shook her head. With difficulty she managed, "I… can't."

"Aerith, please," his voice said. "I don't want to—see you like this."

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, her hands involuntarily returning to fists.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

Oh, Cloud… I'm sorry.

"Well," she breathed, "whenever I try to sleep, I wake up from dreams… of him."

She could see the tension that suddenly took over his disposition, the way his hand clasped around the edge of the sofa, the way his jaw clenched tight, but she forced herself to continue talking.

"Sometimes they're nightmares… usually they're nightmares," she clarified. "Of the day you found me… the day I… the day he… I mean…"

She trailed off, but Cloud nodded stiffly, saving her from having to finish the sentence. "I know."

"And I can feel the sword in my hands… And I can hear him screaming… And the way he said my name… Or Jenova takes over him and he turns the sword on me instead… But sometimes it's not like that." The thought of explaining this version of the dreams almost scared her more. "Sometimes they're real dreams… They're… They're beautiful. I can't bear to… wake up."

Cloud's hand gripped the edge of the sofa so hard his knuckles were white. "Aerith…" he began, but he never finished, not knowing how to respond.

"I'm sorry," Aerith said. She noticed too late the tears that streamed down her face, the way the words caught in her throat. She turned her face away.

"You…" Cloud began again.

Aerith heard the words he wanted to say, though they never made it to the air. He'd spoken them long ago, on a day Aerith so badly wanted to forget: the day Sephiroth had dragged her to Midgar and, in the end, stabbed Cloud in the arm, thereafter revoking his reasons for wanting to travel to the city. Aerith had nearly succumbed to her wounds, but somehow, in his presence, she had eventually healed.

And if I have to go through you, Sephiroth, so be it. Aerith deserves better, Cloud had shouted.

Aerith shook her head. "Cloud, you have more important things to worry about…"

His eyes flicked to hers, the strange and unfamiliar concern showing its face again there. "How can you say that?"

"You have Tifa." She reached out with one weak hand and touched his wounded shoulder. "Go."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he stood and looked down at her. "Fine…"

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the door. The news reviewed its story about Sephiroth. Aerith turned the TV off.

Cloud and Tifa and the others had given her a room above Seventh Heaven; the rest of the members of AVALANCHE stayed out late, went home, or slept downstairs. Only Cloud and Tifa occupied the rooms upstairs. Though Aerith felt grateful to them for allowing her, hardly familiar to them after what had happened with Sephiroth, to take up space in an area they called their own, she rarely went back to her bedroom at night to sleep. Sometimes she sat in the next room over and watched the stories about Jenova and the Lifestream come on and go off. Other times she stood by the window and stared out at the sky for hours.

Tonight, after her confrontation with Cloud, she felt willing to try and obey his instructions. She crossed the hall to the bedroom they had offered her and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She lay down on the mattress without disturbing the sheets spread there and closed her eyes, hoping to descend into dreamless sleep, praying her mind would be free of thoughts of the Lifestream.

That, of course, did not happen.

She opened her eyes to see Sephiroth standing over her, his eyes free of Mako and their true color, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Without thinking she reached up to brush her thumb across his mouth, and he responded by leaning closer to her—close enough that his nose touched her cheek, close enough that if Aerith moved even the slightest bit, her lips might brush against his.

But she didn't move. She froze.

Her breath shuddered in her lungs as she cast her eyes down, only to see that a thin, curved blade slid through her abdomen. Her lips parted in shock; her eyes widened and her breath stopped. For an entire second, she didn't even feel pain.

But the pain hit her soon enough. She threw her head back and screamed, the sound cutting through the air like a second sword. Sephiroth didn't pull the blade from her body; instead he pushed it deeper, leaned closer so that his lips brushed her ear, and whispered words to her.

"Aerith," he murmured, "I love you."