My first contribution to Strifehart Sunday.

A big shout out to the wonderful Out-Of-Character217 for reading my work and help me make it even better. Thanks to her also for encouraging me to post this story!

I've been tinkering with this for a while and I've never attempted an original fantasy-esque story before. I love what I've got so far and I hope you will too. I can't stress enough how big of a help Out-Of-Character217 was in helping me make this story, she's really helped me with all the areas I've struggled in and I've learnt a lot. Just goes to show what a second pair of eyes can do for you.

Because I'm a bit of a slow writer I'll be posting fortnightly instead of for a weekly Strifeheart Sunday, but the chapters will be longer and hopefully better for the wait. I think that's all I want to say, so please read and enjoy!

"Another empty puppet."

His voice had never sounded so cold.

More and more people were failing to be worthy enough of Jenova's gifts. More and more people were dying due to Her will; because they lacked faith.

Cloud refused to be another nobody lost amongst the names of a thousand other faithless failures. He'd done everything within his power to prove his worth, his devotion. He had taken every lesson from the Lord Sephiroth's preaching to heart and respected every word of the Knights and the Brothers. He prayed every night and mealtime, and recited the longest and most difficult of chants by heart. His Goddess: The Mother and Vessel of the Earth, Jenova, was a deity of greatness. She chose only the most worthy to survive a Reunion. Only the most worthy were blessed enough to receive Her gifts. To date, only four had survived a Reunion: Sephiroth, Kadaj, Yazoo and Loz.

Today, Cloud would undergo his own trial, his Reunion. Should he succeed, should he survive the harsh judgement of his Goddess, then he'd be named a Brother – he'd be reunited with his Goddess; She who owned the world and everything in it.

Well, almost everything. Everything except the Blades.

Pre-dawn's pale light found the young Cloud Strife walking the worn paths of Nibelheim, looking around with nostalgia and determination, mentally tying a string to each landmark to remind himself of what he had to come back home to. He stopped at every fork in the path and at every familiar house or fallen tree. He remembered every time he had walked down these dusty, barely paved paths. Every time he had sat on the fences, or played on the small areas of green.

He came to the most bittersweet memory. A barely used guesthouse, the best approximation to an Inn his private village had.

"Hey Cloud, guess what! I'm going to the Wall Market with my neighbours, Sephiroth said it was okay, wanna come too?"

Cloud rested a soft hand against the inn's front gate. His hands were smooth, having worked behind protective leather or been clasped in prayer all his life. The wood and flaking paint scratched and roughly contrasted with his milky skin.

"It'll be fun, we'll see horses and magicians, travellers from all over the lands – maybe we'll even see a Blade for real!"

Cloud's fingers clenched tightly around the mossy wood; splinters pricked his skin, leaving a soft green stain on his palm as a parting gift. This guesthouse – the inn – held the biggest reminder to survive his Reunion trial. For his childhood friend. Regret moulded his shoulders like wet hands sculpting clay.

If only I had gone with you, Tifa; maybe you'd still be here.

The last time he had seen her, he had waved goodbye from this very spot. She and her neighbours were travelling on a rare trip to the Wall Market over the mountains at Midgar. It was a slum, a hovel of a market most days of the week, but once every few months, when the Caravans arrived from lands far flung with places and names unpronounceable in Cloud's native tongue, it transformed into a lively world port. The Caravans drew in traders by the thousand, each barterer arriving to find their fortune. Cloud had heard the tales of those lucky enough to travel from his village, and from the rare guest who passed through the Holy Valley. But, all those years ago, Nibelheim's modest Caravan of three carts and twelve people had come back with only eleven.

Cloud looked down the road, remembering. Somehow he always found his way here during his morning errands. It was as if he were still waiting for her to come home. She would wave, grin and tell him of the wonders she had imagined outside of their blessed valley and punch his shoulder for not accompanying her in the first place. Typical Tifa. But she wasn't coming home. She wasn't lost, and she wasn't late. She was stolen.

Cloud clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the splinters that dug steadily deeper into his whitening palm.

She had been taken by the Blades.

Just thinking of the name made Cloud clutch at the holy pendant around his neck. Jenova's comet hung by a simple chain; he never took it off, and it was always there beside his heart emitting a cold aura, reminding him of the constant judgement She rained down upon his soul and the high bar he had to keep to in order to be worthy of Her world, of his own life. The icy metal – never hot despite his warm hands or chest – made him only despise the Blades more. They had kidnapped his childhood friend; they'd stolen her on her very first journey outside of Nibelheim and left him friendless. But since the reign of Jenova had begun on Earth the Blades had waged war against Her might, taking everything She allowed this world to have. Just like they had taken Tifa.

What kind of person challenged a divine god? Not a man or a woman. But devils and demons, yes indeed.

Cloud recalled the words of Lord Sephiroth: The Blades are defilers who spit upon the face of our mighty Mother and spread their malevolent ways all over the lands that the Goddess bestowed upon us. After Men were created and put into their place on this world they returned to her, not with Gratitude for the home she created for her sentient children, but with thankless, unholy blades. The Blades are the descendants of those who turned against their Mother! A Blade is a demon! A Blade is soulless, remorseless!

Cloud believed it. They had taken Tifa.

She had been mourned only a short time by the village, but Cloud had never stopped missing her. He was never more remorseful for not standing by her side. Maybe, if he had been braver, he could have kept her with him. She could have lived a good and holy life. He knew Jenova was punishing him through her. By making his life lonely and sad – a punishment through which he had realised a need to love and appreciate what Jenova had left him to enjoy – he was, forever onwards, always thankful to Her for what She had spared him.

That was why he was touching, tasting, remembering everything that tied him to this world, everything important to him and everything Jenova had crafted. Cloud was determined to return Her lessons by being the most dedicated follower She had ever held under Her banner. Today, he would see if his devotion was deep enough.

Cloud walked away from his most painful memory and lesson and carried on through the rest of the village. He breathed its scents and heard its early dawning sounds, reminding himself that he had to survive his Reunion because he had this to come back to: his beloved home.

He had lost his Mother to sickness, he had lost Tifa to the Blades but he had not lost his faith, thanks to Lord Sephiroth's teachings and the guidance of the Brothers. He had to survive! He had to. If he died too then there would be no one left to remember his most beloved people.

Cloud stopped by the temple, the spine of the village. The Temple held a large metal statue of their Angelic Judge – Creator and Goddess – set above the door, the rest of the building made of marble and metal. The tall, foreboding doors were closed still. Likely the Lord and the Brothers were preparing for the trials of today. The Temple was wide and it resembled a daunting wave about to crest above a shadowy wood where one would only survive by mercy and luck. Not even the white of the marble could keep the ominous feeling away from it.

It housed The Lord, the head of the religion, Jenova's mouthpiece: Sephiroth, and it also housed the Brothers, the only people who had survived the Reunion of Jenova's trials.

Because they'd survived Reunion they had been granted gifts: Longevity, Strength, Speed, Intelligence and Knowledge, a direct link to Her will and presence and silver hair with green eyes like a cat's. Clearly more than human - they had been touched by the Goddess, and as such they were seen as worthy. They were trusted; leading others to be re-joined with their Mother.

Those gifts could be Cloud's own reward, but he paid no mind to those rewards. Staying alive to honour and treasure the memories of his lost ones was all the blessing he desired. He wanted to carry their memories within him forever so they'd never be forgotten. He hoped his humble aim would be worthy enough. He had stayed clear of sin, devoting himself to a Divine who had hinted at the punishment She could rain down on him should he stray: Tifa, his Mother… his very existence.

Feeling a little lonely, emerging from memories and what-ifs, he stepped off the path and made his way to the Knight's quarters. The Knights quarters were built opposite, and in the image of the Temple with a lesser degree of grandeur. While the Temple was ominous and grand, the Knights Quarters were square and orderly barracks. Cloud glanced towards it and wondered if his friend Zack was awake.

Zack was chosen to be a Knight; Sephiroth had seen promise and he had been spared a chance at Reunion for a moral lifetime of guarding Her temple from the Blades. There were other temples, but this was the main one, and the one most heavily guarded by Her chosen Knights.

There was a window, just an ordinary window, wooden and darkly tinted to keep the interior private, but this one was familiar. Cloud had tapped upon the dark glass many times.

Zack was housed in this room. He had taken Cloud to it after his induction and put a hand against it. If you ever need me, knock and I'll be there. Cloud stopped before it, wondering if he was home, or away on duties or patrols. He wondered if he dare test his luck worrying that misfortune could be a bad omen but after a moment to think he hesitantly tapped on his best friend's window. Zack was worth the risk.

Zack opened it almost immediately.

"Cloud!" his lively appearance of wild dark hair and bright blue eyes made a smile appear on Cloud's face in conditioned response. The elder caught his head and pulled him into an awkward out-the-window hug, thoroughly messing up Cloud's already spiky hair. "How's my favourite Chocobo?"

Cloud struggled, only half meaning it and grinned like a fool. Of all the things in the village, he was glad Jenova had allowed Zack to live. He shone brighter than any sun or star when he smiled, and he made everyone feel safe within his capable arms.

"Zack, get off!" Zack let him go with a sunny smile.

"It's your big day, Spike. How are you feeling?" He leaned his elbows on the window sill, reaching out with one hand to poke at Cloud every now and then, making Cloud giggle and step back to avoid the elder teen's ticking fingertips. The fifteen year old shrugged and rubbed the back of his head apprehensively.

"Nervous," Cloud admitted. "But, also ready."

Zack nodded, he was seventeen and due to graduate to become a Knight on his eighteenth birthday – he had been training three years for his position. He rubbed at his nose "I guess that's understandable. I know you'll make it. I mean, I've never known someone more determined than you." He teased.

Cloud smiled slightly shuffling his feet as he remembered all the times he had refused Zack's company so that he might invoke their Goddess in private prayer.

"I've got some people I need to live for." He confessed.

Zack reached out and squeezed his shoulder, Cloud imagined Zack's strong hand was lifting his burdens and pains, if just for a moment. Zack was special that way. "They're lucky to have you. I'll remember too," he promised solemnly.

Cloud covered his hand with his own squeezing it tightly and smiled hesitantly.

"I'll remember you if you don't make it, and if you do," Zack promised again. He flicked Cloud's permanent bedhead and smirked. "Someone's got to remember this Spiky golden head of yours."

Cloud ducked under his grip, just missing out on another headlock and danced back a few paces "Is that all you care about? You always go for my hair!"

Zack pouted with playful eyes "Aw, Spike, it's how I'll always remember you – spiky, smiley and full of memories. So, you wanna have a drink or something before they call for you?" He asked, nodding towards the well in the middle of the village – wine wasn't something that was allowed, though it was brewed here. The best they could have was water and maybe a shot or two for curing pain under an operation – but that was hardly desired.

Cloud was about to agree, when he heard the large doors of the temple open. He looked and saw Kadaj securing them to their hooks. It felt like a sign. He sent Zack an apologetic look "Um, can I take you up on that offer later? I'm going to pray for a while, just in case … well, just in case."

No need to say the possible aloud.

Zack looked sad at the implication "I would take your place if I could, Cloud." He looked exactly how Cloud felt when he realised Tifa was going to the market without him; a little abandoned and hopeful, but mostly sad. He hadn't realised, but maybe he was Zack's 'Tifa'; the friend he might never see again …

Cloud smiled uncertainly, hoping that history would not repeat itself "I know. See you later," he turned to prepare for his judgement.

"Wait!"

Zack vaulted himself out of his window to stand by Cloud's side, his face that of a man facing his own trail instead of watching Cloud's. He pulled Cloud into his arms to squeeze him tightly, Cloud blinked and stayed in the hug when he felt Zack shaking. Zack pressed his head into Cloud's shoulder and breathed unsteadily "Come back, okay?"

Cloud dug his fingers into Zack's shirt and pressed back, quietly moved that his friend had been moved to tears for his uncertain fate. "I'll try," he promised. He waited for Zack to release him but the hug went on and on. "You'll have to let me go sometime," he half laughed.

Zack sighed and held Cloud at arm's length, wet eyed and sad all over again "I wish it was me, Cloud, I really wish you didn't have to go," he lowered his head with eyes tightly closed.

Cloud held his hands, searching for words of comfort that were not empty and doubtful. "Be here when I come back?"

Zack eyes flew open "That isn't even a question! Of course I'll be here." He squeezed Cloud's ribcage again and Cloud's toes left the ground with his strength "You're the only reason I stay here, Chocobo head, I don't think I could bear it if you were gone."

Cloud shook his head as his feet returned to the floor "You're doing great work already, Zack. Don't give it up because of me," he warned turning with a wave to climb the temple steps.

Zack watched forlornly and sighed. Cloud kept walking, pretending he hadn't heard Zack's final words.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat if I got to keep my best friend … Mother, Goddess, whatever She demands as her name … She better keep you safe or She'll lose me too."

Cloud climbed the steps, stone faced and determined despite the hollow pit Zack's words had dug in his stomach.

That was reason number three: for his Mother, for Tifa, and for Zack.

"Another empty puppet."

His voice had never sounded so cold.

Cloud shivered, drawing breath through a raw throat and shuddering as the glowing water dripped from his body onto the floor, creating a puddle which reflected his disgrace.

Lord Sephiroth and the Brothers stood over him, dressed in their usual leather black garbs and eerily reflecting nothing in the room of the Holy Spring. Cloud feebly worked his throat and tongue, trying to speak. You're wrong, please help me.

Kadaj glanced at his fellows.

"Brothers?"

Sephiroth looked down at Cloud and Cloud looked back up willing for strength to return to his limbs. He twitched, croaking half a name before fading back into the dull world of pain.

No, this wasn't meant to happen!

His muscles continued to spasm weakly, rejecting the Holy Water now pooling in his blood, and blocking his mind from his body. His left arm stung in particular, the skin prickling and tightening uncomfortably like he was a water skin filled to bursting point. His veins felt like they were boiling and he couldn't draw enough air; he couldn't move. His eyes could barely open without his throat working to scream silently, each breath hurting his entire chest and mouth like drinking liquid ice. The ground pressed unforgivingly into his soft, impossibly heavy body and the wet clothes sucked all the warmth from him and made him shiver despite how badly he burned inside.

The Brothers had always described a beautiful union with the Goddess; one of light and power, not this.

A deep, dismissive grunt came from above. "Put him with the others."

Strong arms lifted him like a sack of potatoes, Cloud's lips parting to protest. The mountainous task revealed only a cough for his efforts. No, no please! I'll stand up! I can … I can …

He watched the floor change to steps and then to Earth with both panic and despair rattling his bones. He was tossed unceremoniously into a wooden cart full of fellow villagers each one a Failure, suffering in agony as their Goddess tore apart their bodies and souls in exchange for their unworthiness.

This was the price of rejection, of failure. A slow death.

Cloud grunted as he was tossed and caught a glimpse of blond hair and realised it was Seifer who had thrown him. The head Knight at such a young age. He'd climbed so high since the older ones were constantly attacked by Blades on their crusades. Lives were constantly taken and ranks were achieved faster than they should. He was brilliant, confident and arrogant – yet trustworthy enough to be responsible for the Temple. But he was harsh and obedient to a T. He did not let emotions stop his orders, Cloud was nothing to him now.

Seifer was already turning back to witness the next attempt at Reunion. Cloud was one of the last. He wouldn't have to wait long before he was cast out. Cloud reached out to him, his arm weighing more than a lumber's axe and he tried to call out, to stop him, to tell him to look again and give him a chance!

Seifer heard nothing and Cloud's strength gave out seconds later.

He rested his head on his arm and listened as the pained grunts and gasps of his fellow villagers filled his ears. He felt a few groan under him as he lay like deadweight on chests and painfully angled limbs without the relief of movement to alleviate the discomfort.

The metal doors slammed shut and left the groaning, suffering rejects in the cart alone in the eve-time village. No witnesses were allowed. Everyone would realise tomorrow that the men of the village had been faithless once again.

Cloud closed his eyes tightly and felt tears escape his eyes.

This wasn't meant to happen!

It had seemed so perfect at first. He had recited every chant and prayer he could think of, aloud and in his head. Sephiroth himself had praised him when he had overheard his reverent mutterings. Cloud took that as a sign and had prayed harder, chanted audibly. He had kept it up during his wait for the Reunion, as he'd watched the other boys his age and those slightly older men who had been converted late enter for their judgement. He had kept it up all the way to his own judgement and then the actual submersion into the Holy Spring.

Then in an instant his perfect state was ruined.

As soon as he was under the pain had shocked through him as if he was bathing in lightning. Words failed to describe the pure agony which could only be a Goddess's fury. He screamed and screamed, Holy Water entering his mouth and lungs as the Brothers and the Lord resolutely held him under. His eyes burned and stung, his lungs ached, his skin prickled and tightened and he struggled for air.

Let me go. Let me breathe, please!

No Mercy. He was only bodily removed once the rites had been read but the air only burned him more. He had no energy to sob. He wailed just the once as he raggedly inhaled and expelled the water poisoning his lungs, and then upon his pitiful appearance the Brothers realised he had been rejected.

Empty Puppet.

He shivered in his wet clothes and felt the cart thud as another body was tossed into the sturdy wagon.

Their Goddess was Mighty and blessed only the most worthy.

Cloud's tears rolled down his cheeks. He was worthless. He had failed his Goddess, his mother, Tifa and Zack! He deserved this for letting them down; every painful moment. Jenova forgive the failures of your children, give Zack the inspiration to go on. Give me his punishment as well as my own, give him my strength, let him live!

Eons later, or no time at all, the dying moans and coughs around him were joined by the motion of Chocobo's pulling the cart. Their bodies were going to be left to Jenova's will, it was a final test, and their last chance.

Sometimes – so rare it happened once a century – a man would have an epiphany or find hidden strength within himself and return on their own. If they could return to their Goddess, their home, they'd be granted an audience with Her directly.

It was the stuff of legends.

She would then decide your fate. Life, Death, Knight, Brother, or Banishment. She would judge you directly, it was a terrible and wondrous destiny to be under Her Mighty gaze; Her final word would seal your fate.

The last three had, according to Yazoo and Seifer, been Knights of legend; Soldiers of immeasurable strength who had defeated hundreds of Blades singlehandedly.

Cloud could only pray he'd be so lucky.

The Knights driving the Chocobos grumbled. They had been riding along for hours outside the valley and out into the open plains before the mountains. They were impatient to leave the Failures to the elements and to the Goddess's mercy before it drew too late. It was already dark, the sun had been swallowed by the mountains and the open roads of the plains were before them.

Cloud's first look at the world outside of Nibelheim and it was his dying view. He would have much rather spent his time waiting for the spirit of Tifa to come lead his soul away on her old doorstep.

Yes, indeed his Goddess punished unworthiness. He was not to be granted a moment's peace or forgiveness. I'm sorry, forgive me, I'm sorry.

Cloud kept his eyes open as he was dumped on the side of a road. The imprints in the dirt revealed to him that it was a well-worn path, by foot, mount and carriage. Maybe a kindly traveller would assist them, or bury them?

Dust ran up his nose as he breathed and he parted his dry lips and wheezed a feeble cough. Why was the world spinning so? It started to resemble the reflections of water; light and colours and motion.

The Knights, two of whom Cloud wasn't sure the names of were not gentle in leaving their fellow men to their fate, were relishing in their luck. They would never have to face this torture and trial, taunting the Failures for being in this position when they could have had it all – if they could have just been true to Jenova.

Recovering from his own ditching, his left arm aching all the way to the bone, Cloud barely heard the words of the Knights. But once his ringing ears cleared, and his eyes had focus, their words made Cloud freeze in terror, even as his blood continued to sting and burn.

"… Blades are meant to be travelling this way, right?"

"Sure. They were seen at the Wall Market at the base of Midgar Mountain."

"Well they never stay long. Maybe they'll find one of these Failures tasty?"

"It's what they deserve, innit?" The Chocobos yelped at the crack of a whip, and the cart swiftly began to leave.

Cloud pulled himself half off the ground, total terror overriding every nerve in his body for a brief, brief, reflexive moment.

"No … wait …" He held out one hand before his eyes rolled back into his head, his body failing him once again as he reacquainted himself with the roadside.

Don't leave us like this! Not to the Blades. Please, to wolves, bears, strangers or friends but not to them. Not to them, you can't!

Any natural death would be better than a Blade's execution. The Blades who were demons in human skins, the one people Jenova had no power over – because they were unnatural to the world, they had rejected their creator, their Mother. Any death by their hands was a promise of inhuman pain. Even martyrs had screamed denial of their Goddess under the Blade's tortures.

Cloud struggled again, trying to drag his dead legs under him and force his hands to stop shaking. He tried to force the world to stop pretending it was made of malleable clay and light on water, oh – he hit the ground again, sobbing dryly as his fear and frustration overwhelmed him.

Not like this. Please, please, not like this. Forgive me my weakness, Goddess. Forgive my unworthiness and lack of faith. I swear should I survive this I'll devote my entire being to your service! Anything you ask of me, let me escape the Blades!

His silent prayers that begged for mercy and his silent struggle onwards which was mostly a twitch or shudder at a time went on long into the night. By the time the moon was high overhead he was on the verge of giving up. For all his effort he had barely moved a foot. In truth, best he had done was reposition himself in the same space.

The next break in an endless struggle was the sound of approaching hooves.

Cloud quickly lost hope that it was a passing Caravan of traders. These hooves were multiple and heavy chargers, not the sort that pulled the carts and goods. His eyes cracked open and he squinted through his lashes to see who was approaching. A saviour or executioner?

Far down the road he saw an orange glow of torches carried by the riders of the fast approaching horses. They appeared in a halo like a fiery dawn or forest blaze, yells, howls of joy and growls of challenge echoed off the light with a sprinkling of laughter and whinnies.

People riding horses.

Cloud instantly thought the worst, but feebly tried to convince himself that these were just boisterous travellers who would sooner leave him be than harm him. He had heard that alcohol could make a person rowdy or reckless – it didn't have to mean them.

His hopes were as weak as his strength, and for good reason.

The horse riders almost charged right past Cloud and his fellow men, but a loud urgent shout drew short the celebratory path of racing horses and loud chatter. The horses halted and the one who had called for the pause in route turned back to see what had grabbed their attention. The horse urged back the way it came. A few more brought around their horses to inspect the bodies left on the roadside once their interest had been peaked.

It was just a few riders at first; there was the sound of someone dismounting, a groan and shift of a body behind him and a guttural growl from the rider. The inspecting man spoke to his fellows still on their horses nearby. The discussion was swift and their voices grew heated.

Cloud's heart climbed into his throat and beat at the base of his tongue, strangling and gagging him.

A powerful and commanding voice carried from the group of waiting riders "Vros roqa aeui kuimd?"

The dismounted rider shouted back "Raiacsk, Arkhu. Kam omd crerdram uk sra korka sud."

Whatever the answer, it stirred interest. The group gasped and murmured in their harsh tongue, and their horses approached in unity. The entire party was approaching to see the unfortunates which had drawn the curiosity of their fellows.

The same commanding voice came again "Kirruimd srak. Cracd sraer budeak. Rema srak iv kur kesmk uk reka. Ras ka kaa sraer Haorsk."

Cloud frowned slightly. Was that a … woman? Was a woman commanding these men? Oh no, there were women riders too. Cloud had just enough space left in his panicking brain to realise how bizarre this was as he watched a female rider guide her horse past him.

The horses were pointed around the villagers in a circle boxing them in, but they needn't have bothered. Cloud could barely move and his fellows barely groaned anymore.

Each rider commanded their mounts with experience and skill and the horses themselves looked strong and durable, but they held a dangerous attitude about them. Cloud knew from his time working with Chocobos that this meant they were only part tame. The horses had crude saddles, meant for the ease of riding and mounting more than anything fancy – they barely looked comfortable for how confident the riders held themselves.

There were male riders, wearing pants made of rough leather hide, the waist of the pants tucked back down upon itself as a kind of loincloth or skirt despite the fact that everything was covered and some leather still had the fur of the animals they came from upon the surface. It gave them a rough and worn appearance. The women wore these odd breaches too, straddling their horse instead of riding side-saddle the way Cloud had seen ladies ride before. They had beads, braids, tattoos and kohl around their eyes in variations personal to each rider and regardless of sex. Their shirts, those who wore them (Cloud glanced away when he saw a woman topless, save for scantily clad bandages around her mostly flat cleavage) were either coloured as a base, or a dull colour with brightness painted on top and were messy, wild and unique.

Their weather worn skin a deep or even tan, and their feet either barefoot or wrapped in mouldable looking leather, each rider was riddled with taunt, firm muscles, even the women had admirable abdominal muscles. They spoke in harsh tongues and held their torches high and those without quickly held their hands aloft and summoned weapons in a glow of pale white light.

Blades. They were Blades: a horse-riding, barbarous and evil tribe of strange Godlessness who lived to see suffering and who were hard, harsh and heartless towards anything good in the world.

Cloud looked at them, their wildness, immodesty, their tribal and nomadic nature which was so different from the order of civilised men; if Cloud had not been so terrified by their presence he might have found them fascinating, just for being so alien.

A few of the dismounted riders stepped amongst the bodies of the villagers, turning them over and occasionally declaring something in a loud voice, some of the still seated riders answered back asking questions and receiving answers.

Cloud trembled, and not just from weakness and the cold. What were they looking for? Survivors? The most edible meat?

Hands rested on his shoulders, more cautious than he expected, and his eyes screwed shut to hide his terror – he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

The hands of this particular Blade paid special attention to his left arm – the arm that stung and burned and felt like crumpled paper covered in wax – and Cloud felt the warmth of a flesh-blood hand hovering over it for a lingering minute. Unlike the others, this investigator was silent. He felt the same hand catch his chin and push back the hair from his face and he kept his eyes closed pressing his lips together. Get away from me demon!

"Don't … touch … me." His croak was hardly the angry curse he wished it to be, but the hand withdrew as if surprised. It returned to his shoulder and a low mutter brushed past his ear, the air warm from the closeness, the heat a sign of proximity making Cloud whimper in fear. What is he doing? What does he want?

The horsemen continued to growl, speak and mutter as their horses pawed at the ground and tossed their heads. One or two made perimeter rounds as if guarding a kill, calling and shouting, their horses snorting. But Cloud's curious individual didn't speak or make a move past the whisper in his ear. He remained close, his soft breaths tickled against Cloud's cheek and his warmer body crouched over his own as if guarding him. The individual didn't speak further and Cloud didn't dare respond.

The night changed pace with the bark of an order "Kruv srak su ka." The commanding voice, definitely female, came a final time.

All around him there were the pained groans of his fellow villagers and Cloud's eyes opened fearfully – what were they doing?

A cry of pain passed his own lips as the hands which had merely patted him down now moved him. He was arranged into a weak kneel, a hand holding his head up and he got his first look at the female-commander.

She was fiercely striking.

Sable coloured hair flowed behind her wildly; three beaded braids on both sides of her head decorated her mane like a crown. They were tied with gold ribbons, plain string and leather strips and bangs brushed behind her ears flicking out from her face, a face timeless and pale. Her visage was as smooth and flawless, without scar or blemish, wrinkle or dimple. She possessed purse, plump lips, and dark lashed eyes of silver. Her ears were pierced twice, in the lobes and the tips, and there was the hint of a tattoo over her shoulder. Beaded necklaces hung from a pale throat, her top half dressed in a shawl with the sleeves draped over one shoulder and crossing over her breasts. Her other shoulder was bound with a light pouldron of leather, and the shawl's fabric was patterned at the edges; triangles of yellow and cream against a heather coloured middle. Her breasts appeared bound in bandages too, though it was only by their lack of movement that this assumption could be made. She wore breaches with a split skirt at her front and back, the fabric as long as her knees and the pants low on her hips and held up by several wrapped layers and finally secured in a knot which was decorated with more ribbons and beads. At her bare, visible hip were three intense claw scars, once deep and raw, now ropy and pale against muscled and taunt skin. Her wrists were adorned in bracelets, almost like gauntlets, each a shade of worn, dull gold. No doubt, she was their Queen.

Her confidence, the way the other horsemen and woman respected her, guarded and obeyed her left no room for doubt. She spoke like a leader, her voice cutting above all else like thunder despite the even volume. She drew eyes, ears and moved like a force of nature.

Cloud had heard the stories, as had everyone else in his village. Tales of the barbarian horse riders who didn't know man from woman; brutal killers with a lust for death in their blood, who spoke in grunts and growls like the beasts. Tales of massacres, battles, internal fighting and brawls that could taint the rivers of the world red, and tales of the mighty monarch, a Queen who led their destructive hunger.

The Queen of the Blades …

The last traveller, years ago, had told stories of the current Queen – she with eyes of mercury and an unyielding force in her stare.

Cloud was kneeling before her now, as were his fellows each held up by a Blade, their faces turned up for her judgement. It was like something from a nightmare. She summoned her weapon before them. The blade of the staff ran along the bottom tip like a spear: one end to stab and the other end a club to beat her victim to a bloody end. For the time being it looked ceremonial and bloodless with all the talismans and ropy charms of beads and ribbons hanging from the hooked club-head-tip all the way down to the leather grip.

The proud and beautiful Queen reined her horse expertly, the wild chestnut stallion tossing its head and stamping its hooves but submitting nonetheless, her core muscles rippled to keep her control and her single hand on the reigns keeping a tight leash on her mount. Her silvery gaze cut through all in her path like lightning through a dark sky and she judged each of Cloud's fellow villagers before her with the eyes of a hawk, her gaze narrowing with every face she observed.

Cloud lowered his head before she could strike him. His captor pulled his head up but Cloud managed to twist his face away.

Jenova, forgive me my sins and deliver to your people not your enemy. Spare us to the will of the world, not your aggressors. He'd sooner die a natural death by wolves than the evil, unnatural Blades.

The Queen watched them for several minutes which felt like forever. She searched and stared, and Cloud kept his eyes closed, cowering and trembling and ashamed, yet unable to look into her unnatural eyes as she burned into his soul. Jenova forgive me.

Eventually she turned her head to the side, dismissing them. "Vaod Haorsk. I roqa mu maad uk srak." Her voice was low, rich and resonated with a growl throughout. It wasn't like the gentle tongues of the Holy People, or kind like the odd, curious traveller. That voice was one of a demon, just as his Lord had described and Cloud shuddered.

She raised her staff to rally as her horse turned.

The riders surrounding them backed away and set the villagers down before mounting their impatient horses. Cloud was placed on his front and he braced his head on one arm while he had the chance, the hands of his personal captor lingered. The man stepped away after a brief hesitation.

All around them the riders steered their mounts, as disinterested as their Queen and abandoned them to their fates.

Save for one.

"Musrar, srara ek reka em srek uma."

Cloud lifted his weighty gaze when a voice called out over the heavy falls of hooves.

The Queen turned her horse around, her hair whipping in invisible winds and catching the clanking beads in her braids and looked down at a young male who met her gaze unwaveringly.

The man was a little older than Cloud by the look of him, his voice was already deep and it resonated with a demonic growl too. He was a sable brunet and was quite tall, wearing breeches of hide leather with an overturn at his hips which mimicked both loincloth and belt. He looked strong and wild under a thin shirt of cotton, the fabric smeared with dirt and all the filth he had come into contact with.

His horse stood to one side with loyal patience. It was young too, all long legs and perky ears.

The Queen raised an eyebrow at him and shifted her grip firmly on her staff as if threatening to beat him. She spoke down at him "Aeui vekr su daav srek uma, kae kum?" Her eyes once again cut to the men, but this time she looked at Cloud alone, and his breathe froze in his mouth.

Jenova save me- Why are they looking at me? Such inhuman eyes.

"Va roqa mu maad uk kroqak, uir mikbark ora ksrums." The Queen growled her crude, discordant tongue through her teeth like she was biting into flesh, her expression curious like a cat watching a panicking mouse.

The boy, for he was just a teen – easily the youngest Blade there and barely a man – stood his ground under her regal address. He bowed his head once in some kind of agreement, but he still spoke back "Ra ek mus vaod. Ra ek kecd. Ra ek kirr uk vuekumk kruk sra korka sud bis mus baaeumd koqems. Com uir Haorsk ras rar croek omusrar? I verr soda siordeomkrev kur rek kosa imdar uir bommar."

The Queen appeared unmoved by his speech. Only the restless movements of her horse caused any motion in her. Yet she grew thoughtful.

Cloud felt the tension like a storm approaching. She was a force of nature caught in indecision and the result would be devastating for wherever she chose to assault.

Finally, she clicked her tongue and her horse moved forwards, her eyes remained on the teen, curious until she pulled her mount to a stop before Cloud, the beast's hooves beating the ground so hard it shook his already trembling body.

Cloud peered up as best he could.

She looked down at him from her great height, almost certainly considering his slaughter. Her lips pursed as her head tilted to one side, her hair and beads rattled like a skeleton's bones.

Cloud lost strength and rested his forehead on his arm again. She hooked her curved staff tip under his chin and pulled his limp head up so she could look him in the eye. Her gaze was mercury, soulless.

Cloud stared back, helpless and terrified, a lamb caught under appraisal for his tender meat. After an eternity of eye contact she spoke. "Can you walk?"

Cloud gasped at the sound of his native tongue, slow and clumsy on her lips. Her accent skewing all the sounds, but it was unmistakeable. How did she know the words of her sworn enemy? Was she using dark magic or some unholy trick? Was this staff-

The impatient stamping of her horse's hooves broke him from his panic.

"No …" He weakly answered, stuttering and shivering under her stare.

The Queen's mount huffed and reared up slightly. She turned him as he balanced on his back legs and left the blond on the floor. Cloud fell where she left him and trembled in the aftermath of her scrutiny, feeling as if he had just had his soul appraised.

Her horse stopped a short distance away.

"I raoqa rek imdar aeuir crorsa, kruird ra kruv ik o Ssrums Haors ra koae aeas ba vursrae uk o Broda. Ek rakkar ra verr karr ruaeorrae. Kruird rek Haors ba vaod, aeui ora rakvumkebra kur rasirmems rek su sra vurkrevark uk sra korka sudk. Ra verr roqa mu kirsrar karcae." Her voice was still harsh and commanding but whatever she had said made the other riders mutter amongst themselves, unnerved.

The youth who had challenged her thumped a fist to the left side of his chest "Kae Haors ek aeuirk su cukkomd."

The Queen bestowed him with a single nod. Still looking partly curious but she raised her staff, her mount rearing up in synchrony and with a loud, wild cry her staff pointing the way, the Blades rode onwards.

Cloud watched them leave with quiet relief, but a small growing fear. They were abandoning him? Was he beyond a prayer to change his fate? Their dismissal implied his fate to die was sealed; they were ruthless killers of Jenova's loyal followers, they would have never left him if he had a chance at living. If he was dismissed, by even the despicable Blades, then he was truly not worthy of Jenova's gifts.

He would not survive, he would not return home.

Their indifference incurred his anger. Was he not even worthy of a quick death? Their recent travel would have scared away most wildlife, and wolves were not known for coming near paths. Jenova was truly punishing him for unworthiness. He was not even worthwhile of Her enemies.

He raised a hand pitifully to the retreating riders.

"Damn … you …" He whispered, his world returning to blurs and bright lights as adrenaline left him. Jenova forgive me, deliver me from-

Firm hands touched his shoulders. Cloud gasped, scared out of his chant and death-prayer by the human touch and he forced his eyes to focus. Those hands turned him over and he was held up awkwardly by a pair of muscled arms.

It was that boy, the challenger.

His face was strong, his eyes silvery blue and soulless, coloured metal like the Queen's. His hair was sable and tucked in unkempt, matted locks around his chin and behind his ears, his skin mostly even but clearly sun beaten and weathered. His hands were calloused and rough on his skin, yet their touch was careful.

Cloud's neck refused to support his head and one roughened hand kindly propped it up for him when it began to ache and loll.

Those confident and rare eyes held all Cloud's attention and Cloud wondered if he had asked for the privilege of killing him. At least Jenova and Lord Sephiroth would see him as a true believer; he'd become Her Martyr if that's what it took.

The boy rubbed the dirt off Cloud's face with a thumb of rough skin and Cloud cringed.

"Du aeui kvaod kae sumsia? … Tui valkr ah dui Flii Cedeir? … Tha Saara'a't? … Tho Loacs aucom ho liollorroc roarlaraos?"

Cloud heard the lilt of a question in each sentence, the pause between each one giving him time to speak, but he understood nothing. Not one of the languages – if the accent changes were anything to judge by – was familiar to him.

Helplessly, he closed his eyes. "I don't understand."

There was a noncommittal hum and those hard-worked hands pried their way under him manoeuvring him in ways Cloud wasn't aware he could be moved, all to get him into a position to be carried. Cloud lay limp, a little uncomfortable, but still powerless in his own body as this Blade – this tribal, horse-riding barbarian – carried him to a patiently waiting black horse.

Cloud was slung over the animal with a bit of difficulty and he gulped, remembering how his fellow villagers carried back slain deer, the carcasses reminiscent of how he was now.

The boy silently moved the saddle to accommodate him, and then he mounted behind Cloud with practiced grace. He urged the horse into an even walk after the others, one hand on Cloud's back to steady his weight.

Cloud glanced as best he could at the fellow men he was quickly leaving behind. Those who were still awake from the trials of Jenova watched him with weak, concerned faces and those who were asleep would likely stay that way until a predator or starvation came for them.

As was Jenova's will.

Cloud saw their fear for him and he twitched a hand in an attempt to reach back for them. Help me, please someone help me! But it was no use, he was being taken.

He was being taken by these savages. Why him? What made him so special? Was Jenova punishing him, by sending him to her sworn enemies? The Blades who had ruthlessly destroyed her body and temples throughout history?

He gasped and tears fell from his eyes. Forgive me, forgive my sins. Forgive my lack of proof in my faith! Please save me! Send me a sign, save me and I'll give you my life! Anything! He'd take any punishment, any torment his goddess would bestow on him; any punishment Lord Sephiroth saw fit. He would lose a hand, an arm, his sight, his tongue, anything but torture at the hands of the Blades!

He let out an unsteady, terrified sob when he recalled the stories of what they did to those they captured. Seifer had been very well informed: strapped to an altar, fingers and toes cut off and stuffed down your throat to silence your own screams, to prevent you from begging Jenova for her mercy on your soul. Wild-eyed savages slashing flesh with bone saws until you were raw – then they'd devour you alive; limbs inwards, gnaw on your living bones, and feed your scraps to their horse familiars.

No please, please merciful goddess, not that fate! I beg of you!

"Aeui'ra srakbrems." The boy – no, not a boy – a demon! The savage, soulless teen of the faithless tribe spoke up. The stabilising hand patted between his shoulders awkwardly.

Is he feeling me to see if I need fattening?! Cloud screwed his eyes shut. No, oh please, oh please, no!

"Ksuv es. Aeui'rr kvuud kae rurka."

Cloud winced at the tone of his voice. "Sorry …" He croaked, his face burning in shame and more tears fell from his eyes as he apologised to his people's sworn enemy.

There was a heavy sigh from the teen above him. The horse kept up a slow walk as the boy let go of the reigns to stabilise Cloud's weak body, his now free hand reaching down to Cloud's neck and long fingers curled around his throat.

Cloud tensed as much as he could, panic driving him past the weakness for a second to bat at the threatening hand. He was so weak a fly would have laughed at him, but the boy didn't have the fly's sense of humour. He grunted, sounding annoyed and he didn't stay his hand. He gripped at the base of Cloud's skull and held firmly, index and middle finger pressing hard on his wildly beating pulse.

Cloud's world got dizzier in seconds, and before he could even pray for salvation – or even scream – his world went dark.

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