Small shiver ran down his spine as night's chilly air touched his skin. Darkness looming behind him whispered with soft murmur of a wind, low enough to be just barely heard, even by his enhanced hearing, but the meaning of these words was out of reach to his understanding. It was funny, really, how bonfires made people remember things which supposed to be long lost in their memory.

He left his tent and sat by the dying fire some time ago. Everything was quite in their camp – in the whole planet - under the cold gaze of uncaring stars. Silence and stillness, while guarding the safety of his comrades' sleep, made his thoughts drift to the reason of his most recent insomnia, wrapped in too many sensations and this ridiculous certainty to be just a figment of his subconsciousness. Because, their – AVALANCHE'S – last encounter with Sephiroth seemed to brought back his old dream. His former hero's green eyes reminded him so much – too much – of the emerald wonder's of an endless oceans of liquid Mako, the essence of the Lifestream.

He remembered drowning in it. Not only his body was being swallowed by the cold substance, but also his mind was being lost somewhere in the green depth. He lived – no, existed – in a place full of nothingness, not feeling nor wanting to feel anything ever again. Being and not being at the same time. His body wasn't containing him anymore as the borders of his consciousness had been blurring and it was melting softly, mixing with Mako, till all that was left was just a void. And then, his state had been broken. He heard a voice – or maybe he only felt the vibrations it would have caused, if the words were being murmured against his neck – calling out a word, a name - his name, pleading to stay, to hold on. There was a hand reaching out towards him and it was so close, so close – he could feel the thrill of a raw pleasure, the sensation of that butterfly touch overwhelming him as with a small moan he gave the other, his surrender to experience it again and again – yet so far away, separated by the glass of Mako tube. And there were those eyes, full of worry – so happy – love – and acceptance, always, no matter what – passion – and lust. Whose? Whose they were?

Not Aeris, not Tifa, not even his mother. Who?

Darkness bend over and hissed sharply into his ear ...you know him, you just have to remember –

- What? Was it really important? Could a far-off dream be a scattered memory? That man – what was his name again?

"Cloud?"

Purely out of instinct he grabbed his sword out, turned around ready to fight with whoever interrupt his moment of peace, only to find Tifa. He sighed.

"Why you're not sleeping?" she inquired, fighting a small yawn. Judging by her tossed hair and groggy expression she was probably sleeping just a minute ago.

"Couldn't" he answered shortly. For some reason he felt shaken. His heart was beating fast, his head started to ache as always, when he was trying to recall something from five years ago. He felt as if his very being was desperately reaching out for something – someone? – but his mind was running in circles, totally, utterly confused. "Go back to sleep, Tifa" he said went back to his tent, ignoring his friend's concerned expression.

Behind him the fire died out completely. The darkness couldn't give him his answers. It wasn't the time yet.