In my madness
I see your face in mine.
I keep a photograph
It burns my walls with Time.
--David Bowie
Filtered, unfocused midnight unfurled in looping, rolling waves of heat. It was a strange thing to have one's vision blurred by the blinding light of the sun when there was no sun to speak of. She was the sun and the moon and the stars all in one. A radiating universe in a flesh wrapper, the world made of pale alabaster. Mist swirled around the ethereal form of the Madonna as she prayed for a miracle in the sanctuary. All around her, the city screamed in chaos but the anarchy did not bother her.
Nothing would disturb the Madonna. She was resplendently peaceful, with her eyes closed and hands clasped. The last hope of the cetra was held in her pressed palms. She was a singularly bright spot in a world saturated with darkness. Held together by the glowing light of faith she cradled between her slim hands. Her long black hair hung in loose curls, uncharacteristically unbound and spilling over her shoulder. It was given a bright bluish halo by the waning light inside the city. The Madonna of lost souls and forgotten hope, a tragic angel trying to save a city that was past saving.
She wore the garb of a cetran high priestess. Her robes were simple but elegant, yet spoke for her high standing. She wore the stark white kimono that was solely reserved for those of her rank. A bright red cord was draped around her neck, tied in the middle with an intricate knot. It complimented the formal skirt she wore over the kimono which mirrored the cord in its blood red hue. Those colors, red and white described so well what was to come. A foreboding palate, white the color of innocence, all that a priestess embodies and red, the color of sacrifice, that which a priestess must sometimes make.
The white and red of her robes blurred and washed out in the dreamlike light of the sanctuary. Seeming to bleed out, pulled forth by the inescapable forces of eternity. The Madonna opened her eyes and it was like a blow to the chest. Their gaze glowed with gentle affection. Her eyes saw no darkness, no faithless desire. Only the truth, only that which was pure entered those gleaming blue-green orbs. She would suffer no lies.
They looked into a void of barely concealed rage. The rage had no name, no face and no identity. All that existed within him was untamable anger and his lips gave his hate a name.
"Isolde..."
He was dressed much like she was; only he wore dark blue hibikama, formal pants that all male priests wore when in service to the gods. His sandy brown hair was tied back neatly by a stiff paper strip, commonly seen in those who served the gods. He was the temple high priest and her counterpart in all ways but one. She was untainted by the Siren, too pure to hear her call. He heard the Siren's song and heeded it, was driven mad by it as so many of her people had been.
The affection in the Madonna's eyes never wavered but it was joined by sorrow. It hurt her to see her lover consumed by the Deceiver's madness. Even so, she could not falter. Closing her eyes, she prayed even harder.
He saw this and it angered him. The Siren had told him that she would betray him. She told him that the Madonna did not understand the revolution they were planning. She never would understand, too tied to her ritual as she was. The Madonna wanted to preserve the status quo and she would side with the humans, rather than join her own people in rebellion. She would protect them. Try to stop the revolution that would finally free the cetra from their mortal constraints. And here was his proof.
Anger like an all consuming volcanic fire erupted within him. He drew his sword and held it high, poised above her kneeling form. The scene froze and the appearances of priest and priestess changed. Dark black turned auburn. Light brown bleached silver. For a moment, the dream and the dreamer separated, and then merged. The past showing the present a vision of what the future held. He saw another self in the void before the world returned to speed and all was as it should be. His sword hovering just above the frail priestess that at one time had been his true love.
The sword fell and took the Madonna with it. Light engulfed the figures as blood sprayed from the Priestess's wound. She fell through it, individual drops of blood splattering her face, staining her pure white robes. Her long hair trailed behind her like ribbons of pure ebony, in a fall that was so slow it might have been eternity in a single moment. It tested time itself, the clock ticking the minutes of her life away. Her eyes closed sadly, glad that in her own way she succeeded, even if it meant her own life. She collapsed on the floor of the sanctuary in a widening pool of her own blood.
The Priest lowered his sword, and the hate that had clouded his face faded as the reality of what he'd done sunk in. He could hear the mocking voice of the Siren laughing at him far above. She laughed as the city burned. Laughed as the last cetra true to her people gave her life. Laughed at those foolish enough to believe her lies and follow her to their own doom. That laugh was like the west wind, cold and cruel.
The materia his love had clung to so desperately fell from her limp hand, unable to hold it as her life faded. Grief-stricken and guilty, he let his bloodied sword clatter to the floor. Watching in horror as the life blood of the only woman he ever loved spread over the marble floor. It rolled forward, like an incoming tidal wave. Finding the little cracks in the tile and creating a morbid little highway that was stained dark red.
He fell to his knees and gathered her into his arms gently. The color that once bloomed in her cheek had long ago blossomed and all that was left was for the flower to fall from the tree. Taking the last journey of every blossom.
She spoke to him from bloodless lips, dark green eyes gazing up at him, gone glassy as death curled its fingers around her heart. Her voice was the merest whisper, choked with the sorrow and loss of a young life cut short. It was one last question, a question that would forever go unanswered. Not so much final words but a plea for understanding, a breathless, haunting echo.
"Why?"
Why...
Why?
"Why..."
He tore himself from the nightmare with a harsh gasp. Bolting upright, his heart still thundered in his chest. His brow was soaked with sweat and he was shaking all over. Sephiroth held up his trembling hand, almost amazed that there was no blood on it. The tattered remnants of the dream were so strong that they still held firm even after he woke. His breathing was rapid and heavy. It felt like his airway was constricted, as if he'd been screaming...or crying for an extended period of time. But...that was impossible. He never cried. Not since...Tentatively, he touched his hand to his face. The entire area around his eyes was damp. Wiping away the tears, he drew his hand down and stared at them in disbelief.
He'd been accustomed to having nightmares ever since he was very small. When he was much younger, he'd often wake himself crying. He hadn't done such a thing in a very long time. Once he was enrolled in military school, he had to find a way to manage the nightmares. Being in the barracks with other boys, he had to develop ways to keep such embarrassing incidents to a minimum. He couldn't change the dreams or the terror they brought. Instead, he learned how to meditate so well and so deeply that it resembled sleep enough to fool his superiors. He rarely slept to this day and if he did, it was only in half hour long increments. Just long enough to get some rest, but not enough to draw him into the deep REM sleep that would allow him to dream. It wasn't like he really needed the rest anyway. Sleep would probably do him good, even with all his enhancements...but he'd survived this far without it.
That wasn't even the point. This dream was more real than the others. It followed a coherent story, having a beginning, a middle and an end. Most dreams were not so well formed. Another point, this dream wasn't much like any of his previous ones at all. This one seemed like some old style historic drama. Why would he dream of something like that? And that name again. Isolde. This was not one of his nightmares. It wasn't nearly nasty enough to be. Not bad enough to cause him to cry, an activity he hadn't done in at least fourteen years. But he couldn't deny the evidence.
Confused, he looked around him for an answer almost helplessly. He was in a little tan tent that seemed vaguely familiar. The soft patter of rain thumped against the thin surface. Slowly, he remembered where he was and the last few hours came back to him. This tent belonged to that strange girl. She'd given him a potion, a cure of some sort. 'Cure, my ass.', he thought, grimly. That damned girl. She'd done this somehow. Sent him a kind of warning dream, meant to do...what? Confuse him beyond reason?
"Damn it." He cursed.
Nothing made sense. He'd entered a world where the logic and reason he valued so highly did not work. No, no, if he really thought about it, there was logic to be found. Assuming the girl hadn't lied to him. What she'd given him had been a cure for the poison he'd been injected with. She had said that it would be worse than the poison itself. And the poison had caused quite vivid hallucinations.
The simple end of this deduction was that the cure he'd been given had caused him to hallucinate. He then built a story around that name that had come to him...from another poison induced hallucination. It explained things enough for him and he was really too tired to dig any further into it. He smiled wryly; he'd have to thank her. Mind numbingly awful pain and life affirming hallucinations. Cure, indeed. Where was she anyway? Shouldn't she be in here right now, bugging him? He half expected to be awakened by her clumsy poking.
Glancing around, he noticed something that disturbed him. All the little bottles that had previously cluttered the floor of the tent were gone. So was the pack she'd stuffed them in. The only thing that remained was a pile of clothes and what looked to be a packaged granola bar. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
He took advantage of the gift, devouring the granola bar before examining the clothes. Well, they were dry and not ripped. That was about all he could really say without appearing ungrateful. There were a pair of brown work pants, a stained but clean wife beater, a red flannel shirt, and a pair of socks and shoes. He stripped down quickly and changed into the clothes, trying his best to do so with some grace in the cramped confines of the tent. Height wise, the clothes fit him serviceably. The pants were a bit too short, but that was okay.
It wasn't the length that was the problem, it was the width. The clothes were simply too big for his narrow frame. The wife beater's straps barely fit and kept slipping off his shoulders, much to his irritation. The flannel shirt was baggy and hung loosely, making him look like an insane lumberjack. His pants were so big in the waist that he had to stretch the belt to its very last hole. Even then, they just barely sat on his hips and he was constantly worried that with the slightest tug, they'd come right off. The worst were the shoes. Tying them as tightly as he could, they were still uncomfortably loose. His feet were swimming in them. It felt like he was wearing clown shoes and it did NOT make him happy.
Still sitting in the tent, he looked down at himself and found the sight utterly ridiculous. He'd never felt so foolish, wishing that something less laughable would fall from the sky and save him the embarrassment of his current ensemble. This was hardly the outfit to wear when one wished to be invisible. He'd never blend in looking like this. In fact, he'd stick out like a sore thumb.
It would be hard for anyone to forget a six foot tall young man with silver hair dressed in baggy clothes that made him look like the most cleanly beggar EVER ...or worse, a special needs child dressed in his father's work clothes. Yeah, no one would notice that at all. He'd be better off in his full military fatigues, which would clearly identify him as ShinRa's general. Every bounty hunter in the entire world would be on to him in less than a second...but it was better than dressing like Eddie the Gimp. At least his fatigues were intimidating.
His eyes narrowed again as he wondered if the girl had somehow done this on purpose. Of course she hadn't, she'd been nothing but kind to him. Subconsciously he knew that. Still didn't mean he'd trust her.
He unzipped the tent and stepped outside gratefully. It had been days since he'd been able to walk on his own. There was no torture man or god could devise that was as horrible as being stuck on your back in a tent, forced to endure the prattling nonsense of one obnoxious girl.
It was a dull, overcast day; the sky was hidden by rolling gray clouds. A light drizzle patted the bare earth, not enough to soak it...but just enough for it to be uncomfortable for anyone walking around in it. The air was unusually cool for summer, and were he weaker, it might actually have bothered him. For most everyone else, this was not a day to be out in and it begged the question, where was his mystery girl?
Suspicion grew inside him as he strode forward. Her bedroll was gone and the fire pit hadn't even been used. The ashes from her last fire were soaked and sopping wet. Not even the last dying flicker of the fire's last ember remained, nor a wisp of smoke. This fire had been out and dead for quite some time.
She was gone. The girl had left, around six hours ago, more or less. He couldn't gauge the time more accurately without the sun. It had to be late morning, around eleven hundred. Maybe later. A wild guess, but probable. If he was correct, that meant she'd have to have left around o-six hundred. Maybe earlier. He studied the ground briefly. The rain had flattened her footprints so that they were very faint. Luckily, his eyesight was better than average, a thought that made him chuckle lightly to himself. He could see them quite clearly.
She'd exited the tent, set her baggage down and packed up her bedroll. After she was done, she shouldered the bag...seeming to favor her right....and walked towards the woods. The same wood he'd seen her exit from when he first met her.
He sighed, almost sadly. It was as he feared. She knew who he was and though she probably had no idea what he'd done. He could make a calculated guess that she had figured out that he'd done something. Any simpleton could see that the blood he was covered in couldn't all be his own. Even if she suspected nothing, she'd probably notify ShinRa in an innocent desire to help him. That seemed to be her MO. She was unlike most humans in that regard, strange really. So, perhaps she hadn't turned him in for reward money but the end result would be the same. ShinRa would come for him.
The least she could have done was to stick around, so he could find out which it was. He closed his eyes, remembering how it felt to be close to her. Odd that something like that came to him at that moment but it had been nice. There was no denying that. It would have been nice...to feel that again, one last time. A final, precious stolen moment. How fleeting such things were. Like trying to catch sand in your hands, no matter how hard he tried, something always slipped between his fingers. Maybe...maybe this was for the best. Someone like him...He scoffed. Why would anyone want...whatever he was? Useless. All of it.
His heart pounded in his chest like a dull, lead weight. He felt so empty, like a clay jar waiting to be filled with river water. But the river bed was dry and the rainy season was long over. She was gone and it was of no consequence to him. His life was but a strangely flickering film, and all those in his life were actors. Actors who moved through the scenes and interacted with him from time to time before removing themselves from the stage, leaving him alone to deliver the soliloquy.
A chill wind ruffled his hair, brushed over the dew that had beaded over his skin. It sent a stifled shiver through him, which he ignored. The west called and it was time to move on. Time to go home. Something about that seemed almost pathetically sad, as if he should be wanting for more. It was a feeling which he also ignored. He summoned his sword and mechanically walked towards the magnetic pull of the west, to follow where the wind whispered.
There was a warning in his heart, put there by his dream but he was powerless in the face of the wind. It called. He obeyed. Even though he didn't really want to go, even though everything in his being screamed to resist, telling him that this was wrong...but he couldn't stay. Could he? All he could do was move forward, despite his reluctance and the sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Where are you going?"
Abruptly the cold prevailing westerly winds stopped, and the warm southern breeze of springtime returned, brining with it all things bright and alive. The sound of that high voice, so much like the tinkling of bells, broke the westward tug in his blood. His legs stopped, they obeyed him now. How...? He turned and stared at her incredulously. She'd left and then came back. Why? He didn't care really. In fact, it kind of annoyed him. It had been a small mercy when he thought she was gone. There was a part of him that was quite relieved. Now that she was here, things were made difficult again. It confused him. Why was it difficult now? What was it about her that made him feel like this? So awkward and doubtful, uncertain and afraid...nervous. It was aggravating. He didn't like the feeling at all.
She gazed at him with silent bemusement, a small smile on her face. Looking almost surreally beautiful and dreadfully out of place in such a somber scene. She was the kind who should always be surrounded by flowers and light. Her auburn hair highlighted by the sun. This weather...this day, was like him. Not her. Her smile widened. How like the sun she was. His antics amused her, of that he had no doubt. Sephiroth tried to put a tough facade up but it was all smoke and mirrors...and she could see that.
This terse and uncomfortable silence would have driven most away. Not her, never her. She seemed to be unperturbed by it. As if she accepted him for being the person he was. She wasn't afraid of him, wasn't unnerved by habits that drove most up the wall. He ignored her and it almost made her laugh. He could see it. The giddy look on her face...he could almost hear her. What a silly man you are! Then she'd giggle in that peculiar way of hers. Bubbly and downright annoying. Yes, this girl was the world's most perfect torture device. He turned away from her and started to walk away. Not three steps into his stride and he was stopped by the sound of her voice again.
"I wouldn't go that way if I was you." She stated, her voice taking on a lilting sing-song quality.
"Then I should be glad I'm not you."
She shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact tone, "Your mistake, not mine. Good luck."
She sounded so confident that he was wrong. How could she possibly know anything? Unless...
He paused for a beat before speaking in a coldly dangerous tone, "Really. And what makes you so sure of that?"
"Because. There's nothing but open fields in that direction. Not a tree for miles around...You'd be spotted in the air just like that." She said, snapping her fingers to emphasize the point.
"And why..." he asked carefully, turning slightly to regard the girl, "...Would I care about that?"
"Because...The ShinRa are looking for you."
Her words were simple, said in that same sweetly lilting tone. She could fool some with her innocence but not him. He'd wanted to find out which it was...now he knew.
"You are from Midgar, correct?"
"Yes...How did yo--"
"The slums?"
"Yeah...How...How did you know?"
"From that coarse accent of yours. Only low born slum rats speak like you...So, what is it that you want?"
"Nothing really. Not like I care one way or the other if you take my advice. Just wanted to help."
"You can drop the charade. It's not like it's hard for me to guess what you really want."
"Oh? Reeeeeally?" She replied, with a laugh in her voice, "So, what AM I after? Seeing as you know sooooo much."
He had expected her to be indignant at his suggestion. This wasn't the first time some under-the-plate trailer trash had tried something like this. They'd do anything for the right price. But if you called them on it, they'd deny it to the four winds. Going on and on, protesting their innocence...how much the wanted to help...until you flashed a gil their way. Oh no, sir, I'm not asking for money...but if you give it to me, I'd be so grateful. You could throw it on a heaping pile full of rubbish and they'd jump on it like a starving dog. It was sad, really. But this girl. She seemed amused by his suggestion. Like she couldn't care less.
Fine, he'd get to the point. "You know who I am, and you know I have money. Need I say more?"
She laughed, and the sound was nothing short of pure sweetness and light. So, it would come to this.
"What do I want with your money? It's of no use where I'm going." She said, shaking her head, her braid bobbing behind her with the movement, "You know, you pretend upper class snobbery very well. But it doesn't fool me one bit." the girl smiled, her eyes twinkling with absolute delight, "It's none of my business anyway. I just thought I should warn you. Go that way if you want. And when you're in that helicopter back to Midgar, don't say I didn't warn you. Goodbye, General."
With that, she gave him a playful wink and turned around, moving into the forest to disappear as suddenly as she'd appeared. He'd spun around at this point, his eyes gone wide. Who was this girl? What did she....how could she?
"Pretend? What do you mean by that?" He spat the question out at her, in demand of an answer.
She turned slowly, staring him straight in the eye with that irritatingly cheerful smile of hers. "Games are beneath us, General. You may walk the walk and talk the talk...but we both know you don't come from the upper plate."
"Is that so?" He said, gritting his teeth, his voice dipping dangerously low, "Illuminate me, then. Where do I come from?"
He knew it. God damn it, he knew it. This girl, she knew too much. What kind of trickery was this? Who was she...what were these games? His hand went to his sword, and he let his fingers caress hilt. She saw it, he made sure she did. The girl knew what danger she was in and what a gamble she was taking with her life. Yet she didn't appear in the least afraid. Why?
"ShinRa's labs." She stated with utmost certainty. The look on his face darkened, and she knew then that she was right. She pressed on, not a bit afraid of him. If he wanted to kill her, let him try. She knew the planet would protect her; it wasn't her time after all, "JES...01. I'm not sure what the 'J' is for. But the 'ES' I know quite well. ShinRa laboratory code for Experimental Specimen, the number means you're the first. Unless of course, that brand on your arm is some new fad amongst the young aristocrats. So why don't you illuminate me? Are you just another rich boy, burning his arm for fun? Or are you one of ShinRa's nasty little experiments?"
He didn't answer; instead, he glowered at her. The look on his face said death. He'd kill her in an instant and for a moment, she almost regretted crossing that line. But he'd pushed it this far. It wasn't really her fault.
"Cactaur got your tongue?" She asked, rather flippantly, "Oh well. I don't really need you to tell me. I know what the brand is. I know what you are. And I couldn't care less. So, if you don't mind...I have better things to do than to trade banter with a witless fool like you. ShinRa is coming...and I'd rather not be here when they arrive. Good luck to you, General. I do hope you find your way...Planet willing. Goodbye!"
Witless?!! She'd pay for that. "And where, exactly do you think you're going?"
She shrugged, with her back turned. The gesture was natural and unafraid, "Leaving, of course. Want to tag along?"
He didn't answer her question. Sephiroth was angry now. This girl knew too much. Too much for it to be coincidence. A million questions battered his mind and he'd have each one answered to his satisfaction. This girl was full of mysteries and too damn unwilling to answer simple questions without saying and doing things that brought up more. He'd see to it that she answered to him. He'd see to that quite nicely.
"How very observant you are. Tell me, how do you come by this information?"
Slowly, she held out her right arm, twisting it so that the inside of her wrist was clearly visible. He could barely see, but tattooed on the inner flesh of her wrist were a series of letters and numbers. She was too far away from him to make the writing out, even as good as his eyesight was. As if she knew this, the girl turned around, still holding out her arm. The movement was carefully graceful, like she'd practiced every moment of every day this one action. As she turned, her arm turned with her, until it was held out in front of her, a clear invitation for him to examine it.
He hesitated, gauging whether or not it was a trick...a pathetic ruse to get him to come closer before she stuck a needle in his neck with enough Thorazine to kill an entire family of Midgar zoloms. She rolled her eyes and held out her other hand. Satisfied, he came closer, until he was within arm's reach. He looked at her, then her arm, then her again. Came closer. Looked at her again and tiling his head, he looked back at her arm.
His lips had thinned into a line and he radiated tension. He moved to her right side, so that he could see both hands at all times. Roughly, he pulled at her right arm and examined it more closely. In this wet weather, ink would smear easily when touched. His thumb brushed over the tattoo and nothing happened. The numbers stayed, staring back at him with mocking veracity. CRS--07. It was her number, and real ShinRa code.
He looked up at her, his features relaxing just a bit. One last test.
"How did you know ShinRa's laboratory code?"
"The lab assistant assigned to me was very chatty. I don't think he got out much." She answered blandly, with a sideways glance.
"You're a research specimen?"
"No. I'm a person...like you are and the people who poked and prodded me are."
He snorted...a person? Him? Once ShinRa got its hands on you, you were no longer a person. He'd been with them his entire life. He was their property. They owned him, their claim burned into his flesh. This girl denied the obvious. Even if she'd been free for some portion of her life, the minute they tattooed those numbers on her arms, she became theirs. No matter how much she didn't want to be.
"Semantics...you're a research specimen."
"No semantics involved. I am what I am. Not what some scientist labels me as."
"Fine then. The tattoo says research specimen. Happy?"
"Always." She chirped, with a good-natured grin.
"What does the 'C' stand for?"
"Dunno." She replied with a shrug. "What's the 'J' stand for?"
Her eyes sparkled. I'll tell you if you tell me. She was a dreaming fool. He wouldn't tell her a damn thing, besides...he didn't really know what it stood for himself. Frowning, he let go of her hand, managing to be as rough as he had before. He circled 'round her, scrutinizing her for possible signs that she was a threat. She was bored of this, and demonstrated this clearly by titling her head back and gazing at the sky. Fidgeting, she began to hum quietly to herself before she got too restless to take it anymore. He stood in his former position, directly in front of her, albeit a bit closer.
Looking at him from underneath her furrowed brows, she asked, "Are you satisfied that I'm not here to kill you...or drag you off...or whatever it is you're suspicious of this time? Because my arms are getting tired."
He nodded curtly, still eyeing her warily. There was another long stretch of silence. Where he watched her and she watched him. She carefully massaged her wrists, which had cramped from holding them up so long. He stared at her mistrustfully, waiting for her to slip up. His suspicions were waning though, because no one could keep up a lie this long. Not under his careful scrutiny.
"What are you?" He queried, bluntly.
She was about to answer him when her face blanched. A small gasped escaped her lips and her eyes began to search the sky frantically. Abruptly, they stopped on a spot just behind his shoulder. Her eyes widened in alarm, and the fear in them was clearly evident.
What kind of silly, half assed game was this? Did she really expect him to fall for that? The over the shoulder gag was more than just old. It was freaking ancient. Beyond ancient. It should be buried in a lead-lined coffin and left for dead in the middle of an open pit. He did an oh-go-three-sixty and huffed impatiently. This was just childish.
"What is it?" He asked the question but didn't really care if she answered.
Sadness crept into her eyes, which never moved from the sky.
"They're here."
"Oh...please...." He said, sarcastically.
She didn't respond to his mockery, in fact, she seemed to be ignoring him entirely. The strange girl closed her eyes, and held up her left hand. With a quick motion, she held two fingers straight up, her thumb holding the other two down. Her eyes snapped open and she flicked her arm out in front of her. The unmistakable green glow of materia radiated off the delicate silver bangle she wore on her wrist. Suddenly, the wind picked up, buffeting him sharply. His long hair tangled in it, billowing around him like a tattered silver cape. He turned, wanting nothing more than to know what in the hell was happening.
In the distance he could see the hovering form of a helicopter as it flew straight for them. He noticed something else. Swirling dark clouds gathered above the copter and followed it as it got closer and closer. What kind of cloud formation did that? None. None did that, because it wasn't natural and neither were those clouds. He glanced back at the girl, who stood completely still. The wind picked up again. He was unnerved by her. How still she was. Like nothing in this world could move her and woe be it to the fool who tried. And behind her eyes...there was electricity behind them. He turned back. The helicopter was so close now; he could just make out the ShinRa logo.
In a brilliant flash of blue light, an arcing pulse of electricity hit the rear rotor. It exploded most impressively, in a shower of orange and gold sparks. Without this stabilizing rotor, the helicopter began to whirl out of control. Turning around and around in a violent tailspin, and with each turn, the machine lost more control. He watched with numb awe, unable to tear his eyes from the sight. Rotating wildly, it hit the topmost branches of the forest. The cracking of tree branches and the whining of the helicopter's failing engine were all that could be heard.
Everything went deathly quiet as it spun further in, breaking branches as it went. Then it hit something it couldn't break...and it exploded. Helicopter parts and tree branches flew into the air as the smoking wreck of the machine fell to the forest floor. Another explosion rocked the forest, before things quieted again. All that was in the air was the stench of the burning helicopter and the distant crackle of fire. He turned to gape openly at the girl, who stood calmly in front of him, breathing a bit heavily. She almost looked sad. Their eyes met and what was said between them was distant and unreadable.
That strike was unreal. He was good with materia. Very good, and even he didn't have such accuracy. It was easy enough to direct the energy from a spell but it got harder the farther the target was from you. Even very close, the best you could manage was to go for large sections of whatever you were attacking. The head, torso or abdomen. This held true whether you were casting a spell on a living subject or an inanimate object. But she...She'd pinpointed that rotor. It had hit exactly where it needed to and from a distance of at least twenty miles...probably more.
"What are you?" He repeated his question, not even hoping for an answer.
She smiled regretfully, "What are any of us, really? Do you know? I don't..."
He was about to open his mouth and demand what she meant by that, but she didn't even give him a chance. Touching her hand to her heart, she bowed her head before turning her back and walking towards the forest. Sephiroth was so astounded by the sheer audacity of it that he was struck for the first time in his life, absolutely speechless. Just before she disappeared into the forest, she turned to give him one backwards glance. She smiled, the sorrowful expression on her face had left and again it was filled with that eerie cheerfulness. He remembered a book on mythology he once read. It was filled with tales of forest spirits in the forms of young women. He'd always dismissed such fairy tales as nonsense...but now, he began to wonder if some of those might be true.
"Hey!" She shouted, that ever present laughter in her voice, "You coming or not?"
Without even waiting for him to answer, again, she disappeared into the forest. Her form melding with the forest, seeming to become one with it, as all good dryads were. He stood there for a beat, looking back at the smoldering wreck of the helicopter. Wordlessly, he turned away from it and followed the girl into the forest.