Title : Emerald Skies
Author : lynlyn
Author email : cloud121383@yahoo.com
Warnings : Here is where I warn off readers who can't take yaoi. The main pairing here is Sephiroth / Cloud, though that bit will be coming much, much later, after quite a few chapters of character and plot development. If you're open-minded, and like action and adventure, then well and good, but if you don't like romance between two guys, then skip the mushy chapters, or don't read at all. This fic takes off right after the game, and will seem a bit confusing to those who don't know much about the characters' pasts.
Summary : They say that dreams are expressions of our subconscious desires…
Rating : PG-13 for adult themes, swearing, and a bit of violence. The rating might go up in later chapters, though.
Disclaimer : I do not own Final Fantasy 7, its characters, or anything associated with it. The sword Silfolion and anything related to the anime Groove Adventure Rave belongs to its creator and the studio responsible for animating it. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Please don't sue – I'm only a college student.
A/N : This chapter is very, very late. So late, in fact, that I don't have any excuse.
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EMERALD SKIES
~chapter 1~
Darkness, all around him – encompassing, traversing…
Where am I?
Darkness in front, at the back, above him, even below. Was there even a floor? What was he standing on…?
What am I doing here?
Silence. Silence so complete it was deafening. Everything was still, suspended in time, all movement stopped, animation forbidden.
It's… I can't see in front of me… so dark…
He turned his upper body around, twisting it to the right, then to the left, looking for anything that could point to where he was. He held out his hands… hands?
Nothing. There was nothing in front of him. He could feel his hands, could sense himself holding them up in front of him, but they weren't there. He looked down. His body wasn't there.
What in hell…?
Only blackness, stretching as far as his non-existent eyes could see.
Nothing…
No! He was right there! He was standing… on something… and he was looking around…
I'm… dreaming?
That's it. He was probably dreaming… Though he didn't remember falling asleep…
This is weird…
He looked down again. He knew he was standing on something solid. He wasn't free-falling, wasn't he? But where the hell is the floor?!
He reached down… and touched nothing. His hands – his invisible hands – passed through where he assumed his equally invisible feet were and down below.
Okaaay… no floor…
Should he walk? He hadn't moved ever since waking up to this black landscape. What if he was standing on the only patch of invisible, solid ground available there, and he stepped out of the circle of invisible ground?
Duuh… I'll fall, of course…
He looked around once more, invisible eyes squinting, narrowing, trying to see through the darkness pressing onto him.
This is getting really freaky… Hello? … Anyone here?
Silence. Not even an echo. No surprise there. The darkness had swallowed up his shouted query as effortlessly as an ocean would a capsized boat. Would he be swallowed up, too, if he fell?
Maybe. Maybe not. If this was really a dream, then nothing should happen to his real body even if Bahamut himself appeared and toasted his dream self to cinders.
I dunno… this all seems pretty real to me…
He finally decided, after a few more moments of thinking.
Fuck the darkness. I can't just stay here forever…
He took a step forward. Tentatively, hesitantly, gingerly feeling for an obviously non-existent foothold…
When nothing happened, he took another step. Then another. And another. And he whirled around in surprise as the still dreamscape started to change.
His walking must have triggered it. There was no other explanation… concentric circles were rippling here and there, disturbances on the black surface caused by unseen drops of rain… But it wasn't raining. And the floor… Was he standing on water?
Water… that looked vaguely familiar. The ripples were green. No, not just the ripples. Everything was suddenly taking on a dark greenish hue.
The Lifestream… this feels like the Lifestream…
And where there was nothing before, there was something now. He was not sure what… But there was now a distinguishable hemisphere dividing the black "sky" and the equally greenish-black quasi-floor dotted with the glowing green ripples.
Why do I always get the weird dreams?
And his body was visible again. It was still too dark to see colors, but he could see the outlines of his hands.
He started to walk again, slowly, looking around and at everything through a green haze. Each time his feet hit the "floor" more ripples were formed, giving the impression that he was walking on water. This disturbed him at first; it seemed that anytime now he might suddenly slip through and sink into the inky blackness, but after awhile – and nothing happened except for the sporadic circles appearing randomly all around him, he began to relax.
He walked. And walked. And lost track of time. And walked until it seemed that he'd been walking in the damned dreamscape for what seemed to be an eternity. He didn't mind walking – it gave him something to do, at the very least, but it became increasingly monotonous. The same rippling in the same black-green water, all around him. He hadn't made any headway at all, in the past hours – minutes? – of walking. And, he realized that he didn't have a destination in mind. Nothing had happened to at least give him an idea of where to go.
Ugh, is there even such a thing as "somewhere" here? For all I know, I could be the only thing besides Lifestream-y water and green ripples around here…
He tried hard to recall his short stay in the Lifestream. It was… blurred, at best, fragments and vague perceptions of what had transpired inside his head while he was unconscious from mako poisoning. But the memories he'd retrieved from those events… they were clear, maddeningly so, as if the said memories had cleared themselves just to spite him, to remind him of the fool he'd been when he decided to take another's memory and identity.
Ah, Zack… I've done this a thousand times before, and I know that plain wishing will never bring you back, but I'm a stubborn asshole… I wish you were still alive…
"I know the world sucks, Spike, but plain wishing won't get you anywhere."
Zack?!
"But it's not your fault, nor is it mine, or anyone else's. Remember that. It's just the way things are."
It was Zack – at least, it sounded like him. He'd know that light-hearted voice anywhere. But… where in hell was it coming from? It echoed around him, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint a specific direction.
"But what about…"
Now he'd gone off the deep end. That was his own voice, the high boyish lilt still undeveloped – his voice nearly a decade ago.
"Oh, you mean that bastard? Ah, he's probably an exception. All right, you can blame him all you want, Spike. The world will be better off without people like him – and toss in your personal stalkers into that category for good measure."
"Zaa~~ack!!"
"But they were stalking you! 'Least, that's what it looked like to me…"
He wasn't imagining things. That memory was real, a conversation that had taken place a month after he'd first met Zack back in Midgar, two after he'd enlisted in the SOLDIER program. He remembered… that first month, before Zack found him, had not been an enjoyable experience. He had come fresh from Nibelheim, a green recruit lured by Shinra's advertising campaigns, but above all else, a child wanting to escape from the outcast reputation forcibly pegged onto him, and the gang of hometown bullies that came along with it.
He hadn't had much luck in that latter reason, though. Said gang of bullies had heard of the same stories of glory and fame, and had decided to take a shot at trying to emulate the legendary Sephiroth's stature. That their favorite punching bag and all-around target of physical and verbal abuse had tagged along was just a welcome bonus.
In reality, he hadn't been that bad a student. He had difficulty keeping up in physical exercises and classes, because of his smaller size; but when it came to academics and all things requiring the mental faculties, he excelled. His mind, as if sensing that he had been given a chance at a new life – a fresh start – seemed to have suddenly been turned on after a lifetime of slumber. His instructors had delighted in his quick mind, and his ability to absorb information from books like a sponge soaking up water.
The instructor in charge of the physical aspects of their training hadn't been as impressed. For some reason, he had disliked the small blonde right from the start, even if the quiet trainee had done nothing wrong. The instructor had even gone as far as calling him a sure failure at the first meeting, when he'd failed to accomplish the required one-hundred pushups.
It hadn't come as that much of a surprise that his old tormentors had immediately taken to the teacher, and vice versa; and between them they made most of his classes a living hell. During breaks and free hours he'd made himself as scarce as possible, in case the Nibelheim gang decided to do a bit of hunting. In that way he was able to avoid confrontations, but only to a certain extent. A month into the first term they were finally able to corner him, with the help of some older students. It had only been inevitable that they'd league with the resident delinquent gang; and although he'd tried his best in their physical combat lessons, what little he knew wasn't sufficient to fight off such a large group. They would beat him up enough to put him in the infirmary for a couple of weeks, but he knew they wouldn't have dared to kill him, as long as he didn't aggravate them further, so he'd resigned himself to his fate and prayed that they would tire of him sooner than later.
They'd already broken a few of his bones when Zack had happened to pass by; but they immediately scattered as soon as they'd seen him. The fact that Zack was known as General Sephiroth's second had chased them away, and he'd have run away too, if he hadn't been too injured to move. To say the least, he'd been mortified that it had to be a superior officer who found him, and had tried to limp – or more appropriately, crawl away after waving off the older man's questions of concern. Zack would have none of it, though, and promptly carried him to his personal quarters, amidst much protests in the younger recruit's part.
A Cure2 and a couple of wheedling questions later Zack was able to find out a bit about his past in his old hometown. A few more days spent in the company of the diminutive blonde and the older man had pretty much figured out his dilemma – and his problems with the resident physical combat instructor.
However hard he'd tried to convince the ranking officer that he no more need to be fussed over like some handicapped child – that Zack had to have many more important things to do rather than waste time befriending him, the SOLDIER had never listened. He'd known instinctively that he had found – or stumbled upon – a very powerful ally, but he'd never thought to take advantage of the connection the older man presented. Zack had started to treat him like a much loved younger brother, and he, who had never known his father, never had a male authority figure so far in his life, took to the treatment like a thirsty man after water.
It was then that Zack had started to give him one-on-one lessons on fighting. It had been slow going at first – routine physical exercises to increase his strength and stamina, and for too many times to count he'd wound up panting, shaking with exhaustion on the floor. But Zack had been patient with him, and by the end of the month had pronounced him fit enough to start undergoing basic martial arts lessons.
After one particularly frustrating session where he'd tried, and failed, to master a complex series of katas, he'd flopped down, bemoaned his clumsiness, and wished for a physique more suited for a SOLDIER candidate.
The scene materializing out of the green-tinged darkness had been Zack's response to that wish. For the other man, good-natured and optimistic to a fault, to declare such a pessimistic view about the world had been quite a shock to his younger self.
"So you'll have to get stronger, okay? That way Mr. Prissy-pants and his favorite band of students won't have anything else to say to you."
"But it's so hard! I don't think I'll ever be able to stand up to them…"
"Nonsense! You're doing great, you know that? You might not have noticed, but you've gotten stronger. Everyone has to go through that at first. If you want to be able to pull off the more complex techniques and moves you'll have to have enough stamina, good reflexes, and a lot of coordination. That last three can only be acquired through constant practice and exercise."
"I'm really sorry, Zack. I'm such a burden…"
He watched wistfully as the dark-haired man grabbed his younger self in a headlock and mercilessly ruffled his blonde spikes with his knuckles – a noogie, Zack called it.
"– Hey!"
"Say 'sorry' one more time and I'll kick you from here 'till next Tuesday, y'hear?!"
The teasing tone was back in Zack's mock-growl, and the small blonde smirked and barked a muffled "Yes, sir!!" before suddenly squirming and erupting into a fit of helpless laughter – for Zack had abruptly changed tactics and was now mercilessly tickling the young recruit.
He'd taken his daily sessions with Zack much more seriously after that talk – not that he hadn't been serious enough before; but since then he'd never complained. He whined good-naturedly every now and then, causing Zack to set off their usual playful wrestling matches, (he always ended up pinned to the ground or victim to the other man's infamous headlock) but outside of their teasing his concentration was total, his dedication to mastering everything Zack could teach him complete and near-obsessive.
The bullying continued, but not as much as before since Zack kept a close watch on him, even going as far as visiting him in the trainees' barracks and nearly scaring his classmates (the Nibelheim bullies bunked in a separate barrack – good thing for them, Zack wouldn't have passed up the chance to leave a few… 'perks' behind for them to find otherwise) to death with his sudden intent to visit. They warmed to his easygoing and brotherly nature immediately after, but still kept a safe distance for fear of getting involved in issues out of their league.
The specters in front of him slowly dissolved into nothingness, leaving him with only his thoughts and returning memories to keep him company. He didn't know why that particular memory showed itself to him… was it because he had been thinking about Zack? Whatever the reason, it left him feeling hollow and slightly sentimental, that old feeling of something missing reasserting itself back into his thoughts.
The last time he'd felt that awful emptiness was right after he'd defeated Sephiroth.
The green darkness started to stir again, disturbances in the glossy surface most probably triggered by his latest thought.
Oh, goody. Another memory?
This time it was around two months after the first memory. Classes have just been dismissed for the weekend; and most of the students, having undergone a series of grueling written exams for the past week, were gearing up to spend their short break partying in Midgar's malls and clubs. Those who had stayed behind were either cranky old instructors, or students with no social lives to boast of.
His younger self, by default, in that case, belonged to the latter category, he mused as he watched the conjured image walk down quiet halls normally bustling with activity and noise.
Well, not really. I remember a couple of guys trying to get me to go with them, but I didn't want to.
Yes. He remembered this scene, clearer than the others, one of the most memorable events in his Midgar days – all due to three very special reasons.
Zack had finally upgraded him to weapon fighting, after two months of hand-to-hand combat and endless exercises. All that hard work had paid off; at that point he could already be categorized as a red-belter in most of the martial arts fields the Shinra Academy focused on. And he could be very, very fast when he needed to be; the slight frame he used to hate so much now adding to his speed and agility. His PE classes were still hell, the instructor as intolerable as ever, but at the very least he had Zack's friendship. That in itself made up for every negative complaint he had against the world.
But that didn't mean that he wouldn't have jumped at a chance to advance into weapons training, especially if Zack himself had offered. He'd attended several demonstrations, all required by their trainers, of course. He'd seen the Turks, with their guns and various instruments of assassination, then the platoons of lower-ranked soldiers had performed a number of synchronized rifle drills. The group that had impressed him the most, though, had been the SOLDIERS, who had chosen to use blades, staffs, and heavy striking weapons. The slender katana, in particular, had appealed to him, as well as the unwieldy-looking broadsword. They were opposites, in size, weight, and technique of handling, but both types had seemed to beckon to him as he'd watched the superior officers stage the mock-duels.
Which was why his younger self had been so eager to undertake that afternoon's lesson. Zack had told him that he'd get to try out all the standard issue weapons, and they'll try to find out which one suited him the most. He'd still have to train in the use of all the weapons, but the older man promised to help him focus on the weapon of his choice. He'd thought then that the advanced lessons would give him an edge during PE class.
He'd thought right – it was circumstance that had proven him wrong. But that was another story. He watched his younger self slip into the enormous training gym, now quiet and devoid of all but a few like-minded individuals. All were higher-ranked, and ignored the small blonde as he made his way into the sections for weapons training.
He was too early – Zack wasn't there yet; and too eager and hyper to just sit down on the mats and wait, started to go through a series of warm-up exercises and simple katas. Before he knew it he had proceeded on to the more complicated steps. So focused was he on his movements that he hadn't noticed a madly-grinning Zack creep up on him from behind.
"Argh! Zack, geroff!"
"Didn't see that one coming, did you?" the older man asked, smug smirk and all plastered on his face.
"Katas are supposed to be exercises on concentration, right? You told me that yourself." He grumbled back, squirming furiously this way and that, but never completely breaking the older man's grip on him.
"Huh. Now you're throwing my words back at me. Why don't you go pick on someone your own size?" Zack whined as he released his friend, the corners of his mouth turning down in a mock-pout.
"Speak for yourself!"
The Zack image laughed, and even though the imitation didn't quite capture the real person's boundless exuberance and optimism, it was still a reminder of what his best friend used to be – a likeliness similar enough that it pained him to hear the clear, ringing tones that had cheered him up so many times in the past.
He watched, nostalgia now permeating his thoughts, as Zack apologized to his younger self, then abruptly switched to his usual pre-session pep talk. Minutes later they were going through the basics and safety procedures, and after that, finally started trying out the various weapons displayed in neat rows along the racks and shelves. The Lifestream's imitation of him was actually quite accurate – it managed to capture the right kind of excited gleam that had shone in his eyes as Zack put him through his paces with each new weapon he tried. Spears, swords, daggers, staffs, whips, bows, and guns – the afternoon light had waned and darkened into night when they'd finally finished, and Zack stood to one side, thinking of an assessment while he cooled down with a series of slow katas.
"Sword? Broad or narrow? But you're also good with knives… Should be something that would conform to your speed…" Zack muttered to himself.
"Definitely the narrow-bladed swords."
If it were any other voice he would have ignored it, for whenever he concentrated he tended to disregard distractions unless they were directly addressing him. This new voice, however, belonged to someone all recruits knew, and were all conditioned to respond to whatever they happened to be doing at the time they were called. So it happened that his younger self, in the middle of a turn that should have looked graceful had it been executed properly, did a cross between a jump and a stumble that resulted in him sprawling out none too gracefully on the matted floor.
"Or the katana, more specifically. Is your friend all right, Zack?"
"Perfectly fine! Right, Spike? What took you so long, Seph?"
He hadn't seen, or heard what the other man's reply had been, since at that time he was busy trying to regain his lost dignity, but now, as an observer, he could clearly see the exchange between his superior officers. Sephiroth was lifting an elegant eyebrow, which his present self, for some reason, interpreted as: "What do you mean, 'what took me so long'? You were the one who told me to hide and watch from the sidelines." Zack, on the other hand, had both hands up in his appeasing, just-kidding manner.
It was a few more seconds later before he'd been able to jump up and assume a reasonably unruffled salute.
"G-good afternoon sir! S-sorry, sir!"
Even now, he had to wince at his stammering greeting and apology.
"At ease, private. We're off-duty right now, so there's no need for that."
"Y-yes, sir…"
"So… an assessment… Normally we don't do this for recruits until a year into their training, but I'm free this afternoon, and since you asked…"
"Thanks for coming, Seph. So… what do you think?"
"His best asset is most obviously his speed, so you'd want to work with weapons that emphasize mobility. The lighter blades, even the double daggers, should work for him." Sephiroth paused, then looked at Zack. "But if you've taken him under your wing I'd imagine that you'd want something flashier than 2 small blades."
Zack grinned, the message 'You know me too well' written all over his smirk, and Sephiroth continued.
"If you want to add power to compensate for his slight build, you'll have to go with the broadswords. The axe may be too unwieldy, and might sacrifice too much of his speed, especially during the swings. For now I think it might be better if he trained using the lighter swords first. Once he has mastered the basics, he can move on to the larger blades."
He noticed that Sephiroth was addressing his past self in the third person, but he hadn't minded then, and he didn't mind now. It was already more than enough that the famed General was spending his free time helping Zack with his training. Besides, it could be some kind of habit… Sephiroth must give assessments such as this one daily for him to have developed this style of addressing recruits.
Zack had been nodding while his superior spoke, and now he stood in front of the rack that displayed the various kinds of swords… He had to keep reminding himself that the images weren't real, that they were only memories being replayed by the green fluid that made up pretty much the whole of this dream world, that the green-tinged figures in front of him couldn't possibly compare to the real people… but it's been so long since he'd seen a likeliness of his old friend, be it a still photograph, or a moving image… It was all he could do not to step into and among the conjured images, and just hug Zack, for as long as the Lifestream permitted him…
"Light, but big enough to give him enough power…" Zack, again muttering to himself, cast a critical eye over the displayed swords. "Of course, it should look cool… Murasame looks too dull, might be too heavy for Spike… Orichalcon? Nah, too gaudy, it'll just attract thieves…"
The Lifestream Sephiroth shook his head, as if exasperated at the trivial things Zack was paying attention to rather than the necessities he should be focusing on. At this point, he could remember staring wide-eyed at both of his superior officers – at Zack, the carefree and open way he treated the white-haired general, and Sephiroth, at how… normal he seemed to be treating an ordinary recruit like him. He'd expected something more aloof, or haughty… not that he preferred being faced with the second kind of treatment…
Sephiroth – the Lifestream Sephiroth – gave one last sigh, but he was smiling, almost as if trying to put him at ease, when he turned to address his younger self, who jumped at suddenly being paid attention to.
"Don't mind him, he'll be like that for a while until he finds something that would pass all of his criteria… Anyway, your name's Strife, right?"
"Y-yes, sir! Cloud Strife, sir!"
"Well, Cloud, would you like to spar?"
"W-what?"
"Nothing serious, just a practice spar."
"But I –"
"Don't worry, I won't go all-out. Well, it's not even a spar, technically. Try to hit me, while I block; and later, we'll switch positions. I'll attack you, while you try to block my blows as best as you can. In the process, I'll be evaluating your initial stance, tell you what your mistakes are, and suggest improvements and techniques, or fighting styles that I think might suit you. Trust me, in this one session you'll be able to learn more than the whole month of theoretical classes you'll be taking in preparation for your weapon fighting course."
The Lifestream Sephiroth chuckled when his younger self blanched at the mention of the theoretical classes. He remembered those well enough, and would like to forget them if he could. They were, bluntly put, pure hell – hours and hours of listening to aging instructors drone about the weight of this and that sword versus gravity and how it would affect the trajectory of projectile so-and-so.
"And I've been watching from the sidelines until awhile ago, remember? Zack's actually right this time – you do have a bit of natural talent; you don't have to worry about 'screwing up' in front of me. Everyone has to go through that stage at the beginning."
Sephiroth was right; the session hadn't gone as badly as he'd thought at first. The General, he'd found out, was a fair and understanding instructor, stern enough to inspire concentration and diligence, but not too harsh that his students would be too scared to actually learn anything from him. He pointed out mistakes instantly, but didn't go as far as to humiliate or berate. His instructions were clear and easy to understand, and his suggestions were very helpful, seemingly tailored to fit the capabilities of the person he was teaching. He'd found himself enjoying so much that he'd actually felt disappointed when Zack came back, carrying a strange-looking sword, after wandering off for thirty minutes.
The weapon looked closer to a broadsword in size and weight than a katana, so he'd been surprised back then that Zack had picked that one, after hearing what Sephiroth had said. The blade was straight, and was sharp only at one edge. Actually, its shape resembled Zack's own Buster Sword, only narrower, a few inches shorter, and it had a more ornate hilt.
"Silfolion," Sephiroth said slowly, "I'd almost forgotten about this one. Yes, that would be perfect for him."
"It would, wouldn't it?" Zack agreed cheerfully, handing the sword hilt-first to the wide-eyed blonde. "Mind you, I'd have given him the Buster Sword right away if he could handle it, but, yeah, I think this baby's the right one for him – for now, at least."
He'd accepted the sword right away, and for a split second, stared in horror that he'd done so without thinking, that he wouldn't be able to carry such a heavy-looking sword and that it'd probably crash to the floor and make a mess of the matting… Horror quickly turned to wonder, though. The sword was unbelievably light, not much heavier than the practice swords he and Sephiroth had used.
"As Seph said, it's called Silfolion, the only one of its kind in the whole armory. Actually, attempts have been made to copy its dimensions, but no one's succeeded creating something with the same size and weight. Supposedly a really good blacksmith donated it to Shinra, or something – waste of good material, if you ask me, since none of the officers could use it, for some reason, and the higher-ups won't even let the recruits touch it."
"Zack…"
"It's true, you know it, Seph. Though it beats me why we can't seem to use it, when it should be easy to handle since it's so light… Well, let's see if Spike can, shall we?"
Zack and Sephiroth had hit the nail right on the head. That sword… he'd felt that he'd connected with it somehow. The General had turned all thoughtful and introspective, while his dark-haired friend just grinned widely, when they saw him take a few practice swings with it. Silfolion had actually felt like an extension of his arm; he hadn't known it back then, but he'd looked almost like someone who'd been using swords all his life, and not a mere first-timer among real weapons.
The conjured images started to melt away, and once again he was left with his thoughts, and more memories of what had happened after. Zack told him that Sephiroth had gone and pulled a few strings – as a favor, he remembered Zack telling his extremely embarrassed and grateful self – and so for a few weeks he had permission to use Silfolion whenever Zack trained him. But when the allotted time had ran out, Zack returned Silfolion back to the storage room. Well, he'd hemmed and hawed while doing so, saying that the tight-assed, and tight-palmed Shinra executives would be doing themselves a great favor by giving ownership of the sword over to his protégé; but they really couldn't do anything about it, not without raising a few issues, some awkward questions, and "a lot of stupid jealousy among the higher ranks", Zack had grumbled.
Silfolion… I wonder what happened to it? I hope they hadn't melted it down… I'll have to ask Reeve the next time I see him, he might have records of it somewhere in his files…
-- woULd YoU likE tO Buy SOme flOWeRs? --
What?!
-- tHeY'Re oNLy One gIL… --
He turned around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, and found himself faced with Aeris.
Or rather, another Lifestream-conjured image, this time that of the flower girl he'd sworn to protect nearly two years ago. But the other images had at least some semblance of color and flesh, while the Aeris in front of him right now looked like a statue molded out of Lifestream, edges and contours too smooth and fluid to be real. Even the flowers in the basket she was holding were green. It was eerie.
And it was starting to freak him out.
This isn't funny…
Lifestream Aeris tilted her head to one side, eyes blinking in polite confusion, and smiled as if there was nothing wrong in the world.
-- fuNnY…? --
Look, Lifestream, or Planet – whatever the hell you are, what do you want? Why am I here? Where is this place, for that matter?
The Lifestream image smiled again, the smile belonging to someone trying to comfort a frightened person or creature, then turned around slowly to look at something behind her.
-- dO You… MiSs thEM? --
Them? What are you…
Something was disturbing the surface of the floor – water? It definitely looked like water now, what looked to be bubbles from unseen fissures were breaking the surface. Then, either the bubbles grew larger, or the fissures became underwater geysers, but the water suddenly started rising up, forming three deformed vertical columns that slowly took on shape. Seconds later, he found himself staring in surprise at three very familiar figures.
-- Do yOU mIss TheM? --
The Lifestream Aeris was addressing him again, but he didn't answer, now very confused at the sudden change from the replaying of memories – which he thought would be the regular routine until he woke up.
Miss them? he echoed dumbly, looking first at Aeris, then Zack, and finally, Sephiroth's still likenesses. Like the Aeris talking to him now they had no color, no life; but unlike the figure the Lifestream had apparently chosen to communicate with, they didn't move, not even the tiniest bit of animation that he had at least beheld in the short replays the Lifestream had done for his memories. These were mere mannequins, eyes open but unnervingly blank and devoid of any light.
Of course, he finally answered softly. Why wouldn't I? I'd give anything to see them alive again.
-- eVen THe oNe whO kiLLeD YouR mOThEr? --
That wasn't him… The real Sephiroth… wouldn't have done that.
Yes. He'd known even when they were fighting the man himself, but the second memory had served to imprint that belief even more firmly in his mind. The Sephiroth he had known back then was someone Zack had befriended, a kindred soul hidden under the invincible and ice-cold persona of the General. A sane Sephiroth couldn't have done all those things back in Nibelheim, and would have preferred killing himself rather than be deluded by impossible visions of godhood and world dominion.
-- You'RE nOT… AnGrY? --
No, he answered, remembering the few times Sephiroth had visited them again after that first session, as if checking up on his progress. The superior officer had no obligation to meet with his younger self again, but he did, several times over. Didn't that speak volumes about the other man's true character and inherent goodness?
-- … sORry. --
What?
The images came all at once, blasting into his consciousness with such force that he actually felt pain, fiery knives driving into his skull, reducing his vision into blinding whiteness. He felt himself fall to his knees, and his hands were clutching the sides of his head, the gesture reminiscent of the times he "went wacko", as Cid liked to call it. What he felt now was nothing compared to those headaches, though. At least during those episodes he had the luxury of blacking out, and the pain was purely physical. Now, it seemed like someone, or something was keeping him awake, forcing him to relieve the worse experiences of his life.
broken bleeding lifeless eyes bullet casings in the rain mercenaries cloud you and me glass tubes needles white labcoats mako pain pain and suffering hang in there Cloud city of the ancients let me handle sephiroth hallowed church holy meteor you remind me of someone i used to know promised land they are not human jenova weak puppet reunion I am coming mother sector 7 casualties avalanche murderers rebels exploding reactors worthless glowing lifestream weapon midgar soldier failure give me anumber number death destruction godhood blood –
STOP IT!!!
-- SoRrY… --
What in hell was that?! he shouted, too frazzled and disoriented to notice that the flow of images had stopped, or that tears were running freely down his face. The Lifestream Aeris only looked down at him with sorrowful and apologetic eyes, if such emotions could even be displayed by a monochromatic figure. He staggered to his feet, weak, blubbery limbs barely able to hold his weight after the vicious mental attack.
Answer me! What did you just do?!
The three figures behind the Lifestream's representative started to dissolve, features melting back into the green fluid. He watched in confusion as the now shapeless columns receded back into the surface of the water.
Hey, wait! What's happening?
-- DoN't wORrY… EveRYtHIng… wiLL tUrN oUt… aLl RiGHt… --
What?! I don't understand!!
The Lifestream Aeris turned around, and started to walk away. He scrambled to his feet, or rather, tried to – his knees felt like jelly, and his hands groped uselessly, failing him at a time he needed their support the most. When he'd finally struggled to an upright position he looked around frantically, only to find that Aeris had disappeared, as suddenly as she had appeared before him. He knew she wasn't the real one, that he shouldn't be as panicked as he was now, but he had too many questions, was still too confused with the pain he could feel lingering in his mind.
Where… Wait!! Please… I… I don't understand!!
A split-second flash, sudden and nearly blinding, green-tinged lightning leaving him desperately trying to blink and clear the dancing dark-green spots in his eyes. He looked around… and noticed that the dreamscape had changed yet again. The ripples have disappeared, leaving his surroundings still, dark, and deathly quiet. He suddenly felt very, very lonely.
-- sOoN… --
Don't leave me! Wait!!!
~~~~~
"Wait!!!"
Cloud Strife found himself sitting up in bed, with the sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his body, and his right arm stretched out into the air in front of him, as if trying to reach out and hold on to some fleeing object. He blinked stupidly for a few moments, not recognizing his own bedroom, and just as he was trying to get his bearings and figure out what had happened to cause the echoes of his last shout something rang, the loud shrill tone deafening in the silence of the night.
Was this what had woken him? His PHS was ringing shrilly on his bedside table, the vibration caused by its loud frequency nearly jumping it off the wood and onto the floor. He fumbled for it in the dark, almost stumbling off the bed in his haste to answer it and stop the irritating jangling.
" 'lo?" he slurred.
It was Ricky, one of the lead foremen Reeve had assigned to head the various construction and cleanup efforts in and around Midgar.
Mr. Strife, sir! Trouble outside on Section Four! A herd of Marlboros suddenly attacked – there's more'n fifty of them, we can't hold them off!
"What?!"
We don't know what spooked them, but we've never seen a group this big!
In the background he could hear yells and screams of panic, and what sounded like angry growls and roars.
/ Marlboros never attack in groups of more than five… And they don't attack unless hungry or provoked… /
His dream was promptly forgotten as he realized the gravity of the situation. AVALANCHE had come across several of the irritating creatures during their year-long journey, particularly in the Gaia Cliffs. The small groups of two or three were mere annoyances compared to Jenova and Sephiroth, but Cloud would rather face the space alien again than go up against 50 or more of the disgusting Marlboros. At least Jenova didn't stink… much…
In his mind's eye he could see a fleeting image of the tentacled beasts descending on the construction base. He would have brushed it off as imagination if it weren't for one seemingly innocent, but actually chilling fact that set it apart from the normal imagery. The Marlboros in his image were out-of-control, literally on the rampage, when he knew that when they attack they have at least some semblance of control, an animalistic chain of command that had the larger ones attacking aggressively, the smaller, younger creatures staying back and poisoning their prey whenever they could. In picturing said attack one would put that knowledge in, too, but in his imagination, all of the Marlboros were attacking, even the young ones… was his image some kind of clairvoyant signal, then – a vision of the attack currently happening?
Cloud, awfully sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but we really need your help!
Ricky was sounding more and more dismayed with each passing second. Now really wasn't the time to be thinking too much about trivial things. He jumped up, and started pulling on a pair of work pants with his free hand.
"Uh, yes, I'll be over right away. Just try to hang on for ten minutes. And Ricky – don't attack on your own, try to form a defensive line or circle."
Alright. Please hurry, sir!
"I'll keep the line open," Cloud added, but the man had already turned his attention somewhere else, even though he'd left the phone on.
What the hell are you doing?! Marlboros are weak against water! Don't use Fire on them, you idiots!!
Cloud held the PHS away from his ear, wincing a bit at the loud yell that issued from it. That bellow would have given Barret a run for his money. As promised, he kept the line open, sliding it into its pouch on his utility belt, along with the usual potions and healing items. He snatched a sweater from his closet, running into his bathroom as he pulled it on, then splashed his face with water to drive the last vestiges of sleep away. He didn't bother trying to run a comb through his perpetually unruly hair.
It took him a few seconds to open the safe where his materia was stored, but once the small, heavy door was open it didn't take him very long to select the orbs that he would take with him. He didn't even look at them, just reached in and pulled the spheres out from among their fellows, then slapped them into the appropriate slots on his sword. Restore, Heal, Ice, and Shiva and Ultima – just in case – all mastered, the size of large marbles. He also pocketed an All. He knew that once this was over lots of people would need healing and detoxification.
A minute later he was out and running to the stables located at the back of the house. It was the dead of the night – early morning, actually, so he was surprised to see the chocobos up and awake. They were pacing nervously in their individual stalls, excited warbles getting louder as they sensed and heard him approach.
"Hey you guys," he greeted quickly. The four – two golds and two blacks, warbled in reply, bright eyes gleaming excitedly in the dark as they took in his harried appearance. Cloud wondered fleetingly just how smart the birds were. "Yup, there's trouble out on Section Four. Gotta head out there a.s.a.p. I'm sorry, but I'll only be taking Karat." Disappointed coos came from the other three as he harnessed the older gold.
"I'll make it up to you three later, okay? We'll go for a run when I find the time." Cloud reassured, amused at the sad faces the gigantic birds were pulling at him.
He didn't waste time looking for and putting on a saddle. He'd have to ride bareback this time. Cloud jumped onto Karat's broad back, holding his sword out of the way as he adjusted his position. Karat trotted out of the stable, and Cloud maneuvered his way past the stable and the yard, stopping for a second in front of Elmyra's house.
Something was bothering him. He couldn't put a finger on it, but the house looked different. It could be the dim light of the moon playing tricks on his eyes, but when he squinted and looked at the two-story structure from a certain angle he could almost see a slight… greenish haze over it, bringing to mind a scene that was very similar…
His PHS suddenly squawked, and even though both the receiver and the mouthpiece were covered by the fabric of the pouch, thereby muffling any sound coming from it, he could clearly hear the shouts and the cursing of the people at the other end of the line. Intermittent roars punctuated their screams, reminding him that he had less than eight minutes to try to reach the construction site in time to lessen the damage being done and save anyone from getting killed.
Cloud cursed aloud, then wheeled around and nudged Karat's sides, hard enough to communicate the urgency of the situation, and to tell the bird to run as fast as he possibly could, but not enough to cause pain or injury.
The gold chocobo took off like a shot, leaping ahead on powerful legs, and within seconds they were on the main road heading out of the residential section of New Midgar City. Apparently sentries stationed at guard posts along the way had already been alerted; they waved him on as he sped past. The few insomniacs still on the streets at that time of the night either stared or gave similar waves.
~~~~~
In the next few hours rider and chocobo would find themselves busy as hell, answering calls of like nature. More attacks had happened all around Midgar; it seemed that not only the Marlboros were behaving erratically. Even Tifa had been roused from sleep, Cait and Reeve hurrying to help soon after.
In the resulting flurry of activity and investigation Cloud utterly forgot about his dream. Later on he would remember, but only after certain earth-shattering events had happened. These events would have given him and AVALANCHE less grief had he remembered his dream, and the clues his memories had pointed at. Red XIII, for example, would have been interested to know that the green haze Cloud thought he had imagined had been real, and that said green haze was similar in characteristic and makeup to the swirls of Lifestream that had intercepted Meteor before it could crash into the planet. Yuffie would have been intrigued to find that at the time when Cloud opened his safe, and well into the next few hours, all the materia he owned had glowed slightly, like how they would glow when activated, just before the release of the spells they contained. She would have scolded him for not noticing, but he had been too distracted to notice.
And lastly, had Cloud taken the time to look at the mirror when he washed his face, he would have been startled to discover that his cheeks had been wet well before he turned the faucet on, and that his eyes had glowed, even more brightly than the usual mako brilliance. The glow disappeared a minute later, though, which was why nobody except his chocobos saw.
And everybody knew that it would be a waste of time to even ask.
--- end of chapter one ---
This chapter has one glaring formatting mistake – the flashback words – which I tried to correct by trial and error and reuploading so many times, I damn near hyperventilated from frustration. If after 24 hours it still hasn't corrected itself after this nth reupload, I'm gonna go kill myself.
Some more things that I don't own:
Silfolion: comes from Groove Adventure Rave. It's this really cool sword, and I couldn't resist plugging it in. I don't own it, as stated in the disclaimer.
Cloud's high IQ: inspired by Forbidden Fantasy: Soulmates, by NemesisStrife. It's also an extremely good read – though the author seems to have the same problem as I do, and hasn't updated in a very long while now… (hint, hint)
flashback words: style copied from a scene in Stygian Solace, by Uzumaki. It's one of the best Kingdom Hearts fanfiction I've ever read.
I have the major events plotted out, but not much plans on the story in between those. So I have no idea how to continue the next chapters, with the same length and quality as the first two. I'm sorry to say this, but Emerald Skies will be put temporarily on hold until a.) I'm able to think of what to write next; and b.) I get tired of writing Wild Hearts, the primary fic I'm focusing on.
But I'm not abandoning this, nuh-uh. I've way too many juicy scenes planned for the main pair to give this up. Sooo… pray that I'm able to find some phoenix downs for the muses responsible for this fic. I'll get back to this as soon as I'm able to. :)