The flames consumed Sephiroth's body easily. It seemed that death actually reversed whatever fire spells had preserved him in life, and the corpse drank in the fire like summer grass.
An ember gave Vincent a new hole in his tattered cloak, and Yuffie, who had been standing close by, staggered backward as green flames raced over the still form, swallowing him sword and all.
It was over in less than a minute, leaving not even charred bone among the ashes.
Aeris stood a little apart, the long black coat draped over one arm, her Princess Guard in her hand. She, alone, seemed to have expected the fire's effect.
"Thank you, all of you, for staying with me now. I know this couldn't have come at a worse time," she said. Then she straightened, squaring her shoulders. "Let's go back to the palace now. There's a place I want to destroy with my own hands."
When it was over, the palace lay in ruins, having toppled in on itself once the labyrinth of laboratories below was destroyed. Avalanche went to meet with the Resistance and begin planning for Midgar's future, but Vincent chose to stay behind with Aeris, crouching beside her in the dust and rubble.
"He loved you, you know."
She was silent a long while before replying. "He never said so."
"He spoke with his actions. You meant more to him than his empire, more to him than his own life."
Aeris started to cry again, and Vincent, after some hesitation, touched her shoulder: offering the cold, metallic comfort of his claw. She neither accepted nor rejected the contact, but even when she finally stopped crying, her green eyes had never looked so sad.
"I am leaving the city," he said, "Perhaps you would like to come with me."
"Where are you going?"
"Away."
She smiled then, a sad smile, but for a moment she looked a bit more like the spry flower girl from the slums.
"Away is where I want to go, too."
He nodded, but remained where he was, sitting beside her in silence.
"I'll say my goodbyes to the others, then. Are we going anywhere in particular?" she asked.
"Nibelheim."
"Nibelheim," she echoed. "Of course. You miss your coffin."
Something about the way she spoke made Vincent narrow his eyes. In her tone, he heard an unspoken addition: "I miss my coffin, too."
He chose not to press the point. "My time has passed," he said, "Shinra and Sephiroth are both gone, so there is nothing to bind me to the light. You, though, may be needed here."
She sighed, as if the weight of breathing in and out were crushing her.
"No," she said, "No. For me this does not end until I find its beginning."
"And all this began-- in Nibelheim."
White.
A featureless expanse of shining silence.
His hair spread out, long silver strands drifting behind him as if he were underwater, and his black leather pants rippled in dark, silent waves.
A voice rang out: "And where are you going in such a hurry, young man?"
The voice was like rushing water and birdsong, rustling leaves and distant thunder. He had not been aware that he was hurrying, had not been aware that he was moving, but he stopped now, feeling vaguely chastened, although he was not entirely sure why.
"Mother?"
"You again?" said the voice. "How many times do I have to tell you? It will take all the ancient skills of the Cetra and all the ingenuity of the humans to grant you rest. There has only ever been one who has those powers. You know who I speak of?"
He did.
"You're one of the lucky ones, you know. Yours has been praying for you: that's why you're here. Now back you go. And this time, for all our sakes, try to remember." The voice came again, faint and frail. "Goodbye for now, lost son."
White rushed passed him.
A rat scuttled over his shoulder and nuzzled his ear.
Light…
Darkness…
Author's Note: The Jenova, you know. Why would dying be any easier for him than living?