DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN FF7 OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS

Prologue:

On the fourth floor of Midgar City Hospital, the solitary patient in ward 7 lay on his back and thought hard while he stared at the ceiling. There was little else for him to do. He'd already lost one leg, and got less and less movement out of the other one with each passing day. His right arm was a mangled mess, and his left arm was his only remaining functional limb. His neck and face were almost entirely covered by bandages to hide his horrific scarring, but a few tufts of blond hair still stuck out between the folds in the gauze. That wasn't even the worst of it: his internal injuries were far more serious. Eating was getting difficult, and even breathing was becoming painful. His one remaining eye blinked as he gazed up at the white ceiling tiles.

Rufus knew he was dying. The medical staff spoke encouraging words in an attempt to aid his recovery, but he knew there was no hope left for him now. His life had effectively ended the moment Weapon had attacked the Shinra building, blasting Rufus down a set of stairs to land on a jagged metal edge – probably part of a support strut – which had ruptured one of his lungs, and left him bleeding to death. That he'd been discovered and pulled from the building alive was miracle enough. That had been ten days ago and he had only deteriorated since then. Five days ago – or was it six? – he'd heard the news that Sephiroth was no more, Meteor was gone, and that they were saved.

It was an ignominious end for the President of the greatest organisation the Planet had ever seen. He'd have been happier to have been killed outright in the Weapon attack. At least there would have been some honour in such a death, instead of fading away to nothing in a hospital bed, becoming more and more helpless. Rufus knew who was to blame for his current condition: those damned terrorists! He knew full well that Weapon had fired the shots that crippled him, and that Sephiroth was the one who had summoned Meteor, but the ones he held responsible were the AVALANCHE. Everything had started to go wrong once they had appeared on the scene: the Sephiroth attacks, the Meteor crisis, not to mention the death of his father and every top ranking Shinra employee save himself and Palmer.

Only one thing filled his mind: revenge. He only had a short while remaining, and he knew he must set plans in motion to ensure that the terrorists followed him to the grave. Luckily he had just the perfect method. He allowed himself a cracked, malevolent smile as he thought about it. They had never even realised. Of the eight members of AVALANCHE, one of them had been in Rufus' pay all along, and even now would merely be waiting to be contacted, in order to carry out Rufus' bidding. Rufus wanted to laugh, but all that would come was a dry, hacking cough. He turned his head to the left, rested on the pillow, and reached out with his good arm to pick up the telephone on the table beside him.

* * *

Eight of them stood at the edge of the lake where Aeris had been put to rest, listening solemnly as Cloud said a few well-chosen words to commemorate the last Cetra: how she'd grown up knowing she was somehow different, how she'd become an integral part of the struggle for the life of the Planet, how she'd eventually given her life in her attempt to summon Holy, how she'd died before her time, never having the chance to live the life that might have been.

Cloud Strife, the leader of the party, probably the saddest of them all, the one who'd known Aeris the best and would miss her the most. He fought to keep control of himself, to keep the overwhelming weight of emotion he felt out of his voice, remembering that awful, terrible moment when Aeris had been killed – murdered – by Sephiroth.

Tifa Lockheart, who'd shared a strange yet instinctive bond with Aeris, and had recognised a kindred spirit in the young Ancient. She tried and failed to hold back the tears that leaked slowly from her eyes and dripped on to the ground, falling with an irregular rhythm, like the first drops of rain falling on to the soil to nurture the flowers, as Aeris had done.

Barret Wallace, who stood stolid and silent at Tifa's side, who'd seen the death of far too many friends over the years: Biggs, Wedge, Jessie, Dyne and now Aeris. He'd since learned to cope with the death of a friend, but it still didn't make it any easier. His hands were clasped in front of him, his real arm and his prosthetic limb which had been attached after the Meteor crisis, when he swore he'd devote his life to caring for his daughter and never use a weapon again.

Cid Highwind, who hadn't known Aeris well, since he'd been the last to join the party, but still recognised how important she had been to his friends, and to the wellbeing of the Planet also. He rested the butt of his spear against the soft ground and wondered: what now? What path would he and the others be lead along now that Aeris was gone and the Meteor crisis was over? Would they remain together or separate to go their own ways?

Cait Sith, standing with his head bowed and his ears drooping downwards as a sign of his sorrow. The miniature cat wiped away a tear and the larger stuffed animal mimicked the action. He remembered that day in the Temple of the Ancients, when he'd predicted the future Cloud and Aeris might have together. For him, that was the saddest thing of all: the future she would never have.

Vincent Valentine, who brooded silently, emotionlessly, as always. Swathed in the folds of his dark crimson cloak, he thought about Aeris and felt nothing. He had expected as much. He was no longer able to feel emotions: pity, love, sadness or regret – save one. Anger. It was anger, anger at Hojo, that had driven him to join the party, and now he felt only anger at the death of Aeris. He knew it was time to cast aside such feelings and try to build a new future in a world that was free of Sephiroth and Hojo and Shinra, but he couldn't.

Yuffie Kisaragi, the young selfish ninja, who'd gone through her sixteen years hardly ever thinking of anyone other than herself. Still a child, she was unable to understand Aeris' passing in the same way as the others. Yuffie was sad that a friend had died, but she failed to grasp the enormity of the situation. Perhaps in time, she would learn.

Red XIII, the red-furred lion, inclined his head towards the ground as a solemn mark of respect for Aeris. He regretted that he would never have a chance to get to know her better, as he'd always wanted to. Right from the moment he'd first met her, he'd sensed something was unusual about this girl. Whether it was an animal sense or something higher than that, he'd never been able to tell. And now, he never would. Red closed his eyes and uttered a low howl of mourning that was below the range of human hearing. He mourned the death of a dear friend, and the loss of the last protector of the Planet.

One of these eight was a traitor.