DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Overture: Movement IV

"We may have lost the war, but we have not yet lost our honor. Wutaians are a proud people, and we respect strength."

                        -Lord Godo

9 Years Ago…

            Lord Godo Kisaragi paced the length of the campsite in front of the great bonfire, black eyes narrowed into thin slits, his face as grave as a man who is about to walk to his own death. For the first time in three days, the rain had slackened, the clouds swept out of the sky to reveal the endless expanse of the black heavens—the moisture, however, still lingered, mingling with the blood of his people, both watering the soil of his homeland. The last battle had washed the mountains of Wutai red; it had been Wutai's last stand.

            Around him, the cries of men wounded in battle—many mortally—filled the night. Inwardly, Godo knew that he himself was on his last legs. The gash in his knee was causing some brutal pain and even after a full seven hours, it still bled profusely. Several of the medics had already offered to treat the wound, but he had fled his own bed in favor of tending his men. Cure materia had been hard to come by of late and what little they had could not be spared on him. The soldiers that lay upon the ground were his responsibility; already there were many widows who would soon be hearing of their husbands' demise.

            Had Leviathan, their great Serpent God, betrayed his people? Had they done Him some irreprehensible wrong? Or was it just their time?

            Godo stopped his pacing and looked up at the fires lighting the horizon—the light from the capitol city of Wutai. Despite his current predicament, Godo smiled. His wife and child were still safe behind the city's walls. Even if Leviathan had abandoned his children in the field, he had not condemned the innocent. The sorrow of the day lessened knowing that those he loved were still alive and safe.

            The people of Wutai would live, perhaps not as they had before, but at least they would live to rise again from the ashes—a small comfort.

            Soft footsteps approached him from behind. It was a purposeful tread and Godo did not bother to turn around and face the approaching figure; he already knew who was behind him. The footsteps were all too familiar. The general had given himself away, albeit intentionally.

            "I am surprised, Godo. I did not expect the Wutainese to surrender after so long a struggle." The voice barely rose above a whisper, but somehow the soft baritone had managed to rise over the din of the camp.

            "It was time," Godo replied, equally soft. "I am surprised as well, but not at Wutai's defeat."

            "Is that so?" The voice was closer now, only a meter or so away.

            Godo smirked slightly. The Shinra lackey had more confidence than Godo had given him credit for.

            Godo turned and was not unsettled when he saw a pair of burning emeralds boring into him, smoldering mako in their depths; he had expected as much. He allowed himself to admit that the gaze had frightened him at first. Those same eyes had stared down upon the Wutai regiment with terrifying flame before the attack that morning. Now, however, Godo was simply too tired to get any such thing from that stare. It was odd really, the closer he looked, the more Godo thought he saw a twinge of regret. Godo cold not disagree—it had been an honor to meet him on the field of battle.

            It would have been a greater honor had Godo fallen in that battle.

            "I thought we had you," Godo said, shaking his head. "We were so close!" he paused, studying the man—no, boy really, for he could not have been older than twenty—before continuing. "Somehow, you managed to change the tide of a whole war. For seven years, we were winning, and then you just show up and turn everything around."

            "I didn't do it alone. I brought three new squads of SOLDIER with me," replied the general, his face still a stoic mask.

            Godo couldn't help laughing aloud. "Oh, three! SOLDIERS are strong boy, but my warriors are far from inexperienced. No, it was you."

            "Why are you telling me this?"

            "We may have lost the war, but we have not yet lost our honor. Wutaians are a proud people, and we respect strength. Think of it this way, you fought well, I admire you for it." Godo sighed. The time for idle talk was over and it was time to get to the point. "It is why I surrender to you instead of one of your superiors."

            In the blink of an eye, Godo drew his sword from its sheath, raising it over his head so that the well-honed blade could catch the glimmer of the moon above. His guest immediately shifted into a defensive stance, his hand on the hilt of his own weapon. He never made the draw. His hand stopped when the Wutain lord sank to his knees, bringing the blade out in front of him so that the edge was pointed towards his own body.

            "I, Lord Godo Kisaragi, Servant of the God Leviathan and Guardian of His people, grant unto you this blade, forged form His fang. May you tread in peace over this land." Godo raised his head, his eyes grasping the general's green ones. He offered the sword, hilt first, to his opponent and then softly completed his duty. "Wutai is now yours."

            The general stood rigid for a moment before removing his hand from the hilt of his sword and reaching out for the proffered weapon. He removed it gingerly from Godo's hands.

            Godo rose, lowering his eyes slightly. He could only catch a glimpse of the surprise on his conquerer's face as he held the sword, balancing the blade carefully in his hands as he tested its balance and weight. Godo could relate; he could still remember when that sword had been offered to him. The power of Leviathan's fang was indeed awe inspiring.

            "I only wish we had met under different circumstances. It has been an honor Sephiroth, it truly has," Godo said after a moment. "Shinra doesn't deserve you."

            Sephiroth nodded, studying his new sword. "I know that your people usually name your weapons. Tell me, Godo, what do you call this one?"

            "Masamune."   

            Sephiroth crossed the bridge that lead back into the Shinra encampment, moving along the planks in a steady, fluid motion despite the wind that buffeted the ancient structure, threatening to throw him. His white hair billowed around him, tendrils of it surrounding him like a pale smoke; he was constantly having to brush it away.

            He had no sooner stepped off the bridge when a familiar bundle of energy ran toward him. No one would believe that Zachary Vain was a SOLDIER, much less a first class. The only thing that ever gave it away were the lightly glowing gray eyes, two little fires burning in the dark with an intensity that matched his own. Yes, the eyes were the obvious give away, but the body count Zack left behind was easily another, and perhaps more important, indication of his abilities. Other than that, however, Zack might as well have been some reckless recruit. His black hair, longish and spiky, looked like it hadn't been washed in a couple of days, nor had it seen a brush. He was tall with the build of a swimmer that was often deceptive in battle. People tended to underestimate Zack's strength—their mistake. He was also known for his easy temperament and his trademark grin that was, at the moment, plastered to his face.

            Normally, Sephiroth hated people who smiled too much, and how he ended up being on such good terms with the other SOLDIER was beyond him. Zack was a barrel of laughs most of the time and that was what had given Sephiroth some trouble in the beginning; people who laughed so much were often immature and incapable of handling themselves on the field. When Sephiroth had said as much, the smile had disappeared from Zack's face and the other SOLDIER had deemed it necessary to whack him over the head with the flat of his broadsword. Yes, that had most certainly knocked some sense of doubt into the general's mind, but it had been the scene after the first battle at Wutai that had changed his opinion. The sight of Zack standing in the thick of a bloody mess with Wutainese warriors at his feet, eyes blazing, had resolved most of Sephiroth's concerns.

            The young SOLDIER reached him in a matter of moments, slapping him amiably on the back. "Hey Seph, back already?"

            "Obviously."

            "They surrendered rather quickly, I was expecting the process to last until dawn at least."

            Sephiroth reached beside him where the Masamune had already taken the place of his SOLDIER issued weapon. The old sword had been left at Godo's camp; a poor trade, but a necessary one. He fingered the hilt carefully. "The procedure was relatively quick and to the point." It wasn't something Godo would have drawn out.

            Zack's eyes followed Sephiroth's arm down to the Masamune and his eyes widened. For once, his companion remained speechless, his brow furrowing in concentration.

            Surprised, Zack?

            "They gave you a sword." His voice turned serious. "Why?"

            Sephiroth grunted. "I suppose it is a way of handing over power."

            "But why to you? That doesn't…" Zack stopped for a moment, his grin slowly returning. "Godo, that clever bastard; he did it for a measure of insurance, didn't he? Although they formally hand power over to Shinra, they symbolically hand it to a strong warrior. Godo keeps his people from being slaughtered, but retains at least a shred of honor."

 I knew you could get it Zack.

            Slowly, Sephiroth unsheathed the sword and held it before his friend whose eyes were fixed on the weapon.

            Zack whistled. "Holy, that is one hell of a symbol."

            Sephiroth nodded in response and then fell into a fighting stance. Zack was right, the Masamune was a hell of a symbol alright. The balance was perfect and it wasn't too heavy or too light. The length and size of the hilt suited him perfectly. It was almost like someone had crafted the Masamune with him in mind.

The Next Night…

She sang her to sleep with the same song she had sung to her since she was a baby, her strong, slim fingers brushing away her dark hair so as not to cover a pair of gray eyes that were just like her own. Her lullaby was deep and somewhat sad, but it made her feel safe.

            Yuffie's mother was a goddess, or at least that was what her father called her—a goddess fallen to the earth. Her hair was longer than her own, the black velvet falling down to her mid-back whereas Yuffie's barely reached her shoulders. Yuffie loved her mother's hair, especially at night. During the day, it would always be tied up and pinned back, but when darkness fell, she let it fall about her like a soft curtain framing her pale face. She would let Yuffie play with it then too, holding her daughter in her strong arms while the small girl fiddled with the black strands until Yuffie fell asleep.

            She was doing that now in fact, but tonight was different. Tonight, her mother was squeezing her hard, nearly preventing her from breathing. Yuffie had thought of telling her to let go, but she seemed so upset—she couldn't say anything.

            Outside, a storm had picked up, sending rain driving into the walls outside her home. Was that it? Was Mother afraid of the storm? No, her nine year old mind dismissed that thought immediately. Mother was afraid of nothing.

            Then why was she crying?

            "Mommy…"

            "Yuffie please go to sleep," her voice choked on the words, but she drew her daughter closer. "Be strong for Mommy okay? Don't worry, it will be alright. We'll be fine, it…"

            She was interrupted by another sob and her tears began to flow faster. Yuffie tried to wipe away the droplets of moisture, but gave up after discovering that every drop she wiped away was replaced by about three more.

            Finally, Yuffie felt her mother's hold slacken as she was laid atop a futon and tucked in.

            "Good night Yuffie," she said, her eyes still a little moist.

            She paused for a moment and then left, walking through the open door and sliding it behind her on the way out.

            Yuffie remained still for several seconds, waiting until her mother's footsteps faded slightly before climbing out of her covers and running to the door, sliding carefully into the hallway. Yuffie waited until her mother rounded a corner before following, her small feet padding softly over the wooden floor.

            At the end of the hall, her mother pulled open the door, letting in a blast of cool air from outside. She looked over her shoulder one final time and Yuffie flung her body against the wall, hoping that she hadn't been caught so early in the game. Her mother must have missed her, however, because she was soon out the door and into the night.

            Once outside, she lead Yuffie for a run through the main street and across the bridge, taking a left turn immediately after.

            Suddenly, Yuffie found herself looking up at Da-Chao, the great mountain looming over her like a forlorn giant. Her knees were quaking and she couldn't suppress the shiver that raked her body. The rain was cold and she realized, somewhat belatedly, that she had walked out without her shoes; the rocks were sticking her feet with their sharp edges.

            The climb was hard on her tiny body and she was forced to make frequent stops along the path, yet she was careful to keep her mother in sight—though with the hard rain, it was a difficult to see her mother's thin form.

            Finally, the path she was traveling on ended; they had reached the top of Da-Chao. The arm of the final god carved into the stone was raised high in the air, overlooking the city. Her mother climbed into its palm, Yuffie following slowly behind. She stood there for several moments, her raven hair being torn by the strong winds.

            Yuffie stopped a few paces behind her, pausing just before she reached her, afraid that she would interrupt something she shouldn't. This woman could not possibly be the same woman who had tucked her into bed only minutes before. Physically, she looked the same, but there were several lines on her face that had not been there before and the air around her was so heavy, that Yuffie cold almost choke on it.

            The young Wutain's eyes widened a fraction as her mother moved to the very edge of the hand, her toes clinging to the rough stone. Her naïve mind could not fathom why, but Yuffie suddenly felt fear clamp down on her, cold and hard as the driving rain that soaked her night cloths. Something was wrong, and every fiber of her being was screaming at her to act. She just didn't know what to do.

            Yuffie ordered her feet to move quickly, despite the state of the ground they treaded upon. She had to get to her mother and time was not on her side.

            Finally, she staggered to the end of the rocky ledge, a mere two paces from the woman standing on the edge.

            "Mommy?" Yuffie's voice came out hesitant and choked. She found herself blinking away droplets of moisture that were clouding her eyes—they weren't from the rain.

            Her mother turned around slowly and Yuffie watched as her whole body went rigid, those gray eyes widening in pure terror. Her mouth opened and moved in a soundless whisper.

            Yuffie reached out, her small hand grasping for the end of her mother's robes. With Yuffie's advance, however, Lady Kisaragi took another step backwards, unsettling some loose debris that was sent spiraling towards the ground.

            "Mommy?"

            Another half step.

            A peel of thunder tore through the air, splitting the heavens in twine like the furry of a vengeful demon.

            Like a runner at the start of a race, Yuffie lunged forward at the sound, her tiny legs struggling to carry her to her mother as she fell. She managed to fling her arms around Lady Kisaragi's petit waist just as she jumped over the edge. Wind rushed past as she fell, blackness of an eternal abyss rushing up to greet her as she came closer to the Kingdom of Odin.

            Some kind of twisted logic told her that she should be afraid and screaming as loud as her lungs would allow because her short life was about to reach an abrupt end, but somehow, fear was not among the tumult of feelings that wracked her mind.

            As time became shorter, her gaze remained locked on her mother's face. That face held no fear, only a quiet courage etched with pride—a pride that would not be broken. No, like her mother, Yuffie could not summon a drop of fear. Instead, she felt a mix of sorrow and anger.

            Her mother's arms tightened around her and Yuffie felt herself pulled closer into her embrace. Milliseconds later, she felt the jolt as flesh hit earth and pain raced up her left leg.

            At last, she was able to release a cry as the blackness that hat threatened to consume her finally sucked her in like the pull of an ocean tide.