Sunshine drifted through the leaves, golden and warm on curling dumbapple trunks. Dragonflies hovered over the lush grass and a soft wind carried the cheery bubbling of the nearby creek.
Genesis sat in the grass, his face turned up to enjoy the warmth of the sun. His knees and hands were scraped from tree climbing. Mum and Dad would be mad if they saw, they said he would damage the fruit and he was too old to be clambering about like a monkey anyway. He grinned. The best dumbapples were the ones at the top of the tree, soaking in the sun all day. How was he supposed to steal them without climbing?
He bit into an apple. It was so crisp and crunchy, and juice spilled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"Can I please try one?" Sephiroth asked.
Genesis hummed while he chewed. "Maybe."
Sephiroth looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, as green as the cloudless sky overhead.
He was such a scrawny thing, Genesis thought. Far too little to be a war hero.
"Don't they have dumbapples in Midgar?" He knew they didn't.
Little Sephiroth shook his head. Silver bangs shook on either side of his face as he did so. The rest of his hair was in a little ponytail running down his back. Genesis' hair was in a ponytail as well. He thought it looked better in red.
"I suppose you've never tried dumbapple cider either, then?"
"I've never tried any cider," Sephiroth replied.
Genesis stood, and tossed his half eaten core off into the grass.
"Come on then." He held out a hand.
Sephiroth took it and let him haul him up. "Where are we going?"
"To get you your first taste of alcohol, of course," he said, smiling. He turned and headed for the barn.
They climbed up the rickety stairs to the little loft area where Genesis kept his secret brew. A grimy window let in sunlight to shine over the heavy keg of cider. It sat on top of two wooden planks he'd scrounged up, next to all the bottes he had painstakingly sterilised when mum and dad weren't looking. He'd burned his hands so badly the first time but nobody noticed.
Sephiroth looked at the product of his labour with fascination.
"Did you do this yourself?"
"Oh yes. I've perfected the process." It had taken so much trial and error. This was, what, the twentieth batch? The twenty fifth? He stopped counting after the tenth.
"Wow," Sephiroth said. "That's impressive."
Genesis tilted his head. He hadn't thought the kid would be so impressed. "They might not have Banora-White apples but I know they have alcohol in Midgar. And in Wutai."
Sephiroth shrugged. "But I couldn't do all this. You're so clever."
Genesis frowned. For some reason it didn't sound right. "I am, aren't I?"
He shook the doubt aside and picked up a bottle. It was golden and cloudy within, with just a hint of pink from the apple skins. He brandished two wine glasses and poured three finger's worth in each.
He raised his glass. "To the Hero of the Dawn, Healer of Worlds."
Sephiroth raised his as well, a curious and eager smile on his face. "What does that mean?"
Genesis winked. "It's rude not to drink after toasting."
He threw back his own glass. The familiar taste spread across his taste buds. It wasn't sweet enough. He had let the batch ferment too long, there was too little sugar left. It was bad cider.
Sephiroth sipped his with his eyes closed and a look of concentration. He opened his eyes and looked at the golden disappointment with awe.
"It's delicious," he whispered. He looked up at him with admiration. "You're amazing, Genesis."
Genesis let his glass drop. It smashed at his feet.
"You're not Sephiroth."
The silver haired boy tilted his head. "Yes, I am. You invited me here, remember?"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" he hissed. He slapped the glass out of the boy's hand. "You're not real."
Sephiroth frowned, irritated and disdainful. It suited his face more than the admiration did.
"You're talking nonsense, Genesis." He stepped forward and he wasn't a child anymore. In a black leather, silver pauldrons, and long loose hair, he towered over Genesis and seemed to fill the whole room. "You're always talking nonsense."
Genesis, with scraped knees and gangly teenage limbs, refused to back down. He couldn't keep up, couldn't rival Sephiroth let alone impress him, but it didn't matter. He looked out the window. The sky was green. He was dreaming.
"You are a shallow imitation of the real Sephiroth," he spat.
"So are you."
His face fell.
The spirit advanced on him. He clenched his fists. The spirit drew it's sword.
Reflex took over and Genesis threw himself forward. He was unarmed, but he was strong and clever and he'd been fighting Sephiroth all his life, it felt.
The spirit was strong and vicious, but it couldn't compare to the real thing.
He ducked under a swipe of the blade, swept up the broken stem of the wine glass and lunged forward. He sidestepped the spirit - not nearly as fast as Sephiroth, he would have caught him - and leapt onto its back. He plunged the glass into his neck. The spirit staggered and gave up the shape.
It grew taller, lankier, and a second set of pale arms sprung out and scrabbled at him. A cold hand grasped the back of his head. Cold seeped into him and something seized in his chest. Was it cold or was he cold? Was there a difference? He gasped against the invasion and stabbed it again, and again, and again. It couldn't have him. He refused to let it.
It screamed. His ears popped. It tore at him. He pushed the glass in deeper.
Living green light pulsed under his hands in place of blood. There was a crack and crunch of crystal grinding against itself. A high pitched whine split the air, the body he was holding onto staggered, and then shattered into sparkling light.
He landed on his knees. He put a shaking hand to the back of his head, and then to his chest. He was breathing so heavily. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself together. He stood and he wasn't a child anymore. He was in his own body, his own armour, and he hadn't scraped his knees in decades. The illusory surroundings looked feeble and paper thin now.
He glanced down at where the spirit had been. With its essence shattering under his hands he had glimpsed it for what it was: a spirit of Envy.
He bowed his head and stalked away.
Hawke stood on the edge of the giant bubble in the Fade, encasing a dense forest, a cetra palace, and the most powerful spirit domain she'd ever seen. Maybe the Nightmare's domain over Adamant Fortress was stronger, but it was a close call.
"Aerith's in there," she said, just to be sure.
"Yes," Rebellion replied.
"And Genesis and Angeal."
"Yes."
She sighed. "I'll be honest with you, I was really hoping you'd take me somewhere nicer."
"Perhaps you can make it nicer."
She stared straight ahead at the sheer power on display within the shield.
"Shut up, Rebellion."
It was probably delighted at the thought of seeing her try to defy whatever reigned over the region.
From what she could see, the bubble kept them anchored to this particular spot. It must have saved them from the harvest that caught Shiva and all the other Summon spirits trapped in materia. Within the bubble they had free reign, and given the way the tiered islands were arranged, the density of spirits and magical activity, they had established a hierarchy and something very, very powerful presided over it all.
Kirkwal's Fade had been dominated by a couple of powerful spirit domains: a Despair demon reigned over the bulk of the Gallows, a Rage spirit over the floating islands corresponding to Darktown, and a Pride lorded over them all from Hightown. Getting caught in any one of the domains meant that something else would probably wake up in your skin the next day.
Hawke grimaced.
No sensible mage would ever enter such a thing. It may as well have had 'Welcome to Death and suffering,' emblazoned across the face of the bubble. Or perhaps the ever popular 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter.'
This was going to be such a bother.
She held her staff lightly and stepped through the bubble.
Illusions and temptations met her. It was all thoroughly unpleasant. She walked out of a burning Kirkwall, away from death rattles and screamed accusations, the shards of shattered spirits tinkling off her staff.
She searched methodically through the islands, trying not to engage the spirits where she could. After she cut through a few of the weaker ones they withdrew from her path. They were all old spirits, content to watch until she gave them an opening.
She stalked through thick forest. She saw no sign of anyone else here, but the air was so thick with power and illusions that it didn't mean anything.
She stepped out of the tree cover onto a soaring tree branch connecting the islands.
Genesis stood in the middle of it. He had his sword drawn and he was looking up at the island she'd just come from.
She squinted at him. Then her shoulders relaxed and relief flooded her: it was the real thing. The Fade pulled smoothly around him from the confidence of someone who fully believed he could reshape the world if he tried hard enough. Spirits moved with the Fade, they didn't cut through it.
"Thank the Maker," she muttered, closing the distance. He had gained enough of a grasp of his presence that he didn't summon chandeliers anymore: a crying shame in her books.
He stepped back and lifted his sword.
"Stop. How do I know you're real?" he said.
She raised her hands, startled. She shouldn't have been, he was right to question her.
"You don't," she said. A spirit playing a part would be reassuring.
He pursed his lips.
"Tell me something I don't know about you."
"I'm... naturally blonde," she blurted.
He lowered the tip of his sword. "No, you're not!"
"I'm not. I panicked."
"Planet's sake, Hawke," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Alright, alright, something you don't know. I'm a dog person?"
He raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow. "Every dog owner in Midgar knows that."
She huffed. "Fine! Crabs freak me out, they scuttle too much. They used to call me a hero. There's a scar on my thigh from sitting on a curling iron but I tell everyone the Arishok did it. I taught myself to speak with this accent because no one in Kirkwall would hire a refugee." She shrugged, running out of steam. "I'm self-conscious about my nose."
He lowered his sword, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Why?" he asked. "It's a charming nose."
"It's big and crooked," she said. She refrained from putting a hand over her face.
He studied her, a smile breaking across his face. "I think it adds character."
She snorted. "I'm not suffering from a lack of character. What are you doing here?"
"We were trapped," he said, all business again. "A spirit tricked Angeal and I into sleeping in the Sleeping Forest."
She nodded slowly. She stabbed her staff into the bridge and leaned on it. "You fell asleep… in the Sleeping Forest."
He closed his eyes. "Don't."
"I can't help but think," she drawled.
"I don't deserve this."
"That, maybe, you might have walked into that one."
"Yes, fine. I fell face first into its trap. Happy?" he demanded. "Why are you here?"
She grinned. "I'm rescuing you."
"My hero."
"You're not the only one who got caught." She looked at the islands spread around them. Some were dominated by forest, some glowing pearl and cold silver. Spirits fluttered on all of them. "This is very dangerous territory, and Aerith's out there somewhere."
"So is Angeal." He pointed across the way. "I've looked across those four islands. There are aggressive spirits everywhere but I haven't found anyone else."
"I've looked on the higher levels and the one with the squid statue."
"Will it change as soon as we turn our backs? The path keeps doubling back."
Hawk sighed. "Probably. There are so many spirits and so few dreamers to anchor it all down. This whole place is a maze."
His brow furrowed and he turned to her. "What is all this? What's the point?"
"A predatory spirit presides over this place and rules the others." She thought back to what it's lackeys had tried on her, the angle it's temptations had taken. "Sloth I think. It's locked in here and feeding off of us. All of them are."
"Sloth? It didn't feel slovenly to me. What illusions did you see?"
Her expression tightened. "Home."
He looked hesitant. "Was it nice?"
"Like a stiletto between the ribs," she said with a weak grin. "What did you see?"
"The same." He looked away. "And the same."
There was an awkward silence.
"I told you spirits are dangerous," she said quietly. It wasn't how she would have wanted to find out, personally. There didn't seem to be a pleasant route to that knowledge.
"Which way from here?"
They settled on a direction and set off to go rescue their friends.
Aerith wandered the woods.
She'd been on her guard ever since she'd entered the bubble. Since she'd made her poor deal with Rebellion, really. The Lifestream didn't feel as welcoming as it always had. But she was here to rescue Angeal and Genesis and she wasn't going to give up.
The trees were perfectly silent, watchful and tense. She followed a wandering little path of moss, moving as quietly as she could. She looked back over her shoulder. There was no path back the way she had come.
She refused to be shaken.
No spirits spoke to her, but she saw their light and shadow forms moving between the trees at a distance. She tried to leave the path but the trees were too thick, roots caught at her ankles, large, sweet smelling flowers with sticky looking petals rose up and bloomed where she intended to go. She didn't step on them.
She lifted her hands and sent out her earth magic to make the plants move. They decline to do so.
Maybe she was a little shaken.
She followed the path. May as well see where it was leading her. If things got bad she could just wake up. She wasn't sure how she was going to do that, but she figured it'd come to her if she needed it.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, the path grew wider. Silvery stone paving replaced the moss. The trees on both sides pulled apart to let in cold white light, like that of a chilly early morning, directly down onto the path. It's glow on the stone seemed to draw her further in, beckoning her.
The trees parted and graceful Cetra hall stood before her. She didn't remember seeing it from outside the bubble, but it wasn't the great palace. It's shape was like a pair of angel wing seashells, laying ajar on the long edge, forming a long and thin hall.
Spirits wearing faces and armour flanked the path between her and it in a still and silent guard. She couldn't identify any of them at a glance. At the path's end the tall white doors were open to her.
She quailed. Who did they think she was? What were they expecting from her?
She told herself off a second later. She knew who she was. Nothing else mattered. The Fade was a matter of perspective, and from her perspective she had nothing to be ashamed of and every right to be here.
She stood tall, planted her staff on the stone tiles, and walked between them all. She didn't hesitate at the threshold. She passed into the hall.
It was bright inside, soaring ceiling dripped chandeliers that fell like the fluttery tentacles of a jellyfish. Balconies filled with spirits lined the walls.
At the far end of the hall a female spirit sat in a resplendent chair atop a dias. She rose at Aerith's appearance.
Aerith halted three steps inside the hall.
The spirit took the form of a tall woman with a human face, long navy blue hair curling down her shoulders and back. A wreath of horns sprung up from her head and swept up into the air like a crown.
She walked to the end of the dias. Panels of pink silk covered her body from collarbone to ankle, it fluttered and caught the light independent of any movement of her or the air. Her skin was gunmetal grey and her expression haughty.
She descended the stairs until she stood level with her. Then she bowed.
Aerith blinked.
"Be welcome in this place, Aerith Gainsborough," the spirit called when she rose again.
She bowed back, though not quite so deep. She didn't trust the display. She was so outnumbered and in what felt like a royal court. Were they playing games with her? They knew who she was, but she didn't know anything about them.
"What are you, spirit?" she asked.
The spirit raised an eyebrow. There was infinity in her unmarked face, untold age in her bright eyes.
"I am called Aega. My domain is Pride." Her voice rumbled with depth like a chorus. The spirits in the balconies and around the hall sighed with languages she didn't understand.
"What do you want from me?" Aerith asked. She'd met a Pride spirit before. It had been a month old.
Aega looked quizzically at her. "Nothing. I am honoured by your presence alone. Gaia's children have not walked this path for an aeon."
Aerith grinned. "Appealing to my sense of pride, I see."
"And why should I not? You have much to be proud of, daughter of Ifalna, daughter of Talita, of the line of Blessed Matriarch Coerla, of the Shearwater Clan."
Aerith sucked in a sharp breath.
"Perhaps... you want something from me?"
She pursed her lips. How convenient. "What do you know about my mother? My grandma? My… clan?"
"You hail from a matriline of great honour, child," Aega said, serious and reverent. She threw out a hand and the hall melted away, the audience of spirits disappearing into a swirl of colour and a bird's eye view of the sleeping forest and the palace it housed. "Would you see the heights of the past?"
The surroundings changed again and they were on a bridge before the Cetra palace in the forest but it was packed with People. Cetra in brightly coloured clothes and ornaments she couldn't name travelled back and forth upon it, chatting with spirits and leading chocobos.
She put her hands over her mouth. Aega stood, watchful, at her side.
Aerith lowered her hands. A young Cetra in a ceremonial headdress and a coat of feathers walked through her.
"What do you want in return?" She wasn't going to get played again.
"When you leave this place, and you will for I will not try to keep you, I ask that you leave me and mine unharmed."
"You won't try to hold me here?" She hadn't thought to be afraid of that.
Aega looked down at her, knowing and slightly reprimanding. It reminded her little of Elmyra. "No. I won't. Sloth will not relinquish you so easily, him you must slay. But I believe you are equal to the task."
Aerith narrowed her eyes. "Who's Sloth?"
"You walk in his domain. You cannot get out without going further in." Aega raised her chin. "Have we a deal?"
"Wait, so you want me to leave you in peace, but go kill your boss?"
"He will keep your mind here and take your body for himself if you do not, little Somniari."
"Well, I'm not going to let him." Aerith crossed her arms. The image of an old woman carrying a staff studded with emeralds and rubies hobbled by her on the bridge, helped by a young woman with chestnut curls. Aerith watched them go. Every person her eyes landed on was fascinating. No modern day reproductions, no Shinra's best guesses here.
"You only want to be left alone?" She asked. "You won't take anything from me?"
Aega nodded, gracious and benevolent.
"Say it outloud, please," Aerith said, in a coy reprimand.
Aega smiled. "I will take nothing from you."
She bit her lip.
"Please. Show me my mothers."
"I will show you what I remember." Aega held out a hand.
Aerith took it. There was no give or warmth in her skin at all, it felt hard and textured like chitin.
The bridge disappeared and all its occupants, replaced by a large echoing chamber. A flat platform rose from a lake of still, black water. Four women in long intricate robes stood in a circle on the platform, holding staffs and pouring power into a white glyph between them. Aega stood with them, along with two other spirits. The air shook with magic and one of the women began to chant. The others took up the cry, singing in unison.
Aerith didn't understand a word of it, but it shook all through her and made her heart ache.
The glyph grew and grew. It glowed so brightly it hurt her to look. The waters around the platform trembled and began to spin and roar. The whole room was alive in noise, light, and magic, overwhelming all the senses. One woman fell to her knees, and then another, but they kept casting. The glyph pulsed. The roar built and built.
Then it stopped, sudden and sharp. A third cetra stumbled and fell to her knees, clutching at her staff not to collapse entirely.
The glyph held in place for a single silent moment. It snapped in on itself with a crack that split the air. In the centre of the platform sat the white materia.
Aerith gasped. Her hand rose to the top of her braid where it hid.
The only woman still standing, the one who led the chant, stepped forward. Leaning heavily on her staff, she bent and lifted the new materia up to the light.
"What does it do?" Aerith whispered.
"It is a shield around Gaia," the Pride spirit at her side said, "it holds back spirits from other Lifestreams. None can enter Gaia through the Fade while it is active."
Aerith's eyes widened. She thought back at all her attempts to get it to do something.
"Is it- is it active now?"
Aege smiled gently. "Yes, child. No mortals remain who have the strength to turn it off."
The images changed, and the scene reset in the same chamber, but with more casters now. The same Cetra woman led the spell, her headdress was more magnificent and her face older. She wore armour over her robes. The song was louder, sharper, and the glyph glowed black. The spell built and built and built until it reached its crescendo with a deafening roar. A black materia landed upon the platform.
Aerith hadn't even known there was a black materia.
"What does that one do?"
"It calls on debris from space to rain down upon those who attacked Gaia from outside. There are your planet's defences, authored by your ancestors."
"Who was she?" Aerith asked, looking at the leader. She had pale skin and black hair, like the people of Wutai. Her face was round and chubby, with a natural sweetness at odds with the severity of her expression while she commanded the power in the room.
"Matriarch Coerla," Aega answered, quietly. "She was... my friend."
Aerith looked at the spirit. Her face was unchanged. Her eyes looked so very old.
The image changed again. She saw cities drawn forth from the fabric of Gaia itself. Seas tamed, forests given live and mountains summetted.
She saw the same woman, Matriarch Coerla, sew a living braid of Lifestream into a sighing, living song of magic so strong and complex Aerith had to close her eyes. She couldn't shut her ears. Millenia apart, it was still so beautiful. Coerla pressed the tangle of magic into the chest of a young man who looked deathly ill. He gasped with new breath and colour returned to him. As the image faded she noticed he had pointy ears.
She saw queens and priestesses, shepherds, soldiers, and seafarers: there was much to be proud of. And she was, she was so proud of them all. She stood taller just watching.
At last she saw a little girl in purple who she knew in her heart to be her mother. She rode on a white chocobo in front of a woman Aerith had never known. Her grandmother. She was a cunning nomad from the icy north, and she dreamed deeply and uncovered many secrets. She had even entered the bubble as an old woman and spoken with Aega, trading knowledge.
She never left. Aerith watched the memory play out as her cunning and beautiful grandmother fought Sloth, a hideous, fleshy thing in a shadowy chamber from which her ancestors had once shaped the world
Sloth killed her.
She'd grown comfortable watching the images flicker by. The woman collapsed and joined the Lifestream. It hit Aerith like a train.
"He- she died here?"
"Yes."
She felt cold. Furious.
"Thank you for showing me," she whispered.
"Your friends are here. Your time grows short."
She nodded. "How do we get from here to there?"
Aega told her, and then led her back out into the open Fade.
Hawke and Genesis stood opposite a cluster of spirits, their weapons out but keeping their distance.
"No, don't fight them, it's alright," Aerith called. The spirits withdrew at her command, more than the two humans did.
"Come on," she said, "I know where Angeal is. And I know how we're getting out of here."
A/N: Thank you for reading! All comments and con-crit are welcome.
Next time: Escape. Or, Sloth =/= easy going.
