In the few seconds after Sephiroth spoke the empty field rang with a deafening sort of silence. It was as if Cloud's heart, too, previously so loud and thundering in the buggy night, had silenced as well. Quiet fell, thick frightening quiet like death.
But then the eyebrows on the thing rose. It was an undeniably human gesture, especially when paired with a puzzled, almost frustrated expression. Nothing else was human or familiar, not with moonlight shining through a tall, well-formed figure and lighting it up almost from the inside. It was enough, however, to shock Cloud out of his awed stupor and scramble a few feet backward to sit on a new patch of grass a few feet back.
The man's feet did not move (and although he was standing the grass underfoot was not flattened and stood up tall into the translucent form of a pair of thick boots). He did, however, move his hands from the pockets of his coat to his pants as he studied Cloud with that critical expression.
"Yeah," Cloud breathed, "Yeah, I can see you."
The man rocked back on his heels, looking almost…nervous?
"I see," came that deep, faraway voice again. Cloud found himself leaning forward to hear it and quickly climbed to his feet. Still the man towered over him a bit—the history books hadn't exaggerated his height, then.
Shaking his head Cloud ran a hand through his messy, wind-blown hair and asked, "I—Sephiroth…is it you?"
"Sephiroth," the ghost replied (and a 'ghost' was all Cloud could think to call it). It frowned, plush, well-shaped lips turning down into a deep frown. "You said that before. …That's my name."
The ghost—Sephiroth?—seemed to then ignore Cloud entirely as it stared off into the dark depths of the field, not in the direction of town but the opposite, at large swaths of empty, largely untouched battleground. "That's my name," it said again, quietly.
Cloud waited in tense silence, watching 'Sephiroth' think. He could see right through him to the tall weeds whipping around from the breeze on his other side. The man's figure was still full of that strange moonlight; other than the moon itself and the lights of Cloud's car still idling back on the road he was the brightest thing in the field. The light was dim nonetheless; Cloud almost had to squint to see him. "Are you a…a ghost?"
For a moment Sephiroth's face contorted in confusion, then smoothed out into eerie slackness. "A what?"
"A—A, uh, a ghost," Cloud answered. "Unless I'm going crazy. You—Sephiroth Crescent—died over two hundred years ago."
"I died?" The man's hands came out of his pockets and he inspected them closely, turning them over several times. Slowly he raised one up to the moon. Cloud watched, mesmerized by the simple movement.
"I died," Sephiroth repeated slowly, like he could not believe it. Then, his hand still up in the air, his head snapped over to Cloud again. "I am very tired."
"You must be," Cloud said, mouth running on autopilot as his brain hurried to catch up. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what's going on—do you remember what happened? Or do you know what year it is? It's—"
"No," Sephiroth grimaced. "Stop talking. I am…"
Cloud stumbled forward to hear what he was saying as his voice grew quieter and quieter. Sephiroth gave Cloud a pleading look filled with something like infinite sadness. "…Tired," he finished, and his eyes closed. Then the light inside him began to lose some of that enchanting brightness.
"No no no," Cloud stammered, "No, please, Sephiroth—don't go."
His words were for naught, though, and Sephiroth faded from sight before his eyes. Nothing—there was nothing where seconds ago had been something, whatever that something was. Speechless Cloud stuck out an arm and waved it through where Sephiroth had stood. Nothing.
Abruptly Cloud became aware of how utterly alone he was. The darkness of the surrounding fields became foreboding, a void of unspeakable things of a world Cloud had never even considered before. The wind whistled through the grass louder than before, a long, pronounced whine like a wolf on the hunt or a witch cackling into the night.
Cloud scooped up his keys and backpack and ran, loud and breathless in the otherwise still night. The snagging of weeds and underbrush on his sneakers were hellhounds nipping at his heels; he nearly tripped on the uneven terrain before skidding into the side of his car, shaking and pale and sweaty with a kind of terror he could not explain.
The tires rolled uselessly on the loose dirt of the road before finding enough traction to lurch forward. He did a quick 3-point turn in the small, cramped space before speeding off in the direction of civilization. Cloud rolled up the windows and repeatedly glanced in his rearview mirror as if expecting to see something chasing the car or waiting in the backseat like in a horror movie.
It was not until he had passed his home and was almost out of Nibelheim that he realized the incessant thoughts of doom were probably due to the panic attack he was on the verge of having, as he had been sucking down deep, terrified breaths of air ever since the apparition had faded away back in the field.
He opened the windows again, comforted by the quaint lights of the small Nibelheian houses and let the cool air soothe his flushed face and neck. He still felt self-conscious and a little numb, however—physically but mentally too.
"A ghost?" Cloud asked out loud. He sounded ridiculous to his own ears.
He drowned out the screaming of his own thoughts with the radio, keeping it on until he eventually pulled into the garage of his building in Midgar. He got out, legs shaky and feeling dizzy, and went upstairs.
He slept with the lights on and his door open to avoid looking at the piercing eyes of the Sephiroth poster on the back of it.
He seriously should have seen it coming. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" Yuffie laughed upon seeing him the next morning. Cloud had arrived to class early that day as he had been largely unable to sleep the night before. His eyes were dark and bagged and he looked ill, sitting still while harshly gripping his pen and staring at the clock by the door and waiting for everyone else to arrive.
"Oh," Cloud said listlessly, offering her a humorless smile, "Heh, yeah."
Yuffie frowned but sat next to him and was blessedly quiet until the classroom began to fill up more. Shelke loudly and robotically cited all the best books she had abstracted the evening before to anyone who would listen as they waited for Rufus to show up; Cloud buried his head in his arms and focused on breathing, breathing.
Cloud's hearing muffled like he had shoved them full of cotton, but whether that was due to him intentionally ignoring everyone, dozing off or passing out onto his notebook he was unsure. He eventually roused again when Rufus' perky voice announced, "Good morning, darlings. It is good to see you all looking so fresh and excited to learn."
A few tired groans were his only response. Cloud picked his head up, blinking and disoriented. He caught Squall's concerned face from across the room; when he realized Cloud was awake and looking back he quickly turned his attention to Rufus.
"Anybody have any interesting developments? Anything for the Wall of Agony?"
"I do," Reno volunteered. He pulled out his phone and showed the class a picture of himself, shirtless, sitting on the top of a dusty—and burning hot by the looks of it—abandoned rail car. "I scraped my knee on this rusty pipe yesterday while I was poking around." He enlarged the photo and thrust it in the faces of those who were closest to reveal a thick, bloody cut on his knee. Proudly he rolled up the loose track pants he was wearing to reveal a thick swaddle of bandages, one of which looked like it badly needed to be changed. "I got stitches for it, yo!"
"Reno," Firion cried, for as much as he loved his weapons he could not handle blood or injuries. "Oh, my god—I'm going to be sick."
"How many?" Shekle asked morbidly, getting out of her seat to peer over Elena's shoulder at it.
"Ugh." Firion turned his head away and a few people laughed.
Cloud watched blandly as Rufus peered at the photo and handed it back with his lip curling. "…Lovely," he said, and handed it back. "Anybody else have anything noteworthy to share—preferably something that will not cause fainting?"
Cissnei shared a funny story about someone she encountered while doing field research, Cid shared something about being yelled at by police for a reason or another, and Yuffie thumb-tacked a printed version of the photo Cloud had sent her of herself to the Wall.
After giving them some general tips and giving a signature long speech that made everyone's eyes glaze over Rufus said, "Okay. Some of us are lagging behind—a few of you have still not scheduled conferences—so in order to scare us into getting our asses in gear we're going to sit in a circle and each of us will give an update. Peachy?"
No one moved, and Reno, always eager to give Rufus shit, groaned, "Aw, come on, Rufus! What are we, Undergrad?"
"Move it!"
The class begrudgingly moved their desks with loud groanings of metal on wood until they were in a circle and feeling very small. Rufus gestured at Elena to begin and she said, a bit awkwardly, "Well, uh… I don't entirely have a research question yet but I was looking at this small town in Mideel that…"
Cloud tuned her out and stared blankly instead at somewhere over her head. In turn a few more members of his class went, and as they got closer and closer to Cloud, sitting between Yuffie and Firion, he began to panic. Not because he was shy or had stage fright, but because something was very, very wrong with casually updating his colleagues about his progress when—when the world was suddenly so much bigger than it used to be! But size was scary; how was he supposed to act like everything was normal when his whole universe had shifted the evening before?
What was he supposed to say? "Yeah, guys—I think I found the ghost of Sephiroth Crescent?" Tseng, on Yuffie's other side, began talking and a heavy sense of dread began creeping over Cloud's body. Holy shit, an update—Cloud took a shaky breath.
Halfway through Tseng's boring narration of a trip to a museum Cloud hurriedly stood, nearly knocking his chair over, and with a few mumbled pardon mes staggered out of the classroom and into the hallway, feeling everybody's eyes on him.
He ran for the bathroom and entered the single stall, bending over just in time to puke his meager breakfast into the bowl. He dropped to his knees and shuddered through another wave of it. Thrice more he threw up and shivered weakly, spent, forehead resting on his crooked arm. It was a small surprise when someone started rubbing his back, as he hadn't heard them enter, but then came his best friend's reassuring voice: "You okay?"
"Yeah," Cloud rasped, "'M fine."
They waited a few minutes, Cloud relaxing with his eyes closed and Reno dutifully continuing his massage until Cloud felt well enough to sit up.
"Got nervous about speaking?" Reno asked tentatively.
"Hell no," Cloud answered. He stood slowly and flushed the toilet. He did not offer anything else, though, and Reno held out his backpack.
"I grabbed your stuff. Wanna ditch?"
"Yes," Cloud said with a grateful grin. He rinsed out his mouth, splashed some cold water on his face and took his backpack. They left together, Cloud not sparing a thought as to what was going on in the classroom. The transition from stuffy old history building to the hot sun of Midgar was good for Cloud; he took a deep breath of fresh air and felt much better.
Reno stayed quiet as they hiked back to their cars, waiting for Cloud to open up, and he eventually did. "Hey, Reno…" Cloud began, gripping the straps of his backpack, "…Something weird happened yesterday."
"Hmm."
"I was with this guy—no, not like that—just talking, right. I told him how I was having trouble with my thesis, and he told me to just…go, y'know? Wherever I felt like I had to go. So I did. I had this really compelling feeling, so I followed—I can't explain it. I ended up back home, but near one of the old battle fields." He paused, glanced at his friend, and asked quietly, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
"What, you saw a ghost out there?"
Reno's smile fell when he saw how serious Cloud was being. "For real!?"
"It was the craziest thing, Reno. I swear I am not kidding. I talked to it. It talked to me. Then it faded after a few minutes and I got the fuck out of there."
Reno whistled, long and impressed. "Well, uh, I've never believed in that sort of stuff. Are you sure it wasn't any of that haunted ghost tour shit they like to do out there?"
"I'm not stupid," Cloud snapped, "Of course it wasn't. I—" he swallowed and harshly threw his backpack into the passenger seat of his car as they arrived. "I'm not crazy, right?"
"You've always been crazy, yo," Reno joked, "But I doubt that's what's goin' on here." He shrugged. "Like I said, I don't believe in that stuff but, I mean, who knows—I never say I'm a hundred percent right about anything."
"I could have really met a ghost," Cloud said softly.
Another shrug. "I guess."
Cloud sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Sorry, man, it's just—that messed me up a little, you know?"
"I fuckin' bet!" Reno's smile was kind and non-judging. "So what are you gonna do about it?"
"Oh…I don't know. I guess I should go back. I wasn't going to, but my inner historian is curious."
"Need me to hold your hand and bring a flashlight?"
"No."
"Just don't end up like one of the people on those stupid haunting re-enactment shows, alright?"
"Haha, will do."
They parted ways amicably and although Cloud was pretty sure Reno did not believe him their chat still did wonders to soothe his worry. Before he felt completely overwhelmed, the whole 'very small speck in a great big universe' thing, but Reno helped him put things in perspective, or at least be able to joke about it.
So, he had met what he was pretty sure was a ghost last night—and not any ghost but that of his hero. Not a big deal, right? He could handle it, right?
Who on Gaia was he kidding?
He was only halfway through dinner when he could not stand it anymore. He scooped everything left on his plate into a tupperware container and scurried to his bedroom to grab his backpack and an empty notebook, though he doubted he'd use it. Then, keys in hand, he departed for Nibelheim.
It was a horrible no-good very bad idea but he couldn't help it. All day he had been thinking about it. At first he was not even considering it, happy to chalk it all up to eating something funky the day before and hallucinating. The texts he received that afternoon solidified that resolve. Yuffie and Firion asked him if he was okay after his (admittedly overdramatic) exit from class earlier. Even Rufus sent him an email with no content but with a subject, Feeling better? It was strangely disappointing to not get anything from Squall despite not expecting anything. Regardless he had friends who cared about him—why would he want to ruin that by revisiting the thing that had made him so distressed in the first place? Ignorance was bliss, and in the case of somehow discovering what could only be a ghost that was doubly true; he could have gone without the panicked questioning of his existence, thanks.
This, however, was the so-called ghost of Sephiroth Crescent. From a young age Cloud had made involving himself in matters concerning Sephiroth Crescent his job. So at 9pm on a late summer night he rolled past his mom's house for the third time in two days and continued past it to the battlefield he had visited yesterday. Strangely enough it was not hard to find. Like the day previous he just sort of knew where to stop, eventually parking, turning off the engine and taking several deep breaths before cautiously getting out at an otherwise unremarkable section of field.
The wind was calmer today. Instead of a terrifying tempest the breeze was cool, almost refreshing. The moon was a big brighter—it would probably be full in another week and a half. Cloud slung his backpack over one shoulder and grabbed his flashlight, the one he kept around so he could piss if the power went out in his apartment. It was weak but sufficient for illuminating the ground, at least, so he would not trip again.
"Sephiroth?" Cloud hissed into the darkness, afraid to take more than a few small steps away from his car. There was no magic materializing and no answer.
This would require more effort, then. Alright. Cloud set his jaw and strode into the field with his head held high. The flashlight's beam when he waved it around revealed nothing but empty, grassy plain. It was unable to penetrate the darkness of the forest far-off to his left but he saw a few bats clustered deep in the back of the field.
"General Crescent?" Cloud whispered. Again nothing happened so he abandoned his straight trajectory and began wandering around aimlessly, sweeping his flashlight along the ground and feeling foolish. With each passing minute Cloud felt more and more self-conscious but persisted. If no one and no thing showed up, fine—he had clearly been hallucinating the night before and would move on with his happy, un-supernatural life.
But even if there was a small chance of all this being reality, he had to explore it. He had to be sure.
"General Crescent," Cloud called, his voice easily swallowed up by the battlefield, "Are you here? …General Crescent? Sephiroth?"
"Damn," Cloud cursed after a few more minutes of this and headed for his car. He turned around, squinting at what looked like a rabbit hole in the grass so he would not twist an ankle in it. He navigated around it and kept going, his vision going silver and blurry for a moment. He took another few steps before whirling around.
"G-General," Cloud stuttered, realizing what had happened. He walked right through the ghost without noticing it! There was no creepy cold spot or anything, but a quick glance at his arms confirmed he had goosebumps.
"It's you again."
"Yes," Cloud affirmed with an earnest nod, "It's me. Oh, my name is Cloud."
"Cloud," Sephiroth repeated. He seemed more alert than yesterday, though it was hard for Cloud to hold eye contact with a translucent form. "Why did you come back?"
"I wanted to talk to you again."
"Why?"
"Uh…because I'm a big fan of yours. Sir."
Sephiroth's face twisted and he took a step away from Cloud, or as much a step as he could without having physical feet to physically touch the ground with. Gaia. "The Silver Elite?"
"What—no!" Laughter bubbled up out of him like a shout and he gaped in disbelief. "No, not the Silver Elite—wow. I'm a historian."
The Silver elite referred to the fanclub Sephiroth had, two hundred years ago, that is. "Do you want to know what year it is?"
"Yes," Sephiroth replied after a moment of thought.
Cloud told him and Sephiroth stared blankly at him for a few seconds. "Ifrit's balls," he breathed.
Cloud had never heard such a ridiculous expression in his life. He could not help but chuckle, but it quickly died out when he saw Sephiroth's melancholy face. He was looking down at himself. He was not wearing his signature black leather coat, Cloud realized, but instead a more ceremonial outfit. The jacket was longer than what was strictly uniform, probably a personal stylistic choice, and was adorned with medals and ribbons. His pants were tight and tucked into knee-high boots and he even had a hat squashed onto his head, though Cloud could not remember whether he had it yesterday or not. The whole ensemble was familiar—this is what he wore just after the final battle ended in the official pictures. Hours before he died.
"I really died," Sephiroth murmured. His voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, slightly distorted and out of reach.
Cloud had no idea what to say. Instead he waited respectfully until Sephiroth gave him his attention again and then asked, "How long have you been here?"
"Forever, perhaps. That is what it feels like. I am here every night. Sometimes there are others, but they never see me."
He fixed Cloud with that puzzled expression again, and even though Cloud knew Sephiroth didn't know anything he still felt uncomfortably scrutinized and vulnerable.
"Do you know why I can see you?"
"I do not."
That made Cloud pause. That strange force pulling him to the battlefield, the fact that he could see and talk with a ghost—what did it mean? It had to mean something.
"…General Crescent," Cloud began softly, his voice swept away on the breeze, "Why are you here?" And then, nervously: "How did you die?"
Sephiroth clutched his head, brows furrowing in pain. He grunted and bared his teeth. "I don't know," he grunted, "It—it hurts to remember."
"It's okay," Cloud said, holding out his hands in panic. "You don't have to—are you okay?"
Sephiroth sank to one knee but let go of his head. He panted. "I apologize," he said, and his voice was quieter than before. "Come back tomorrow." He sighed and before Cloud could stop him faded from sight.
"General," Cloud called, and then yelled it for good measure. Nothing. He calmly walked back to his car with none of the terror from the day before and scrawled some notes in the first page of his empty notebook.
June 18th
Met Sephiroth Crescent for the second time tonight. Apparently only I can see him. He disappeared after a short time again. He doesn't remember much at all.
After another glance around and a quick prayer Cloud set off for home.
The following day was supposed to be a work day, but because Cloud was currently on hold for work he made it a research day instead. The thing was today he had a different kind of research in mind. He brought his laptop to the park, the one he knew where you could leech free internet off a nearby coffee shop and sat in the shade of a tree on a blanket. The notebook he made his little observation in last night was flipped to the halfway point and primed, a pen sitting neatly on the crisp white page.
He did not really know where to start, however. Concrete history was one thing. He could read books, peer-reviewed articles and the like. But—and he hesitated saying this still even in his own mind—ghosts? What were the reputable sources on this?
Hesitantly he gave a general search: Are ghosts real?
The answers were convoluted and had him scratching his head. Yes some said, and no, said others. Obviously. He found a website that at least looked professional that told him ghosts were usually the spirits of people who died and were unable to pass on to the next life, whatever that was.
Cloud made a note.
Eventually he narrowed his search to Haunted Gaian Civil War Battlefields and got several ghost tour websites but also a few that described all the so-called ghost sightings around the continent, including (his breath caught) outside Nibelheim.
This area of the world is one of the most haunted, said a site with spooky autoplay music he muted, This is largely due to the high numbers of those who suffered and died at the hands of SOLDIER during the Civil War. Around here it is not so unusual to spot a lost warrior on the side of the road late at night!
Okay, so it was a little biased towards AVALANCHE but he could deal. Was it really that common or were they exaggerating? After some more reading he searched Sephiroth Crescent ghost sightings.
Gaia help him but there were results. A few were more ghost tours saying maybe you'll even see the spirit of the most famous SOLDIER himself – Sephiroth Crescent!
There were others, though, blog posts of everyday people swearing they had glimpsed a tall, translucent figure out of the corner of their eye on a certain stretch of land. He just stood there, watching them, hands in the pockets of his coat, Masamune nowhere to be found. Someone drew a picture and although it could have been referenced from any of the photos taken that day he died Cloud found himself desperately hoping that it was true, that he was not the only one. He wanted to believe.
Unable to move on, though… Cloud was positive it had something to do with his mysterious death and that of Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos, and Angeal Hewley as well. What else could it be? It was one of history's greatest mysteries after all. Could the truth be what was keeping Sephiroth halfway here, trapped between the living and the dead?
Excitement—delighted and giddy excitement—very quickly bubbled up inside.
He was snapped out of it, though, when he realized he had an email. Not recognizing the address he curiously clicked on it.
Hey Cloud, it began, This is Seifer Almasy. Before you get the wrong idea don't freak. I checked out an article you published last year and there was a "direct any questions or comments to" at the end, so I said, why the hell not?
I just wanted to see how things went after I saw you the other day. Did you figure it out? I hope so. If you want to talk about it or need a study buddy let me know. I'm usually available.
Cloud smiled to himself as he read the rest of the email. Seifer wished him a happy rest of his week and weekend and ended with saying that the article he read had been, in fact, impressive despite Seifer knowing little about the Civil War. Seifer was a good guy. The offer of help and assistance made him pause, however. Help?
Gaia, he was in way over his head with this one. Finally solving the mystery of Sephiroth Crescent—who knew if it was actually possible? He'd never be as close to cracking it as he was now with the man's spirit on hand. He couldn't dream of a better First Class thesis.
But small steps, small steps. He could imagine Seifer already, lecturing him about the most important tools of the trade for astronomers. He knew the scientific method, or the most important steps: Question, Hypothesis, Testing.
Question? Sephiroth Crescent is a motherfucking ghost. Why?
Hypothesis? Sephiroth Crescent is a ghost because he cannot "move on" due to the unsolved mystery surrounding his death and that of his friends.
Testing? He wasn't sure yet, had no idea, in fact, of how to go about solving this one.
He did, however, have a brain, determination, and a great network of support. Cloud paused in his typing of a response to Seifer and texted his best friend, the man who he knew would stand by him in all of this.
Reno, he said, we have a situation on our hands.
