Amidst the chaos, she remembered.

I am Tifa.

(Burn the memories; let the hunger flow.)

No. My name is Tifa. I am Tifa Lockhart.

(Don't fight it; sleep and let go.)

NO! My name is Tifa Lockhart! I am Tifa!

It knew this feeling; it was familiar.

(Its Chosen and Their Names)

I am Tifa! I am Tifa!

(But...)

I AM TIFA LOCKHART!

(It was not time.)

It slept, and Tifa asserted.


When Mr. Lockhart found Tifa, it took all his strength not to crush her with his arms. He had thought he could not feel anymore since his wife died, but as soon as Johnny ran to his door, his face covered in sweat and dirt, shouting about how Tifa had gone to the mountains, it was all Mr. Lockhart could do not too faint from sheer horror.

He had already lost his wife. Must he lose his daughter as well?

"Tifa are you all right?" His daughter was propped against the dirt wall; her dress torn, but he saw no signs of injuries. The boy, however…

The Strife boy was covered in multitudes of cuts and bruises. Mr. Lockhart noted that the boy's breath was shallow, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Tifa was carefully cradling him, whispering something in his ear, and taking no notice of her father.

"Shiva, we need to get him to doctor," he heard Robert exclaim behind him.

"Tifa…" A nod from her head indicated she heard him, but her eyes were locked onto Cloud.

"Papa, Papa please help Cloud! He tried to help me, but the bridge fell and he got hurt and it's all my fault!" she said before breaking into sobs.

"Tifa, it's all right, it's okay, sweetie. Come, we have to get Cloud to the doctor," he said and then carefully took Cloud into his arms. "Come now, let's go home."

They needed to be quick; the sun was setting, and he knew even his team could not hope to defeat the monsters that came out then. Only hours later did he notice that something was different.

Once Cloud was tended to, the Mayor went off to see his daughter. She was placed under quarantine, but the doctor deemed it safe enough for him to visit her for not more than ten minutes.

Part of him knew that what Tifa did was an act of grief; that in trying to understand death, her child-like mind made up the story that somehow, her mother had simply vanished beyond the mountain, and gone on a very long trip that she would not come back from. He understood the idea but it did not mean he was not furious (with her or with himself, he didn't care).

However, as soon as he saw her vulnerable figure huddled up on the clinic's bed, her face pale and eyes wide with fear, he felt the anger ebb away. In time, he would have to speak with Tifa about how dangerous her actions were, but that would be far in the future. Right now, all he wanted was for Tifa to get better.

"Papa…is Cloud okay?" she asked, her body shaking with fear.

"He's fine, Tifa." It was the truth; the doctor said something about how unbelievably lucky the children were in surviving a fall that high. Cloud would heal in time and suffer no more than superficial cuts, bruises, and a sprained ankle. Tifa, he noted, was near miraculous; with the exception of her eyes, there were no injuries at all.

"I'm sorry Papa, I know you said…n-not to go, b-but I wanted to see…" Her words dissolved into sobs and tears, and he gently held his daughter in his arms.

"There, there honey, I know. It's okay; just don't do it again."

Tifa looked up, hiccoughed, and nodded.

"Um, Papa?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, Papa," she apologised again. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Tifa thought about Cloud and how terrible he looked when she found him. She had been so stupid and she'd nearly killed both him and her friends. Her Mama would be so disappointed if she had done that, she'd probably refuse to see her—her foolish daughter who nearly killed her friends.

She did not realise that she had started crying again until her Papa's gentle hands wiped her tears aside.

"I'm stupid, Papa," she hiccoughed.

"No, Tifa, your actions were stupid." She winced at her Papa's firm voice, and he continued, "…But you're my smart little girl, who will learn from her mistakes." He tipped her chin so that they met eye to eye. "From now on, you are never to go up that mountain without supervision, and you must always tell me where you want to go, okay?" He did not need to tell her the consequences of what would happen if she did not heed him, and she nodded fiercely. "Pinky promise?" He held out his pinky and Tifa looped it with hers.

"Pinky promise!" she answered and enveloped him in a fierce hug.

"Excuse me, Sir? I'm afraid it's time," Nurse Mary, a stout, ageing woman with a kindly face, called out from the crack at the door.

"Can't Papa stay here?" she asked, tightening her grip on his arm.

"I'm sorry dear but Mr. Lockhart needs to rest," Nurse Mary said with a glance towards him.

"But- "

"It's okay Tifa, I'll stay," he assured her.

Nurse Mary looked worriedly at him, "Mr. Lockhart, the doctor –"

"I need to be with my daughter, Mary. Tell Doctor Garland that," he cut her off with a tone that brook no opposition. Nurse Mary had a face that wanted to suggest something else, but she sighed, nodded, and left the room.

He felt Tifa relaxing beside him, and saw those eyes staring up at him.

Mutations from Mako had been recorded, and he had witnessed first-hand what happened to any person who fell into a Mako spring or ingested a poisonous Mako plant for too long. It was never pretty, and it was almost always fatal. (That is, until ShinRa found a way to harvest its powers, but aside from the reactor and abandoned mansion, they were far away). So far, Tifa did not exhibit any known side-effects and appeared to be quite healthy, except for eyes that were now bright green with unnatural cat-like pupils.

They had been his wife's eyes. In looks, Tifa inherited his, but her eyes were all Sara's. Some part of him felt angry that this one memory of his wife had been stolen, but he suppressed it.

"Papa, can I see Cloud?" she asked, before a yawn escaped her lips.

"We can see him tomorrow. You need to rest and get better." He began to arrange the furniture in the clinic's ward to settle down for the night. "How about a bedtime story?" he asked, but Tifa's eyes were shut, and she replied to him with a tiny snore.

Suddenly, he felt the day's events taking its toll on his body. Every part of him ached, and it was only now that he realised he had not eaten since the morning. He had not brought a fresh set of clothes, and probably stank to the high heavens, but as soon as he saw his daughter sleeping on the bed, he realised he did not care.

His daughter was safe; that was all that mattered.


Interregnum


For any man, the draft for the Wutai War was a death-sentence.

It did not matter that ShinRa had better technology, their famous SOLDIER detachment, and excellent retirement benefits. Despite efforts (and threats) by ShinRa to portray the SOLDIER and army life as an exciting (albeit dangerous) adventure, rumours of horrific hazing, inhuman experiments, and unpleasant deaths still managed to reach the general population.

Some tried to protest the draft, believing that to force men to fight a war they did not believe in infringed on their rights as free men. Their protests never lasted long, and invariably faded as the war continued.

Sephiroth, however, was not an average man.

To him, the war was freedom.


When Sephiroth first joined SOLDIER (right and proper; not just simulations and mock wars), a 1st Class called him an overrated pretty boy. It took him less than a minute to prevent said 'title' from becoming popular by the rest of the army. (Unless they were very brave and about a continent away.) As for the SOLDIER, he was discharged honourably, and his diagnosis was positive—he would walk within five years or so.

"So, I heard you're very good." The man provoking him this time had auburn hair, mako blue eyes, and was dressed in red leather and an air of superiority.

The last challenger went home with a broken arm, and solidified Sephiroth's reputation as The Swordsman SOLDIER in the ranks. It also had the unfortunate side-effect of thinning the herd of challengers.

Until today…

"I'd like to challenge that." A blade appeared, red and heavy.

Sephiroth didn't bother to smile, but it came when his blade clashed with his challenger's. Rather than collapsing like most men, this one stood erect.

He felt his blood sing for battle.

The duel went on for two hours. The friendship would last longer.


Genesis, as he learned his name later on, was extremely persistent. While most men would have backed away after seeing what Sephiroth could do, Genesis kept coming back.

"Hmph, you were lucky last time, but let's fight this time with real swords!" One hour and fourty-five minutes later , Genesis came out from with an impromptu haircut.

"Well! Though you may have won the battle between blades, it's with Materia I will win this war!" One hour. This time Genesis left without eyebrows.

"Hah! Sephiroth, I doubt even you can best me with both blade and Materia!" Thirty minutes. Sephiroth mused whether to give him a brand new hairstyle or simply leave the man bald for the next few weeks.

Then, a stray Firaga struck a dragons' nest.


"You're an idiot, you know that?" a man with dark hair, mako blue eyes, and standard SOLDIER uniform interrupted.

"I was this close to winning!" Genesis answered with an unimpressed snort.

"No, you were this close to losing your head –" Angeal (his name was on his dog-tag) started angrily.

"-do you actually think that mere dragons could kill me?" Genesis retorted. Sephiroth noted that Genesis hid his pain quite well.

"- it doesn't matter! It's bad enough we're losing men to Wutai. Why must you go around trying to kill one of our own?"

"I don't want to kill him!" Genesis glared. "I just want to see if he's as strong as they say."

"What? The haircuts didn't clue you in?" Angeal then turned towards Sephiroth's bed. "My apologies, but Genesis can be incredibly stubborn," he said.

"I prefer 'determined'," the red-head exclaimed.

"I will try to keep him from bothering you," Angeal ignored him. "However, since my friend here can be quite hard-headed, could you at least try to confront him within the training area? While I do believe Genesis could use the exercise-"

"DUEL!"

"—exercise, I'd rather prevent any more incidents like today."

Most men would rather face Bahamut unarmed than staring at Sephiroth the way Angeal did.

It was probably why he'd accepted.


After his discharge (which earned him a call from Hojo, that he promptly ignored), Angeal had taken to the task of making sure both Genesis and Sephiroth would hold to their promise.

Which was why, when they both approached the training grounds, Sephiroth had held his sword in the attacking position. He had analysed every angle and ensured that the victory that would come would be swift and involve some hairstyle changes.

Genesis was clearly not paying attention at all; instead, he seemed quite enamoured by a small book in his hand, the title of which was LOVELESS.

"…"

"There was a famous theatre director who recently joined one of the 3rd Classes," Angeal offered an explanation. "It keeps him out of trouble, anyway."

It was the first time Sephiroth heard a play being recited. He learned later (though he wished otherwise) it would not be his last.


Sephiroth knew what friendship was. He had read about it; memorised its meanings, symbolism, and various ways it could be made and broken. (Next to 'family', this was one word he researched thoroughly.)

That didn't prepare him for when it unfolded before his eyes.

Nobody in SOLDIER were willing to fraternise with him—too many broken limbs and egos to count—and he valued privacy too greatly to have cultivated any on his own behalf. His rank and reputation allowed that status quo to remain unchanged, and any friendly gestures were met with an impenetrable silence. He learned that this was the best way to avoid unnecessary socializing.

(Also… because friendship requires emotion, and emotions are bad, bad, understood, take that needle away from me—)

He realised that responding to both Genesis and Angeal the same way he did others simply made them hound him even more. Genesis, proud of his skills, made it his business to duel his 'rival' at any given opportunity. Angeal, who wanted to ensure no more 'accidents', would materialise soon after. (It made Sephiroth wonder if the man had been imbued with some sort of teleporting materia).

He was unused to it.

He found Genesis' habit of quoting lines from LOVELESS during duels incredibly irritating, and Angeal's insistence at every hour to rest, going through safety protocols both before and after every fight to be quite insulting.

"I know that you think this is unnecessary. However, it's not that I doubt you for being thorough," Angeal explained during downtime. Then he glanced at Genesis, who was busy examining his newest rapier, "…but it's not something one should take for granted."

"We are SOLDIERs; injuries heal rapidly," Sephiroth retorted bitingly.

"That does not mean it should happen," he sighed. "I don't like watching my friends getting hurt."

To anyone who saw them, Sephiroth's expression seemed indifferent, and Angeal treated it as such.

It was, however, noted that Sephiroth never complained about safety protocols ever again.

(And in the future, when all was lost, this was the last memory he let go…)


resumption


The letter on his desk looked ordinary, but then it was Hojo's skill to turn anything ordinary into something incredibly sinister.

You are required for annual treatments…lack of updates, unprofessional…And it was only the lack of Materia that stopped Sephiroth from burning the piece of paper to the ground.

Hojo must have known that he had a free and empty schedule. Usually he filled this up with meetings and training (dueling, insisted a stubborn red-head). However, it was the time of the Cold Peace, as the momentary truce between ShinRa and Wutai were called among the ranks, and both Genesis and Angeal had taken the opportunity to visit their families. He'd declined their invitations, though in hindsight he should have accepted.

Part of him wished the Cold Peace had arrived later, when he was officially twenty-one years old and legally responsible enough to distance himself from the Science Research Division. Though his eighteenth birthday meant being able to refuse any 'unnecessary' treatments, Hojo always found ways to turn them 'necessary'. The fact that the letter had the President's official signature made it clear he could not be absent.

He marched steadily through the halls of the 67th Floor. The lab assistants and administrators gave him a wide berth. Normally, this display of power gave him a minor thrill, but it was not enough to prevent every part of him from regressing back to the helpless little boy that he believed he had left behind.

The smell of metal and chemicals mingling always made him sick. No sword would make him flinch harder than a scalpel, and even when he thought he was immune to the stench, that man found ways to make it worse. And the mako—its taste lingered even after the strongest drink.

He felt dizzy and found himself using all his willpower not to shake.

It was probably the only reason for his momentary lapse of judgment. (No SOLDIER would have made the mistake; their reflexes were too good).

At first he thought he had lost control when his vision shook. Then, he realised that something had crashed into him. Instinctively, his entire body shifted into fighting position, his arm deftly disarming the creature that had collided into him. He was about to move in for the kill, when he realised he wasn't holding one of Hojo's mutated experiments.

It was a girl.

A little girl had bumped into him.

But it was not that fact that bothered him; neither was it the fact that he nearly hurt a child (or that there was another child in the Science Research Department).

("TIFA!" a man shouted.)

The sounds of the world faded as he found himself staring into a pair of eyes.

Green eyes that were so much like his.


A/N: I want to thank Sorrow with a Human Heart for BETA-ing this chapter. Also, to all those who have reviewed, followed and favourited, its greatly appreciated.