Chapter One: Seven Years
As Cid Highwind had realized, a lot could happen in seven years. When he had first met the group of eight weary travelers who claimed to be following Sephiroth, he wanted nothing to do with them. He had passed his idealistic youth, and knew that life did not work out as nicely and neatly as it did in stories. But when Rufus Shinra shattered his dreams of space travel once again, he had not seen any alternative to joining them on their seemingly futile mission. Although his prized airship, the Highwind, had been destroyed on the Day of Judgment, he had finally been given what he had wanted. John Reeve, his good friend and the new head of the Shinra electric company, had put him in charge of Shinra's newly resurrected Space Program. Flight was also making a triumphant return into his life. He had built himself a new personal plane, the Dragon Jet, and had begun planning the construction of a second rocket, in which Shinra's early dreams of space exploration could finally be fulfilled.
Sighing, Cid lifted himself grudgingly from the couch. Tall, with short graying hair and a weathered face, he looked much older than his thirty-nine years. He was expected in Neo-Midgar shortly, for the unveiling of a new monument. Reeve was sending a shuttle to pick him up, and he would ideally arrive within five hours. Everything was going perfectly. Too perfectly, in fact, and Cid was suspicious. In all his life, nothing had ever turned out perfectly, and it was always at the end when that little something went wrong. It'll be good to see Cloud and the others again, he thought, steering his thoughts away from his strange sense of unease. He wondered if the kid had ever got around to marrying Tifa. Barret and Nanaki too, neither of whom he had seen in over six years. He wondered how much they had changed.
Shera, Cid's wife and former assistant, came through the door, wearing a heavy fur coat. Winter had come quickly this year, and it was an especially cold one. Cid could see snow falling through the open door.
"I think it's about time we started off." Shera said, brushing snow from her face. "Our plane is coming in."
Cid took his heavy leather jacket from where it hung on the door and picked up his bag.
"I'm ready," he replied. Shera quickly gathered her luggage and hurried outside. But Cid hesitated. He saw his spear, the Venus Gospel, leaning against the wall of the open closet, untouched since the battle with Sephiroth seven years ago. Following a sudden instinct, Cid picked up the spear and hurried out the door, locking it behind him. Cursing the weather as he lit a cigarette, he hurried towards the Shinra shuttle. He strode quickly up the ramp that had descended from the back of the plane to find Shera already inside. The pilot, dressed in arctic gear, glanced dubiously at Cid's spear. "I like to be prepared," Cid said.
The pilot shrugged and returned to the cockpit and, within minutes, Rocket Town was obscured by swirling mists. Cid sighed, for he knew that the pilot had thought, even if he had not asked, the most obvious question: Prepared for what? But that's what I wish I knew, thought Cid. That's what I goddamn want to find out.
Yuffie Kisaragi sat on a ledge overlooking her new home in Mideel and worried, her short black hair blowing in the wind. She worried about several things, the first of which was how years had passed in what seemed like months. It was seven years now since she had helped Cloud and his friends defeat Sephiroth and put an end to the meteor once and for all. Throughout this time, she had retained her slim graceful figure and playful smiling face. Though Yuffie hated to think about it, she was now twenty-three, and felt that seven years had passed with only two years worth of action in them. And now she was being called back to this Neo-Midgar for some sort of ceremony. Yuffie hated ceremonies, or for that matter, anything formal, which was why, even after climbing the Pagoda of the Five Sacred Gods and defeating the master of each art, she had refused to be formally acknowledged as the next ruler of Wutai. She thought her father, Godo, understood, but Gorkii and the others never would. So she had left the city of Wutai in Cid's old personal plane, the Tiny Bronco, which he had finally repaired, and wandered the planet in search of a new home. In the end, she had chosen the recently rebuilt town of Mideel, remembering the vast stores of untapped Mako energy that occasionally hardened and formed Materia. And Yuffie loved Materia.
The second thing she worried about was precisely that. In the past weeks, less and less Mako was appearing around Mideel, and less of that was hardening into Materia. It was as if the Lifestream, formerly prominent in the Mideel area, had begun to seep away into the recesses of the Planet. She had been making a generous living in Mideel by selling Materia that held no interest for her. So this decrease in the amount of Materia near Mideel could not only threaten her hobby, but also her very means of survival.
And the third thing about which Yuffie worried was that Mr. Allendor, proprietor of the one other Materia shop in Mideel, would notice the sudden disappearance of the Materia in his storage shed. He kept the storage shed locked, but, then again, locks did not hinder Yuffie at all.
A change was coming upon the world. Yuffie could sense it, and she had a keen sense for these things. Perhaps it was time to move on. She had lived in Mideel for four years, which was an unusually long time for Yuffie to remain in one place. Yes, a change is coming upon the world, she thought. And I'm going to go out and meet it. Perhaps she really should go to this ceremony in Neo-Midgar. There would be plenty of Materia there. And if the ceremony was too formal or tedious, Yuffie would be gone before anyone was the wiser. The letter Yuffie had received mentioned that an aircraft would pick her up and escort her to Neo-Midgar. Well, whoever the pilot is, he'll sure be in for a surprise, thought Yuffie as she returned to her house for her favorite weapon, the Conformer, and her bag of treasured Materia. She tossed a few spare clothes carelessly into the bag, as well as some snacks for the journey, and was out the door.
A few hours later, Mr. Allendor went into his Materia storage shed and found it completely empty, and for all his howls of frustration, the Materia did not reappear. At the same time, the pilot of a recently arrived Shinra aircraft knocked furiously on the door to Yuffie Kisaragi's house, and though he waited there for half an hour, she neither opened the door nor returned. And the Tiny Bronco, carrying a huge bag of Materia and a lone passenger, skimmed over the seas towards the city of Neo-Midgar.
"My lord?" asked a trembling voice from below the ledge.
"Speak," replied Nanaki, looking down at the young man beside him. He was new to Cosmo Canyon, an immigrant from Gongaga, and was not yet accustomed to Nanaki. Nanaki supposed that he did have a rather frightening appearance to one who had not seen him before, looking somewhat like a muscular red lion, with a fringe of tall red hair along his back. Black tattoos adorned his sides, with one standing out: the numeral thirteen, branded onto his left flank. Nanaki grimaced, remembering the pain of that branding. Never again, he vowed. Never will I endure such captivity. A nervous clearing of the throat brought Nanaki back to the present, and he turned his attention to the young man beside him.
"The Harad-Zun are marching, my lord. They will be here within the next three hours."
"Very well. We shall be on the plain to meet them." As the man turned to walk away, Nanaki called out after him. "What's your name, boy?"
"J…Jorm, my lord," came the unsteady answer.
"Well, Jorm, today will be a famous battle. You will recount this to your grandchildren, I hope?" Jorm nodded and began to walk away again. "Oh, and Jorm," Nanaki added, "don't call me 'my lord'. Nanaki will do." The boy scampered away, not wanting to be stopped again, and Nanaki watched him with a sigh. Jorm, and many others like him, were the last remnants of the population of Gongaga, a small jungle town to the south. For seven years after Nanaki had joined Cloud and his friends and destroyed Sephiroth, peace had reigned. And now, just one week ago, this band of marauders, who called themselves the Harad-Zun, had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and attacked Gongaga. Fully half the town's population had been slaughtered, and the rest had escaped to Cosmo Canyon with tales of the strange garb and weapons of these fierce bandits. No, although Nanaki would have loved to go to Neo-Midgar and see Cloud, Barret, Tifa, and the others again, he was quite busy at the moment.
The past seven years had passed quickly for Nanaki, who lived a much longer life than humans. Although he was now fifty-five years old, he was really the equivalent of an eighteen year old boy, far too young to be the Guardian of Cosmo Canyon. But his father, Seto, had held the title, and he was Seto's only son. Sometimes, Nanaki wondered whether he would ever be able to continue his family's line, as he seemed to be the only one of his race alive on the planet. However, his grandfather Bugenhagen had once told him that he might find a mate someday, and that thought filled him with hope. Nanaki had learned long ago that Bugenhagen was rarely wrong.
Stepping down from the ledge high on the cliffs above Cosmo Canyon, Nanaki contemplated what the boy had said. Three hours. It seemed that the raiders had used Gongaga as a base of operations, and that they had finally begun their attack on Cosmo Canyon. Growling, Nanaki called for the warriors of the Canyon to be assembled. The Harad-Zun had more than double their warriors, and though Nanaki knew his chances of survival were slim at best, he could not let it show. He could not let the canyon fall without giving his enemies the fight of their lives.
With a scowl, Barret Wallace flung open the door to his house and stomped angrily inside. Throughout the day, he had been nagged by the feeling that he was forgetting something, something that would make him very angry. And then he had remembered. That asshole Reeve, inviting me to some kinda new Midgar, Barret thought. Who the hell does he think he is? He wouldn't mind seeing Tifa or Cloud again, but there was no way he was ever going to that city. Reeve, the clever asshole, had joined them in their chase of Sephiroth, using a robot mog named Cait Sith, only to betray them to Shinra. He had even held Marlene and Elmyra as hostages, preventing Cloud and Barret from harming him. I should have killed the damn traitor when I had the chance, he thought. I should have guessed that the last surviving Shinra executive would keep polluting and destroying the planet like his company always had. Barret swore angrily and kicked a chair, causing a passing civilian to jump with fright and hurry on his way. Barret knew people were scared of him when they first saw him; his appearance could hardly be called anything less than frightening. He was large and stocky, with tattooed arms the width of most people's heads and black skin. His right arm had been severed, and a gun had been grafted to the stump, giving him the look of a killer and a convict.
For seven years after the showdown with Sephiroth, Barret had worked hard to rebuild his hometown, North Corel, from the ruins in which he had found it. Because of Shinra. They had come in the night, when he and his friend Dyne were away, killed their wives, and burned the town. And he had supported their corrupt scheme to power the town with Mako, the blood of the planet! Never again would he make that mistake. Never would he trust Shinra again. Shinra depicted him as a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. But they were the one who were murderers. Myrna, Elenore, Dyne, Biggs, Wedge, Jessie, the people of North Corel, the people of Midgar's Sector Seven, countless soldiers from Wutai, Soldiers from Fort Condor… all dead because of Shinra. And the bastard Reeve had the nerve to invite him to this new, corrupt, polluted city!
Barret sighed heavily. Nearly half of his life had been a war against Shinra. He had sought to bring them down ever since the destruction of North Corel. He had gone to Cosmo Canyon, where he met Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie, and formed the Rebel group Avalanche. Now they were dead, and he was the only one left. But he would not give up. Barret would keep fighting Shinra while there was blood left in his body.
Gastor approached the open door cautiously. He was a native of North Corel, in his early thirties, and one of Barret's closest friends. He could see clearly that Barret was angry, but proceeded anyways, which meant that he must have something important to say.
"What is it?" Barret asked impatiently.
"We have just received word from Cosmo Canyon, Barret. The town is under attack!" his friend replied. Cosmo Canyon, thought Barret. If the town is under attack, Nanaki will be there. He would never abandon his hometown. "Do you have orders for us?" asked Gastor.
"Grab your gun, Gastor, and assemble the other men. We're leaving now," replied Barret as he stepped through the door. And a group of buggies, filled with the strongest fighters of North Corel, left the town five minutes later, heading north, towards Cosmo Canyon.
John Reeve paced bitterly back and forth in his office. The conference room in the Shinra headquarters in Neo-Midgar had been arranged with twelve chairs, but Reeve knew that not all of them would be needed. Nanaki had already sent back a polite letter of refusal, informing Reeve of many 'duties' around Cosmo Canyon that required his attendance. Complete bullshit. Likely, all the others would hastily invent their own reasons for not coming. He could only rely on Cid, Cloud, and Tifa to come. What kind of a stupid idea had it been, inviting all his former allies, as if they were some kind of successful sports team, and had a sense of unity and loyalty? No, they had all gone their own ways and probably completely forgotten him by now. After all, what did I do other than hand over the keystone to Tseng? Reeve thought sullenly. What did the stupid stuffed Mog and robotic cat do other than betray the group to Shinra?
In the past, Reeve had often wondered just why he had chosen the disguise of Cait Sith. Now he knew. He and Cait Sith alike were clumsy, blundering, and unwanted. His entire life had been a series of mistakes. As head of the Urban Development Department of Shinra, he had realized, after working hard to establish a cost-effective and realistic city layout for Midgar, that President Shinra was willing to destroy one of the sectors of his city to exterminate a few rebels, and was not even considering rebuilding it. When the president died and his son Rufus took over, Reeve soon found that the new president had absolutely no interest in rebuilding Midgar. His life's work trampled on by two consecutive presidents, Reeve grew bitter and longed to join the terrorists of Avalanche, just to show his defiance of Shinra, and was finally given an opportunity as Cait Sith. But just when he had found something to live for, he was brought back to the real world with orders from the president he despised to steal the keystone. The only help he had ever been to the rest of his 'friends' had been because of his worthlessness; his ability to sacrifice the mechanical Cait Sith. Regarded as a traitor and a coward by the only people he admired, Reeve's life took another downward spiral. And now, when he thought he had finally managed to control his life by reviving Shinra, he was harshly reminded of how little his former fellow adventurers trusted him.
Alex Preston, Reeve's personal secretary, hurried through the door. He was a short man, with unruly brown hair and a red face, currently made even redder by much running. Already expecting an answer, Reeve turned to face him, waiting.
"Cid Highwind is on his way, sir," Preston began. "The pilot of the plane sent to Mideel said that he could not find Yuffie Kisaragi, although the townspeople said that she was indeed in town. Barret Wallace and Vincent Valentine simply could not be found anywhere, in or around the towns you sent the planes to."
Reeve swore mentally. He had known this would happen, though he did not expect them to actually hide from him. Reeve suddenly laughed out loud cynically. His former companions clearly hated him. There was no use pretending anymore. Cloud and Cid were only coming because they had to, because he had given them official positions in Shinra. Reeve suddenly became aware that Preston was still standing around nervously, waiting for further orders.
"Remove the unnecessary chairs, Preston" he said, his voice suddenly cold and expressionless. His secretary hurried away gladly. As he watched Preston leave the room, Reeve realized that the man probably thought him insane, but it did not matter. Let them think what they like, he thought. For I still hold executive power on this continent. And I intend to use it.
Wearing the discarded helmet of a Shinra MP, the man ran behind a fallen billboard near a massive ruined skyscraper. "Join Soldier", it said, ironically enough, with a picture of Rufus, the last president of Shinra, pointing his finger directly at the viewer. Breathing heavily, the man crouched, concealed from view by billboard and debris alike. The targeting system of the sniper rifle scanned the snow-covered area and settled on the only exit from the pile of rubble. Sweating, the man removed his helmet, revealing a bright orange headband wound around his forehead. Holding on to the back of the helmet, he held it out just an inch from the side of the billboard. Instantly, a gunshot pierced the air, and, dropping the ruined helmet, the man darted from his cover to the inside of an abandoned building.
"Shit!" Reno swore, as he quickly reloaded the rifle, keeping his eyes on the fleeing man. I should have known he wouldn't be stupid enough to expose his helmet, he thought. This guy is good. Reno scanned the building that the man had entered until he found what he needed. A tiny hole in the wall, too small to be noticed except by a careful observer, sixty feet from where the man had entered the building. Thinking he was safe, the man let out a long breath and began to walk down the corridor. Reno waited till the exact moment, and then fired. Good, but not good enough, he thought with satisfaction, as a faint cry let him know that he had hit his mark.
"That was the last one," he said, and putting the sniper rifle aside, he stood up and sighed with exhaustion. Seven years without employment could do a lot to a man. Of average height, Reno wore his dark blue suit carelessly, his coat hanging open and his shirt partially unbuttoned. His reddish-brown hair was cut fairly short, but hung down his neck in a thin ponytail. He stood casually, shoulders slumped, as if he were exhausted and depressed, but, in reality, Reno was alert as ever. One of the three surviving members of the Turks, a team of elite fighters employed by Shinra, his situation had gone from bad to worse as two successive presidents, each worse than his predecessor, had been killed. After Scarlet and Heidegger, leaders of the Defense Department, had attempted to take power and failed, the surviving Turks had withdrawn their support from the dying company and retreated into the back alleys of Midgar. For seven long years they had traveled the world in search of employment, but only found jobs that lasted them a few months, if not less. They had returned from their fruitless search to Midgar, only to find the city in chaos. The street gang Vice, which had only been a minor threat before the city's collapse, had overrun and had a firm grip on over half of Midgar, both the upper and lower areas. The Turks had retreated to the Sector 2 plate, and had fought off Vice's raiding parties, distinguished by their orange headbands. Something was wrong with the raids lately, though. They were too organized, not the work of ordinary gangsters. Reno was brought back to the present by Elena's voice, complaining again.
"How long are we going to stay here?" she inquired. "How long? We are the Turks! Are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives sniping irrelevant gangsters?" For the thousandth time, Reno wondered why Tseng, the former leader of the their squad, had ever chosen Elena. She was a competent fighter, and had a nice body, but sure could be a bitch when she put her mind to it, and was even more inclined to do so since Tseng's death. Reno turned to face the woman. Her penetrating eyes, short blonde hair, and spotless blue uniform worked together to give her an appearance of fierce arrogance that Reno had grown to despise.
"For the last time, Elena, we're not leaving till I say we are! There's just something in this city…" Reno trailed off. He could not completely explain his intuitive sense anyways.
"Oh, fuck you, I'm leaving," Elena said when he did not complete his sentence, and stomped down the stairs and into the biting cold. The third man in the room stood up to walk after her, but was stopped by Reno.
"Don't worry; she'll come back soon. It's like the thousandth time she's threatened to just go away, and she's never followed through with it," he said, laughing grimly. The second man relaxed and sat down opposite his fellow Turk. Rude was a tall man, taller than either Reno or Elena by a head. His suit was clean and unwrinkled, complete with a formal black tie, giving him a professional air that neither Reno nor Elena could match. His head was shaved bald, and he wore shades covering his eyes. Rude was an excellent fighter, and rarely spoke, but when he did, it was sound advice.
"The days of the Turks are over, Reno. After thirty years we wake up to find only three other squads left after this war in Wutai, and they all get killed, one way or another. There are only three of us, and all the veterans from the old times are dead. We haven't had any work for two years. At this rate, it's gonna be over soon."
"Don't give me this pessimism shit," Reno burst out angrily. "Just shut the fuck up, okay?" It didn't use to be this way, he couldn't stop himself thinking. We didn't use to get into disputes every goddamn day before Tseng died. Maybe Rude is right.
"If you want employment, I can offer that," a voice from the doorway remarked casually, and both men sprung up, guns ready, and whirled to face the newcomer, who simply stood watching them, a trace of a smile appearing on his lips. "Don't worry. I'm perfectly harmless."
"Who the shit are you?" Reno asked, recovering quickly from his surprise. With his carefully trimmed blonde hair and formal black suit, the man did not look like one capable of surviving in the harsh world of Midgar, but rather like a wealthy businessman, unaccustomed to the world outside his sheltered mansion. Yet it took a lot of courage to stand up to a pair of trained gunmen, ready to kill in an instant, without flinching. And Reno knew that he was not looking at some average upper class citizen. The man probably did not intend harm, he realized. If he did, he could have killed them both while they sat and talked, unaware of his presence.
"Does it really matter?" the man replied. "I saw you fight earlier, and your skills are considerable. I am willing to offer you, the famous Turks, positions as guards for some excavation work in the Nibel Mountains. You will be paid generously. Provided you accept, of course, I will be expecting you there in two days time." Without another word, he turned and walked away.
The two men exchanged glances. The man's condescending manner had irritated Reno, and he had seemed so confident that they would come that Reno nearly wanted to refuse the offer just to spite him. But it was the only opportunity for work they had been given in two years, and probably the only one for a while. And he knew that they could not go on living off scraps of salvaged food forever.
"Well, what do you think?" he asked.
"Suppose it's worth a shot. Not like we have much of a choice anyways."
"Let's go then," Reno replied. "Shit!" he added, remembering something, and peering out the window at where Elena usually sat during her numerous sulks. "Where the hell is Elena?"
Vincent Valentine walked steadily onwards up the mountain, straining against the sweeping winds filled with flakes of frost. His progress had been hindered by the onset of winter, and further by the arrival of a Shinra jet, which had circled the area for half an hour before departing. It was not Shinra that Vincent fled from; he knew that it was now Reeve who headed the company. He would have liked to see the others again, but to do so would leave his task, which had only grown more urgent with the sudden vision he had received only hours ago, unfinished. No, they would have to wait. The Nibel Mountains loomed up around Vincent, great black spires of rock now covered with ice. For a long time he had searched the world, trying to find what he was looking for. What that was, Vincent did not know.
It was now seven years after the Day of Judgment, and Vincent, though he did not look it, was sixty-one years old. His unruly black hair flowed back in the wind, kept out of his face by a wide red headband. His eyes glowed an unnatural red, and in place of his left hand was only a mechanical claw. Vincent's tattered red cape billowed out in the wind behind him, revealing his pitch black garb and the long-barreled handgun tucked under his sash. For seven years he had wandered the face of the planet, searching for the answer to his unsolved question. Hojo, his arch-nemesis and the man who turned him into such a misshapen beast, had been killed. Sephiroth, spawn of Hojo and the man who had nearly succeeded in destroying the world, was dead. And Lucrecia, the love of his life and the only reason he had not yet killed himself, had finally been able to rest in peace. Yet somehow Vincent knew that it was not over, and his instinctive feelings had not yet been wrong. His search had taken him deep into the Nibel Mountains, where his feeling of unease only grew stronger.
Reaching the peak of the mountain, Vincent surveyed his surroundings. He stood on a fairly tall mountain in the Nibel Chain, and could see for miles around. Nothing. All he could see were the vast mountains and spires of rock and ice that spread out across the horizon. There must be something out there, thought Vincent. I'm just not seeing it. And then he spotted it. A glint of metal, hidden in a small valley between two giant cliffs. The Nibelheim mako reactor, unused for so many years, still existed, it seemed. Maybe it will hold the answers I seek, Vincent thought, as he surveyed the area for any paths leading down to the reactor. It was a steep drop below his feet, with no way down other than the way he had come. No, he thought grimly. There is one way.
Clenching his fists tightly, he contorted his face with effort, and a change came over him. Skin and clothes alike transformed, as his back hunched over and his limbs began twitching as they grew lean and muscular. The creature that raised its head and looked around was nothing like Vincent. Rough purple skin covered all of its body, and it moved in a wolf-like manner. Two large horns protruded from the back of its head. The Galian Beast paused only momentarily before leaping an astounding distance to another ledge, and, surveying its environment, morphed back into Vincent. And without a backward glance he walked onwards, disappearing into a cave in the mountainside.