Cloud daydreams at the kitchen table, strumming his fingers to a tune in his head. His mother is preparing dinner, and the bright sun shines through curtained windows, basking her in silhouette. This is his first time home since joining the academy, and the fresh mountain air swirls with memories. He hasn't heard this tune in years, yet it returns as if she were playing it now. The girl next door...
"Cloud, are you listening?"
His mother faces him, one hand holding a butcher's knife. He cannot see her well in the glaring light.
"Always somewhere far, aren't we?" she asks. It is a rhetorical question.
He can't recall what she could have been saying.
"I was saying I'm worried about you. I'm glad you decided to stay here at home instead of with the General and his entourage at the Shinra Mansion."
She returns to the cutting board, slicing vegetables. The rhythmic tap of the knife sounds loud, peculiar.
A flicker of rose catches his eye. In the corner of the room, a girl stands in a pink dress, hands clasped. He should recognize her. The room flickers and spins. Nausea grips him. He goes to stand, and his consciousness shifts out. Up.
He steps away from his body, outside of himself. Intense sickness underpins a strange clarity. This is a memory, but none his own. The dead MP lived here, ate here, harbored secret feelings for the girl next door. And this uniform is a dark blue he never wore.
The woman in pink is gone. The MP still sitting at the table leans against one palm, tracing a finger on the wood grain, oblivious to the doppelganger behind him.
"You know, I am not sure I like you hanging around the General," his mother says without turning. "Seems dangerous, a mission that he would be on."
The MP mentions that being with the General is the safest type of mission because of his military prowess. He is unmatched, and this particular task is non-combative. No need for concern.
"Still," the MP's mother says with a huff. "What if he gives you a dangerous order? Would you have to obey?"
That's how the military works, the MP answers. Danger is inherent, but the General would never issue a command that did not have a strategic objective.
"And that other SOLDIER… Well, I think it's fine for such prestigious gentlemen to visit Nibelheim, but sending someone First-Class…."
Don't worry, mother, the MP replies. Nothing bad will happen. He fidgets. He's thinking of Tifa.
The bodiless Cloud tries to leave, but the doors are not real. This construct is a cage.
"You shouldn't take any more missions with him." The mother chops fiercely at a slab of meat, and the knife is now a cleaver.
There isn't a choice, the MP says. Shinra makes the decisions.
Annoyance edges her actions. Her shoulders are tense.
"Shinra is the problem." She cracks bone from a tiny carcass on the cutting board.
The pot behind her boils, and water steams onto the stovetop. The MP stays at the table, continuing to tap, though the melody is gone. He taps a new, steady beat. A clicking.
The chopping stops. The woman's gaze moves from the MP to Cloud.
A long white hallway beats in pulses. Sterile clean tiles lead to a series of numbered doors. He was never supposed to be down here. He'd made a wrong turn and gotten lost.
"Lost," his mother says. "Ah, but you were never lost. You always knew exactly what to do. You know what we want."
A smile. He can hear her smiling. A burning smell creeps through the house. The light outside glows and undulates.
"I've given you everything you need to help us."
He's near her. When did he get this close? The tapping escalates. When he looks back at the MP, the youthful blonde is a ragged corpse. Its finger is bone imprinting a bloody stamp. Its body is needles and rot. The uniform hangs in threads.
"Can you see?" she says. She leans in. "Can't you see?"
Flames tear through the curtains, illuminating her face. Cooked muscle stretches atop bone. Eye sockets dribble globs. Her teeth set a wide involuntary grin, without lips, without skin.
"The fires consume me," she says.
She grabs his collar. Tendrils curl onto his throat. He wakes up.
The nightmare spins away in frenzied adrenaline. Aerith, he remembers her name now. The woman in the pink dress who appeared in his dream. Her name is Aerith. But he's in a very dark place. The town, the flames, his mother—all gone.
"Aerith…?"
He's in a black void. Ahead is a point of light. Voices echo, and shadows twist. She'd been there, a fleeting mirage, but enough to get his attention. It was her presence that pulled him from the MP.
The afterimage of the town ablaze and that desperate cry of his mother clings to his senses. These are remnants of a past he never lived, but his body reacts as if he had. He wants to help her. He wants to make sense of her plea.
Ahead, the point of light becomes a hallway. Cloud walks down the long, white path as overhead bulbs switch on in mechanical procession. Inviting into the belly of the beast. The Shinra Tower.
This is the inner laboratory basement, a sterile featureless hallway bordered by identical numbered doors, all sealed shut and blinking red. His breath frosts the air. These archives are a replica of the true labs, now buried beneath Midgar rubble.
The hallway extends, and Cloud walks until he reaches one steel archway, plain and knobless. The letters above mark J.E.N.O.V.A. Here is where he stopped the day he was supposed to rescue Tifa from execution. Here is where Hojo, he'd thought, had sent him. But no. He was beckoned, and now he knows why.
Hydraulics hiss as the door opens by itself. A sliver of greenish light escapes, and Cloud steps inside, blood pumping in his head. The rhythmic tapping ensues. Metal on metal. He's heard this before, multiple times. A tapping, growing louder. Closer.
The interior is the same as the real Shinra lab, a metal chamber designed to house one headless creature. But the scene is different. Jenova's parts hang amputated on surgical hooks, limbs separated from torso, organs strung up like wings, skin pulled to thinning shreds.
And a figure in a black cape stands at the top of the thick black tubes wrapped around her base. Broken glass litters the floor, and astringent burns the air.
The figure hunches over a portion of Mother's body, holding a fleshy lump in one hand. The clicking sound is coming from him. His other hand holds the unsheathed masamune, and its sharp metal edge clicks against the metal wiring supporting Mother's encasement.
"Sephiroth." Cloud is surprised by his own voice breaking the thickness of surreality.
The black cape rises. The clicking stops.
Sephiroth turns over one shoulder.
"Ah. The MP. Here to stab me in the back, as you did before?"
Cloud expects that sedation to overcome him again, but nothing happens.
"Oh, but that wasn't really you. Was it?" The General says. "He is dead because he interfered where he should have not. And you've only taken his body."
He pauses, chewing. His teeth tear into meat. Cloud's stomach churns.
The General faces Cloud fully. Dark blood drenches the Shinra uniform. He holds Jenova's head in his fist, her white hair coiling around his wrist like snakes. Half of her face is gone. Eaten. Ooze dribbles down Sephiroth's chin. His mouth is black iridescence. His eyes are luminous green slits.
Cloud steps back, eyes locked on the dripping gore of Mother. One eye in her skull settles on him, begging.
"You… you're a monster," Cloud manages to say. His voice sounds distant and unfamiliar.
Sephiroth brings Jenova to his mouth and takes another bite. The ripping of skin nauseates and dizzies Cloud.
"Am I?" Sephiroth responds with a smile. "Isn't that perspective? To me, you are the monster. You are not part of Mother's body. You are separate. A mistake."
The General begins walking down the makeshift stairs. The masamune clicks again on each step. Click. Click. Cloud steps backward, but the door behind him is closed. Mother's head trails ichor in silvery threads. Sephiroth wipes his mouth.
"You were not chosen." Sephiroth pauses, then, "And what do you intend to do with that?"
The Buster Sword is in Cloud's hands, though he doesn't know how or why. It materializes as if it had always been there. This is Zack's sword, which the MP picked up in his ludicrous vengeance. The handle had been slippery with Zack's blood, and the weight had been too much. Now he holds it with ease, and the edge is bright. This was the last weapon the MP ever held.
"I killed him once," Sephiroth says. "I will do it again. And again."
He steps down the chamber, sword trailing. Click. Click.
"Don't you see?"
Cloud's mother stands beside fire-licked curtains. The fabric is a pattern of flowers, soft yellows and muted beige.
"No," Cloud says. "No, I'll stop you."
Sephiroth smirks. He sets down Mother's head and grasps the masamune. Cloud expects swift death, the blazing movement of silver and steel. Instead, Sephiroth halts at the base of Mother's platform. Wires sputter and hang from the tubing. Her blood is on his lips.
Sephiroth chuckles. "Here, we are nothing more than what we were born with. Mother cannot help you. Or hide you. Here, we are only the skills our bodies learn. And I have much more training than you."
He flicks the blade. A smattering of inky blood trails off.
Cloud shifts. "Where…is this?"
Sephiroth does not respond. The masamune flashes. The broadsword snaps up in bare reflex. Metal clangs against metal as Sephiroth spins into a flurry of strikes. Cloud can do nothing but defend. The General is swift and fluid, and Cloud has no training against such a foe.
The masamune seems impossible to track as slash after slash pursues. He narrowly evades, but he's losing ground. The mutilated body of Jenova hangs headless, presiding over the onslaught. Cloud can barely keep up, and suddenly his heels are at the wall.
The swords clash, hold, and his muscles falter. Sephiroth presses him to imbalance, and he slides against the wall, blocking another attack. Then another. Perspiration drips in his eyes, yet Sephiroth hasn't broken a sweat.
Cloud reels to find his footing, diving and stumbling out of the killing arcs. He circles Sephiroth. Jenova's pedestal is behind Cloud now. Poor, decapitated creature. She watches him, silent, from each body part dripping with chemicals. The broadsword is starting to feel heavy.
Sephiroth bolts forward. Cloud catches the masamune, but the angle twists all wrong. His wrists jolt, and the Buster Sword falls, spinning across the smooth reflective flooring. Sephiroth's blade cuts upward, slicing through Cloud's chin and lips. Fresh blood slides down his mouth, and he staggers back, weaponless.
Red drenches his Shinra uniform. Sephiroth advances, slicing and stabbing so that Cloud must scramble up the platform, palms crunching over broken glass. The Buster Sword is too far.
"The MP couldn't defeat me," Sephiroth says. "What makes you think you could?" It is a sinister query to which there is no answer. Their strength is matched, but their expertise is not. Sephiroth is Shinra's prized military jewel, raised to hold a blade and command an army. Cloud is an errant science experiment from a failed project.
Sephiroth laughs. Cloud has reached the end. Mother's slippery remnants are behind him, and she smells of decay. The dislodged tubing hisses. The masamune rests at his throat.
"You will serve me as Mother does."
The cold steel rises and falls with Cloud's breath. Sephiroth holds the weapon taut. It is only seconds, now, until it pulls open his veins. He will join Mother in her eternal nightmare.
But he is not alone. The heavens bend with the meteor's impact, and traveling within are a multitude of alien kin. They recognize him as their own. They feel Jenova's desecration. They are very near.
Wake up. The MP's mother stands by the kitchen window. Fires burn outside. Wake up, Cloud, she says without speaking.
The masamune plunges into Cloud's chest. Pain bursts his lungs, branches like lightning through his torso. It's cold. So cold. His head hits the rim of her containment chamber. Bitter liquid nips at his flesh. He touches her dismembered hand.
Sudden darkness envelops him, warm and comforting. Gentle. An embrace.
When he opens his eyes again, the Shinra basement is gone. He's in the caverns that glitter with materia, and a bizarre starlight illuminates the vapor in the air.
Sephiroth is here, but he is a terrible, transformed being. Grand wings sprout in pairs beneath a pristine body. Radiance fills the space near his crown. The cavern seems alive with the presence of whatever Sephiroth has become.
Then Cloud sees the dust, the spattering of human blood, the ash of bone. His heart catches. Tifa was here, last he remembered. He was meant to protect her like he did in the Lifestream. The drugged subservience is gone, too. Either Sephiroth no longer considers him a threat, or someone else has interfered with their connection. Something else.
Yes, the Planet is in crisis. Mako wells and surges. Sephiroth siphons it out of the depths, feeding his immortalizing form.
"Cloud!" a woman yells.
He turns as if in a daze, as the world spins.
Tifa is alive, though bruised and bloody, complexion a harsh pallor.
"Am I dreaming?" he thinks to ask, but the words never make it out.
His friends are all alive. The wreckage in the cavern must be an illusion.
"Aerith," Tifa says. Her voice wavers. "It was Aerith…"
The others are speaking, but Cloud cannot hear them. A new thunderous roar oppresses his consciousness. It is unlike Mother or Sephiroth, but it is powerful. It is enormous and complete. And it wishes to protect its tiny brethren. It wishes to protect Cloud from the impurity that is Sephiroth.
It is coming from the meteor.
That embrace shudders through him again. His friends rally and attack Sephiroth, but the one-winged angel has a barrier of energy up.
Materia glimmers in Cloud's glove. Yes, the Destruct he found in Nibelheim, the place where Shinra took everything away and gave him everything again. The beginning and the end.
The Mako within him syncs and tightens as he calls upon the Destruct. Sephiroth is too confident to care about Cloud. The Planet is about to split in two and spew its precious Promised Land into the universe. The Destruct hits hard and fast at a magnitude greater than anything Cloud could bolster alone.
Sephiroth's barrier shatters. Joyous cries echo from his friends in the fog. Cloud smiles. He tries to smile. Something else—that other presence—has deeper intentions. It dips into the heart of the materia in Cloud's hand. A rare materia, indeed.
He wants to yell at his friends to go. To get out while they still can. But it takes all of his concentration to follow the intricate flowering of the Destruct materia. It unfolds like infinity. The ultimate ability of Destruct is Death.
Cloud looks up at Sephiroth. Death, empowered by the complete essence of Jenova, alive inside him. Yes, he is the balance. Aerith was right. She is the rejuvenating light of the Cetra, and he is the cleansing death of Jenova. Sephiroth is the imposter.
The Lifestream reacts as he calls the materia's energies. Shades of green burn dark. Cloud projects the intimacy of Death into a localized point. It pierces Sephiroth, cutting through any immunities. The stars transmute the Planet's energy, violating the laws of nature and granting true and swift Death with Cloud as its harbinger. He can pull at the Jenova inside Sephiroth. He can see the teeming masses.
Death flows through him. Sephiroth cries out. The massive wings startle and buckle. The bladed black wing stretches and snaps in anguish.
But no, Death cannot kill him. Jenova lives in him, even as his mortal flesh dissolves and his screams evaporate. The angelic monstrosity floats near the edge of the chasm under which flows the Lifestream, broiling and turbulent. The steaming vapor intensifies around him.
And in that obscurity, a shadow rises. It could be a trick of the light or a hallucination from the pounding headache that plagues Cloud's vision, but a dark form emerges out of Sephiroth's body. It surges with the Planet's heartbeat, and it has wild tendrils and a headless torso.
Mother has come to reclaim her troubled son. The reunion made her whole, even if Sephiroth thought he was consuming her, and Cloud now provides the correct conduit. Jenova cannot die, but she can be forced into dormancy. The Cetra did this eons ago, and Mother recognizes that Sephiroth cannot remain free.
She swallows him up, bubbling his cells in suicidal revolt. Or perhaps the Death materia cripples his flight. Either way, he plummets, dragged, into the Lifestream. Down into the Planet's core. Deep into the crushing, endless tide. The Death energies follow. Its vacancy depletes the cavern of vitality.
The group collapses. Cloud kneels by the ledge of the chasm in the haze of Mako, unable to reconcile the crippling pain in his chest.
Someone touches his shoulder. It may be Barret or Cid. Cloud cannot stop staring into the abyss, but Sephiroth does not reappear. The Planet rumbles, and the caverns shake. The materia crystals embedded in the rock all around glow bright. So bright.
"It's white!" Yuffie exclaims. "White materia! I've never seen it before."
His friends are alive, and he should be thankful, but he is lost.
The caves illuminate in serene milky tones. It reminds Cloud of the materia he once found tucked in Aerith's hair ribbon. It does nothing, she'd told him with a mirthful smile. Nothing at all.
"The Planet's prayers!" Nanaki resounds.
Everyone is chattering, and someone shakes Cloud's shoulder. He snaps away from the ledge to face a mighty fist. Barret punches him full force.
"Whoa, whoa," Tifa says, stepping between them.
"You turned 'gainst us!" Barret accuses, pointing. "I don't want him in my sight."
Cloud rubs his sore cheek, notices the cut on his lip and chin from a sharp, thin blade.
"This ain't the time," Cid intervenes. And he's right.
The walls are caving in. The Planet sputters, and the Lifestream rises.
Tifa locks eyes with Cloud. "Soon it will all be submerged in Mako."
Yuffie hops from one foot to the other. "Then let's get out of here. What are we waiting for?"
She runs for the nearest tunnel, but rock collapses and blocks the way. The twilight glow of the materia fades.
Tifa regards Cloud at a distance. "What happened to you?" she asks.
Everyone wants answers, but Cid stamps his feet. "Who cares? I'm with the kid. Let's get the hell outta here!"
A crevice splits open a new path. Barret huffs and leads the way, followed by Nanaki, Cid, Yuffie, and Tifa. Vincent eyes Cloud.
"You almost fooled me," the gunman says, then he takes off after Tifa, torn cape billowing.
Everyone hauls as fast as muscles and fatigue allow. Cloud has no memory of the space between seeing Tifa in the caverns and awakening in Nibelheim. The team fought Sephiroth without him, and judging by their ruined appearances, Sephiroth was winning. It's preposterous now to think Cloud could ever side with Sephiroth's ideals, but the allure of control and the peace within had been overwhelming. It is all Cloud ever wanted yet never knew he could have. Without it—
"We aren't going to make it," Yuffie pants.
The party scales hand-over-foot up shaking cavern walls. Mako floods beneath them, sloshing into a riptide current. Cloud is the last to ascend, and Mako licks at his boots. The smell crawls up his arms and into his brain. It had taken them countless hours to descend. The reverse seems impossible within such a compressed time.
Yet every broken ledge leads to a new tunnel. Every twinkling materia-laced cave carries an upward slope. Fissures crack with the pressure of the Lifestream behind them. But crawling on their bellies, breathing in dust, the group manages to escape the poisonous jets.
Luck, Cloud thinks. Pure luck. Mako soaks his boots and pants, sizzling against his shins. He pushes on, following the others in their heated ascent as the Planet rebels around them. At every turn, he expects a cascade of stone and ice to end their minuscule lives, but death never comes. Always a near miss. Always a way forward.
Tifa slips, and he pauses to help her. Nanaki falls and crushes an ankle. Barret carries him the rest of the way. Yuffie drags and Vincent wraps an arm under her. Everyone operates for one purpose—survival. Cid leads the forefront, desperately signaling the Highwind on his PHS. No response. The quakes are endless. The route, a labyrinth.
The materia-caves diminish to smooth passageways of ice. Barret lags, wiping sweat. He steps beside Tifa.
"Ain't so bad, right?" He smiles at her through breaths. "Like the old days, runnin' outta blast zones. Evadin' Shinra scum."
Tifa nods, encouraging him along, though the entire group slows. Even Vincent is affected by the arduous climb. The chasms shift. Ice shatters in dangerous chunks, baring the path again and again. Urgency and exhaustion combat for priority in everyone's gait.
Then Cid lets out a jubilant yell. A breeze of external air curls through a tunnel ahead. Renewed buoyancy alights the harrowing march even as Mako fills faster behind them.
Against all odds, the caves open to the central spire of the crater. Cid grits his teeth, holding the PHS high for any signal. The group struggles in the freezing winds, covered in sweat, without winter coats.
"Gotta…keep…going," Barret intones. Yuffie groans.
Ice slides underfoot. Crevices split. Nothing is stable, yet they must climb. Up and out. Away from the rising toxin. The sky becomes visible, but it is an ashy crimson shade, dark despite the daylight hour.
Tifa reaches the top first, galavanting ahead in a final push. Her gloves crest the cold, hard rock of the crater rim. She perches, catching her breath, and her shoulders sag. Cid's eyes are fixed on the PHS, but he, too, pauses once he pulls clear of the crater. Yuffie, Vincent, and Barret are next. Cloud watches their postures change to defeat. Nanaki howls low and sad.
The cloudless sky silhouettes the six figures. Cloud is last, ignored and unassisted by his companions. Mako crusts his clothes, and he shivers in the drastic temperature drop. Harsh winds tear across the top of the crater. He stands behind Tifa, and the scene panning is devastation.
An enormous plume of smoke encompasses the southern horizon, and the ocean undulates oily black. The glacial bridge connecting the northern crater to the tundras near the ski resort is underwater. There is no way across the new churning seas.
"H-how?!" Yuffie exclaims. She falls to her knees.
Flakes of ash drift from the sky. Cloud looks up.
"The meteor…" he says, though he knew hours ago that it already happened. "The meteor fell."
Tears slide down Barret's cheeks. He clenches his fist. "M…Marlene… She was…"
Tifa puts a hand on his shoulder. "We don't know anything for sure yet."
Except the environment is raw and inhospitable, a direct response from the Planet. Mako seeps up the sides of the crater, hissing down into the ocean like lava. The group is alone, trapped.
Barret wipes a tear and faces Cloud. "You…" He shoves a shaky finger at Cloud. "You knew this would happen. You coulda helped us defeat that madman."
Cloud stands firm. "I did," he says.
"After protectin' his mutated ass!"
Cloud shakes his head. There is no way to explain the brief liberation, the alignment, the truth that felt so damn clear. "The meteor could never be stopped," he settles on saying.
Yuffie rubs her arms and shivers. "We…died. I remember it. Didn't we?" She looks around for corroboration. "What happened?"
Cid resumes his impatient signaling on the PHS. Nothing. Not even a blip. He curses and smacks the device with one palm, then curses again.
"Aerith," Tifa says, remembering. "I saw her, I think. In the shadows after Sephiroth called that horrific light."
Barret withdraws his attention from Cloud to sit on the snowy banks near the ledge. A streamlet of Mako meanders nearby, spewing steam in rising curtains.
"An' how we gonna get off this rock and get ta Marlene?" he grumbles.
Cid sighs. "The Highwind ain't responding."
"Look around you, Cid," Barret replies. "Ain't nobody around 'cept us."
The skies shimmer in violets and reds over the black ocean. The smoke in the distance is a permanent, creeping blot.
"And we survived just from being in that cave," Tifa says, holding one arm to her side. The wind rustles her long dark hair. She glances at Cloud.
Vincent speaks up. "None of us should have survived. But we did." His boots crunch in the snow. "Something aided us."
"The Planet," Yuffie says.
"Aerith…" Tifa says.
Jenova, Cloud thinks. He doesn't dare say it aloud.
Silence befalls the group. The stretch of ocean is impassable, the temperatures unbearable. Everyone shakes as the sweat on their bodies freeze, and thin shirts cling to bruised skin.
Cid won't give up the comms, but no answer comes. He thumbs the signal like a maniac. Nanaki curls to cradle his broken ankle, and the flame of his tail dwindles.
"Night will come," Vincent observes. There is nothing to say after that. Everyone realizes what this means.
"We cannot build a fire," Yuffie says, small and lost.
Vehement denial sparks in Barret and Cid. Neither admits the direness of their situation. Barret resolves to search the crater exterior for anything they could use to cross the ocean. Cid is relentless in flagging the Highwind, refusing to acknowledge the dead airspace. Yuffie sits in numbness, knees wrapped to chest. Cloud tries to help Barret in his futile efforts, if only to instill camaraderie and show that he's still a part of the team, but Barret ignores him. Tifa consoles Yuffie and assists Vincent with scoping the perimeter, keeping an eye out for any passing airships, any means of assistance. Of course, the skies are empty. The seas are clear.
Hours pass. The burnt sky dims into starless jet. Each individual keeps moving to stay warm, but it is a losing battle. There is nothing on the horizon. The world might as well be lifeless.
Eventually, the group huddles into a dug-out snowbank. The temperatures drop. Everyone argues or blames or commiserates when hopes wear down. The chattering continues until night reigns. Yuffie mumbles that she's back in Wutai, talking to her father, while Cid keeps hearing the distant whir of phantom aircraft. Barret rests with arms crossed, eyes closed. Vincent sits in repose, paler than ever, and Nanaki's tail dims.
Soon, stillness settles. The cold oppresses and torments.
In the absolute dark, Tifa curls near Cloud, who rubs her shoulder and keeps her close. Yuffie is on his other side, rigid and silent. He senses the cold as a mild disturbance and wonders how long the Jenova cells could survive, frozen and buried, if this night were to never end.
"Do you think she knew?" Tifa asks in a soft, trembling voice.
Cloud rests his cheek atop her head. He doesn't care that she's only cuddling for his warmth.
"The White Materia," Tifa continues. "Do you think Aerith knew it was there?"
To imagine she did is a pleasant thought, but he remembers the surprise on Aerith's face. The shock of death as Mother ate away at her body, as Sephiroth stabbed her through the heart. No, Aerith didn't think it would end this way.
Tifa exhales. Her skin is ice. Cloud holds her hands in his. He thinks she may be crying, so he kisses her forehead, but she does not respond.
Silence follows aside from the whipping wind outside their hollowed snow tunnel and the crashing oceans. Mako could bleed into this den and suffocate them, so Cloud stays vigilant, though perhaps dissolving into the Planet's Lifestream is preferable to freezing to death.
A new sound crowds his head, a cacophony of voices swift as static and subtle as distant rainfall. Yes, he'd almost not noticed the familiar return of incessant whispering, the clawing that follows each waking moment. With Sephiroth's demise comes the return of Jenova's garbled missives. Cloud sighs. He will never be free of the chaos, even when the Planet's core contains her.
Yet…the octaves are all wrong. The tones play with his head, reminiscent of that heartbeat he'd felt when gazing up at the meteor. When Shinra boxed his mind into obedience and passiveness, he liked to watch the meteor approach because it reminded him of…this closeness to Jenova.
The starfield travelers are here, and they call to him. But they are not identical to Jenova. He shuts his eyes. Sephiroth learned to block it somehow. Cloud must figure out how to do the same.
He'd managed that feat for a second when using the Destruct. He'd wielded the raw power of Jenova and turned it against Sephiroth, inciting upheaval from within. Yet he has no idea how to do that again nor if he would want to. The sensation of control and power leaves him sick.
He does not sleep, and when early dawn slides chilly into their crude encampment, his friends do not rise. They are frigid. He lies with Tifa and Yuffie, noting their sluggish pulses, the ice atop their eyelashes. Nanaki's tail smolders.
Then the PHS in Cid's hand goes off. A radio frequency cuts in. Cloud peels himself away from the two women and grabs the phone.
"Hello?"
Static responds, which is better than nothing. Cloud climbs from the snowy embankment, inhaling a blast of frigid air.
He tries the PHS again, tapping every button. "Hello? Who's there?"
The battery blinks low. Cloud begs it not to give out.
"I'm here," he says into the receiver. "Whoever you are, we're here. At the northern crater. We're trapped and—"
"...c…loud..?" a mechanical voice buzzes in.
It does not sound human.
"Uh, yes?" Cloud responds, turning all around to watch the air space.
The skies are a blur of yellowish hues tinged in red. The black spire to the south remains an unbroken splotch. Then, the noise of a turbine approaches.
"Who is this?" Cloud says, suddenly aware of the absence of his sword, the fragile state of his companions, the strangeness of the voice through the PHS.
An airship appears, but it is a small military-class medical frigate with a Shinra logo on its tail. Cloud's stomach sinks. He tries the PHS again, but the battery is dead. He pockets the useless contraption, preparing instead for conflict.
The frigate steers into view, engines chopping. The carrier has no windows, only a steel door, and the pilot's cockpit appears empty. The side door slides open.
An HK unit with its guts streaming out of an open chassis waves.
"Cloud," the HK unit states.
The swordsman relaxes as he recognizes Cait Sith.
"What took you so long?" Cloud chides. He runs a hand through his hair. "They need help." He motions towards the frozen embankment. "And where's the Highwind?"
The HK unit propels offboard on its limited jetpack. The fuel sputters, and the HK stumbles to the ice. Mako rivers congeal green down the snowy mountainside.
"The Highwind is gone," Director Reeve says through the HK. The gravity of the statement is lost coming from the shambling unit. The cracked camera-face rotates to Cloud. "Midgar is ground zero. All of Shinra is—"
"Then how did you escape?"
"There is an underground bunker, beneath the city. We were able to evacuate a few hundred employees there. But when the meteor hit, everything went dark. I was able to get this HK unit online with a little luck. It was floating in the wreckage off the coast. And this medical frigate is an emergency transport stowed in the Corel mountains. I hurried to get here as fast as I could. I knew you guys would make it."
Cloud isn't sure how much to believe of Reeve's story, but he doesn't care. He carries his companions aboard while the HK unit preps the medical pods, human-sized capsules to supply nutrients and monitor vitals for injured soldiers in wartime. Now, he places his unconscious friends within, taking extra care with Tifa. Her heartbeat is the faintest.
"Is it just you then?" Cloud asks the drone.
The HK unit nods as its repurposed turret arm clicks the preparatory sequence for the pods. The carrier holds six pods in total, exactly enough.
"These carriers are built for a single operator," Reeve replies. "I coded some automations in, of course. Though to be honest, we're barely flying here."
"It doesn't matter. Just as long as they survive."
The frigate ascends, and the crater, with its streaks of luminous green, fades into blurry beige. The sky retains its swollen reddish tones, and the sun is impossible to spot.
"I want to see Midgar," Cloud says.
"We're headed to Costa del Sol," the HK unit replies. "That's where all Shinra refugees are, and it's where the best medical equipment is. I'm there, too."
"Then we go after we drop them off."
The HK's featureless head pivots to Cloud. The drone's lights blink.
"Cloud, there is nothing at Midgar."
Ah, but there is. "I know," Cloud says, suddenly uncomfortable. "I want to see it anyway."
"It's a smoking hole in the ground. Zero visibility. The impact is fresh so not even emergency crews have been able to—"
"Just get me there," Cloud cuts him off. "Please."
Reeve agrees though his tone remains skeptical. Cloud turns away, watching through windows at a world surreal. Dead fish float in the ocean. Lightning arcs through the plumes covering the horizon, and Cloud can't deny the skittering up his arms. The HK drone switches to an auto-pilot after Reeve excuses himself to attend other vital matters.
The frigate becomes quiet except for the medical equipment and the gentle hum of turbines. Cloud places a hand on the nearest pod. The Shinra logo is stamped everywhere, shiny and new, gold and obvious. This technology is straight out of Advanced Weaponry. He exhales and sits on the floor in the cramped interior. Once his muscles relax extreme fatigue hits. His head swirls every time he shuts his eyes, and those alien voices pound nonstop, beckoning. Searching.
He regards the six pods with their earthly passengers hooked to saline drips. He won't ever be like them. He'd betrayed them. If Aerith hadn't found him… Cloud squeezes his eyes closed. The allure of a world without Shinra, a perfect rebirth, had truly taken him. He'd believed everything. It doesn't seem possible to return from this cliff.
Outside, the beaches of Costa del Sol come into view, littered with debris and palm trees torn bare. It deadens Cloud's heart. He doesn't belong here.
The airship settles down, and medical crews arrive to assist. They halt when they see Cloud, but Reeve reassures them that Cloud is no threat. The words strike hollow as the staff whisks his six companions away, one of them gawking at Cloud one last time. He must look a mess, and a SOLDIER is still a rarity.
He follows the medical techs to a makeshift treatment facility. There isn't much inside, but the equipment is state-of-the-art. Flown in from Corel, Reeve tells him. The mountain Reactor was a hidden strategic position in case war with Wutai broke out again.
"Not that anyone at Shinra cares what we use it for now," Reeve comments. He's with Cloud at the overcrowded medical tent. A layer of ash covers his dark blue suit, and he looks disheveled and exhausted.
"How many survivors?" Cloud wants to know.
Reeve shakes his head. Not many.
Medical personnel examine Cloud for injuries but, finding none, kindly show him the exit. The complexity of Nanaki's physiology has the staff more than flustered.
"Will they be alright?" Cloud presses. "Will she be alright?" He motions to Tifa.
Yes, a civilian nurse says. Their condition isn't a result of exposure to the elements but rather a unique internal degradation that will heal given time and rest. The staff has never seen anything like this, but they should count themselves lucky.
"Luck," Cloud repeats, shaking his head.
Reeve places a hand on his shoulder. "This whole world is built on luck."
The two walk along the beach. Choppy waves crash the shoreline, leaving inky residue and small animal carcasses. There are fewer people here than Cloud expected, and those who survived, many wearing Shinra credentials, drift listlessly in the humidity, sobbing alone with unblinking eyes. They watch him through the death they've seen, the death he's caused. No, Cloud doesn't belong here at all.
"Midgar," he reminds the Director.
Reeve stops. The turbulent waters stretch behind him, tousled black hair outlined by crushing red sky.
"Everything's changed, Cloud," he says. A flat, cold truth. An explanation and a warning.
Cloud knows. He's felt every excruciating turn. He faces the eastward seas. Maybe Tifa will forgive him.
"When can we leave?"
The column of distant smoke reaches high, hungry, curling sweet invitation. Cloud doesn't acknowledge the crushing coldness in his chest, the definitive end to something he'd been holding onto.
"And what if you don't find what you're looking for?" Reeve asks.
Cloud looks over, and says nothing.
