Chapter 4: Decisions.
In the Ancient Forest, Aerith sat quietly, thinking. Why was she here? What could the Planet possibly want with her? She had already devoted one life to its service, cut it short in sacrifice to the Planet, and now, now that she had reached her reward, peace and happiness in the Promised Land, she had been torn from her fate, to serve the Planet once more. Why must life be so cruel? No matter, she would not be allowed to rest until she had served her purpose.
Rising quietly from the fallen tree she used as a chair, Aerith looked around her. Trees older than man towered into the skies above, cultivated long ago by her own kind. All about her was brown and green, the quiet, hushed chirping of distant birds were the only sounds to be heard. In a word, this place was… peaceful. Which, in itself, was why Aerith could not bring herself to leave. Peaceful as this place was, it was a cold, harsh wasteland compared to the Promised Land, and she knew the world outside was harsher still.
Still, if the Planet needed her again, she had to find out why, and she had an inkling that the answer lay in finding her former companions. Besides, she was curious as to how they were all doing, now that everything had passed, and, if she was honest, she wanted, needed their help in coping with her new life.
A quick, final glance at her surroundings, and Aerith steeled herself for the journey ahead. Closing her eyes, she listened for the voice of the Planet; there would be no chance of succeeding in her search if she sought her companions at random. That was one thing to be grateful for, she could still hear the whispers of the Planet, still had some form of guidance.
Aerith quickly found, however, that the voices had hushed, they were still there, but harder to understand. It seemed everything was harder now. Was she really strong enough to manage?
Elsewhere, someone who had once been considered much stronger, was faring far worse. Still in the ruins of Midgar, a tall, pale man crouched, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His right hand was clutched firmly about a bloodstained shard of broken glass. Emerald orbs were wide open, staring directly into the point of the shard, as blood flowed freely down his left arm; both arms were littered with scars. To any passer by who saw him, the word "broken" would immediately come to mind. To anyone who had known him, however, the word would be "regression."
Get up, son, find them again. Snap their necks, rip their throats, crush their limbs, watch them bleed. Bleed them all, draw the blood, watch it flow. Make them scream, sing the screams, hear them die. Walk in their blood, make the roads into rivers, rivers of blood in which to wade, revel in the death, destroy, destroy, destroy!
The voice went on and on, demanding blood, and much as he fought, each time, he gave in, drew his own blood. Hurt himself, so that others needn't suffer, for he could never go down that route again. Never.
Shaking, he moved his gaze to the crimson flow from his left arm, and he was disgusted. He had become so weak, allowed one being to reduce him so far. If he stayed here, he would be fighting a losing battle, Jenova would eventually win, and he would end up either killing himself, or repeating his past life. But hadn't she already won, what were the scars and open wounds on his arms, if not trophies declaring Jenova's victory? That was not a question he would answer now.
Blood dripping from his fingers, Sephiroth rose to his feet, coldly examining the glass shard in his hand, stained with blotches of red and brown, the tool with which he had maintained what sanity he had for this long. A sign of his weakness. He let it drop to the floor with a muted chime as it fell into a small puddle of his blood, then calmly placed his right foot on it, crushing it under the weight of his boot.
The question remained, however, why had he remained here so long, and what would he do, now that he was to leave? Well, the first was easily answered. His time had passed, and even during his time, the world had had no need of him – he had brought only death and destruction, he had no purpose, nowhere to go. What could he do now, when he had ruined so many lives in the past?
Sephiroth blinked. Worded like that, it was perfectly clear how the situation could be solved. In his past life, he had worked up a huge debt – it was time the debt was repaid, and he knew where to start.
Thusly, two lost souls, different and yet alike, began two separate journeys which must, eventually conclude in the same result – a reunion with the group of warriors with whom their fates had been intertwined long ago. Neither soul knew what they were searching for, yet they knew that their lives would serve no purpose without it, so they searched and, deep down, prayed for salvation.
-End Chapter 4-
Author's Notes:
1. Sorry for the delay, I've had a busy week, with several annoyances on the side for good measure.
2. I know the Chapter's too short; I was gonna make it longer, but the last paragraph seemed to make a good end, so I decided the stuff that would have come after will either make a new chapter, or the beginning of a later one.
3. Read and review… or die! (Insert manic laugh here.)
