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One day, through the rain I heard him meekly moan, he said "Will you wrap your arms around me as I'm falling?"

The Boy Who Destroyed The World - AFI

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Hours before dawn, Sephiroth disentangled himself from Aerith with infinite care. Sitting back on his heels, he reached for his discarded coat and gently pulled it over her in order to block the slight chill that had come with the night. She hadn't stirred upon his leaving, and lay still on her side with her head pillowed on one arm. With the merest of smiles, he leaned forwards and brushed her temple with his lips, a whisper of a kiss, before getting to his feet.

Retrieving his sword and scabbard from where it had lain beneath his coat, he slipped it over one arm and buckled it across his chest. He cast one last glance at Aerith where she lay deep in slumber, and, judging her to be safe for the time being, padded softly to the beach to retrieve his boots where they lay near the water. The sand still retained the heat from the day previous and was warm beneath his bare feet. Kneeling to buckle his boots, he watched for a moment as the stars and the sliver of the moon rippled upon the gentle waves. This scenery would be forever etched in his memory, and with another smile, wistful this time, he turned from the ocean and strode forth to enter the jungle.

His destination was not far from here, at most a two hour walk, entrenched deep within the exotic forest. It was a temple, the Temple of the Ancients, to be exact, and it was this place he had been heading for ever since leaving the Shinra building with Aerith tow. Mother had been most adamant that he visit this place, for within its hallowed walls there lay a piece of powerful magic that would be of great assistance to them both. The Keystone to this temple, Mother had explained, was in the Golden Saucer. When he and Aerith had arrived at the Golden Saucer, it had been his every intent to secure the Keystone and thus gain entry to the Temple.

Now, however ...

His belief and his faith had been fragmented in the space of several hours. No longer was he driven only by righteous indignation that Mother had fueled for all these long years; no longer did he desire the utter eradication of every living being on this Planet. All that seemed to matter now, all that was the center of his thoughts was Aerith, her well being, and the undeniable fact that they belonged together.

How could it be? He couldn't fathom the abruptness of the change that had overwhelmed him. All he knew was that he felt more ... alive than he had ever before, and it was a sensation he was very reluctant to relinquish. But he could not just forget what he had been sent to do, nor could he forget that Mother was waiting for him far to the north. When he was with Aerith, all the rage and hatred that had made him the fierce warrior he were stilled, calmed inexplicably by her presence. It was disconcerting, it was a trifle frightening, but peace was something he'd had very little of in the course of his life, and it was something he was surprised to learn that he enjoyed.

The reason he was headed for the Temple now, in the hours before dawn, was quite simple. He intended on discovering what exactly dwelt in the levels of the Temple, and attempting to discern what Mother needed it for. Though there had been a time when everything had seemed so vibrantly clear and every choice he had made had seemed so right, all that had vanished in the span of a mere few days and left behind nothing but lingering doubt.

His greatest fear was that Aerith was right about Mother, right about her intent. And if she was ...

Then he had been nothing but a pawn.

-----

He stood before the Temple of the Ancients, a ziggurat older than time rising through the thick, steamy confines of the jungle. The sky was still dark, and the air was filled with nothing but the cries of the nocturnal creatures dwelling all around. He knew the history of this place, knew that the Cetra had built this place and hid within it their powers and mystery. That was why he had left Aerith behind, sleeping safely and unaware of what he was about to do. He couldn't bring her here; he was afraid of how it would affect her. This place was dangerous, extremely so. As he stood before this monolithic structure, he felt, for the first time in his life, somewhat small and insignificant.

He shook off this insecurity, and resolutely began to climb the long, narrow staircase leading to the top of the Temple. The steps were weathered and worn away completely in some places; despite this, he moved over them easily. Upon reaching the summit he entered the small doorway, bending slightly as not to hit his head upon the low ceiling. It was dimly lit inside, and he spotted several small torches burning in a line along the stone walls. There was an indescribable smell in here; ancient and damp. It was not a large room he stood in, and directly before him stood a small stone altar with two round indentations upon it. Bringing forth the Keystone from his pocket, he placed it in the largest of the indents.

He began sinking through the floor suddenly, as if he had become incorporeal. He was not surprised; he knew this was the only way to reach the Inner Sanctum. Once his feet rested solidly again on a stone floor, he began to wind his way through the bowels of the Temple.

It was a confusing place, and though Mother had infused within him some knowledge of the complex, intricate layout he found himself several times wondering which way to go. It was not long, however, until he found himself where he wanted to be.

The first thing he noticed was the walls. This room was long, rectangular, and cavernous, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in colorful, if somewhat faded illustrations. Torches were set in grooves carved in massive pillars that ran in two rows down the center of the room. Footsteps echoing throughout the length of the large chamber, he approached the walls and began to study them.

It was not long before an odd, hollow feeling settled within the pit of his stomach. Though he could not understand the thin spidery writing that narrated the pictures, the meaning was all to clear. A very long time ago, there had come from the skies something monstrous, something astronomical that had wreaked unbelievable destruction upon the Planet. Remembering something he read once in the Shinra mansion about the Calamity From the Skies, he realized that this was it ...

And ... he recalled numbly, the Calamity From the Skies was another name for ... Jenova ...

He continued to follow the illustrations, walking slowly. It was all here, what had befallen the Cetra upon The Calamity's - Jenova's - impact with the Planet. Housed within this Temple was a magic strong enough to summon something else from the skies, something huge and powerful ...

Meteor.

He wrenched his eyes from the last of the images and turned them upon another altar set at the end of the room. There it was, what Mother had sent him in search of, and he knew it for what it was now.

Black Materia.

He reached out a gloved hand, wanting to touch it, yet afraid to. Mother was not what he had thought she was, not what he wanted her to be ... how could he not have known all this? It was all so apparent, all so clear to him now; it was as if a shroud had been lifted from him and he could clearly for the first time in many years. The truth had been in front of him all his life and he'd ignored it ... continued onwards with his just cause ...

"I'm a fool." He whispered harshly, dropping his hand and backing away from the Black Materia. He wouldn't do this, wouldn't bring it to her. Whatever false cause he had crusaded under was gone, the illusion crumbled, and it was with alarming clarity he was forced to see his past. His thoughts were roiling, and as they did so several things fell into place in swift succession.

Jenova Project

Professor Gast

Hojo

Was that all he was, then? A human who had been tampered with, made impure by the taint of the Calamity? Is that why he had been raised from childhood alone, without a parent to call his own? All this time, he'd thought - been certain - that the power that ran in his veins, the power that made him so very different from the rest of the human race was something pure, something righteous. That was why Mother's words had made sense, and that was why the Planet had to be cleaned. He snorted, the sound loud and abrasive in the almost reverent stillness of the Temple.

He'd disillusioned himself so completely that he hadn't even had a clue. All those years ago, when he'd found Jenova in the Nibelheim reactor ... he'd convinced himself of one lie after another ...

"Sephiroth."

He spun around, hair flying behind him in an arc. Standing at the opposite end of the chamber, impeccable in his dark suit, was none other than the leader of the Turks.

"Tseng." He said with some surprise.

The Turk did not move, eyes straying to the colored walls. His gaze centered again on Sephiroth, and he said coolly, "Where is Aerith?"

Sephiroth's jaw clenched at the sound of her name on Tseng's lips; jealousy so unfamiliar. He replied in a voice just as cool, "She is safe."

They stared at each other for a moment, the animosity almost thick enough to choke on. Though the leader of the Turks was shorter and leaner than Sephiroth, he carried himself with a sort of assurance one did not recieve without years of experience. There was a time when the Turks and Sephiroth had been on the same side, but that was long past ...

Tseng said abruptly, "Let her go."

"Sentimental feelings for her, Turk?" Sephiroth sneered, furious and bewildered by all he'd just realized.

Though there was no outward change in his expression, Tseng's color deepened slightly, and Sephiroth knew he'd hit a nerve. Malicious triumph rushed through him.

"Let her go." Tseng repeated quietly.

Sephiroth smiled, and it was not pleasant. "Why? So you can take her back to Hojo for his experiments? Or maybe your sense of righteousness has prevailed and you'd do your best to keep her safe?" He stalked forwards, rage and frustration eating at him, wanting to use the Turk as an outlet for it all. "She's safe, Turk, and rest assured I will protect her better than you ever could."

Tseng's expression was now one of astonishment. "You mean to tell me -?"

Sephiroth stopped several feet from the other, the look in his eyes savage and violent. "That's right," he said, voice vibrating in its intensity, "She belongs to me."

"What," Tseng whispered in blatant disbelief, "could you ever know about loving someone?"

The question, poignant and simple, gave Sephiroth pause. What could he know about loving someone? Even as he asked it of himself, he had no answer, and he felt something simmering within him begin to boil over at the lack of an apparent answer.

"You know nothing." Tseng continued, voice gaining volume. "She'll die with you."

"She - will - not!" Sephiroth snarled.

The Turk leader was backing away, and in his hand now he held an automatic pistol. "What can you hope to give her, Sephiroth? An easy death? We both know that won't happen. Free her, save her from -"

"SHUT UP!"

Without conscious thought, Sephiroth was moving, the masamune clear of its sheath, channelling all he felt into his attack. Tseng, already aiming, began to fire, and the bullets ripped through Sephiroth's shoulder and side. He didn't stop, kept moving, and in the moment before the blade fell his only desire was to wipe the condescension and doubt from the Turk's face.

Tseng fell to one knee, clutching his stomach, and Sephiroth whirled. The wound wasn't fatal, but was most assuredly one of great pain, and that gave the once General great, vindictive satisfaction. Without bothering to wipe the blood from the blade he slid it back into the scabbard, and the smile he gave was cold and mirthless.

"Rest assured, Turk, that I will take care of her. You need not concern yourself with her fate."

Tseng gave no reply, but instead slumped over, eyes closed in agony. Trembling from the tumultous emotions running though him, breathing quickly, Sephiroth turned on his heel and left the room.

Outside the Temple, the first hints of dawn were brightening the sky. He paused at the bottom of the stairs to pry the bullets from his body, growling at the pain. He couldn't erase Tseng's words from his mind, couldn't help the doubt that still lingered within him because of those words.

The question was not whether he did love Aerith. The question was whether he could.