Chapter 1 – Vision
The first time Sephiroth dreamt of fire, it was in Wutai. He was barely a teenager, and the flames rose high above the gangly frame he had yet to grow into, orange and yellow and red swallowing the wooden rooftops and the starry night sky (it was the stars he tried to focus on the most from that first tour, so bright and sharp and unclouded by the Midgar smog). In the years afterward, he would dream about that fire because it was the first he ever cast outside of the white-walled confines of the laboratories, and he remembered distinctly the lack of chemical smells coiling around the heat.
But he also dreamt about that fire for another one-hundred and twelve reasons, and in his dreams, they were always there. Rotting, burning, twisting corpses piling along the streets, in the homes, the women and children with slice marks on their throats to spare them the pain of burning alive in some gesture of fabricated mercy. Following that debut performance, the President and Dr. Hojo received a report from Heidegger, commenting favorably on potential of this new weapon they just unleashed. "The weapon is a success," the report stated. "We recommend immediate deployment in the front-lines." Meanwhile, the Wutaian newspapers said something different.
Regardless, the reason Sephiroth thought of that fire now, a decade or so later, is because this one he now dreamt of about feels similar, despite the obvious differences. The wooden roofs were less thatched and more dark oak, the air cooler with the tinge of fall versus the thick humidity of the Wutai island jungle. Even the stars in the sky were different, constellations altered, and though the air was still clear, it
was now cut through by the image of a large, craggy mountain. But despite these differences, he knew it was the same fire, knew its power came from him. Sephiroth knew, because the bodies were still stacked around him.
And for the last few months, or for however long now this dream had been coming to him, that would be all he would see before awakening: a brief hour or so of slaughter, of watching the fire burn against the blood. But it was not the bodies, the flames, the destruction, that caused Sephiroth to feel uneasy at the dream – he had seen those sights a thousand times and had been taught that the sentiment attached to such things was a weakness to be discarded of. Instead, what surprised him was the way it made him feel: powerful and excited and free and like a god. Such a far cry from the fear, the guilt, the sorrow that cracked his heart when he first learned to kill like that.
It felt too good to be true.
The weapon is a success.
And, then suddenly, as if rising to challenge the truth Sephiroth thought he had always known, the dream changed, and instead of never-ending red and orange and yellow and death, there shining brighter than the fire that blazed around him, were a pair of sky-blue eyes.
On one cool March morning, Sephiroth woke to the sound of his alarm, blaring through the silence of his dark-walled apartment. The red font read five-thirty in the morning. Though he usually managed to rise before the noise ever began, he had failed to do so lately. Not in the weeks since Angeal and Genesis were reported dead at Modeoheim. And not since these dreams had started to invade his head.
They had started with that new fire – an unknown village awash in a conflagration he was certain was of his own making. He could feel it, his consciousness trapped in a body that seemed to belong to some other Sephiroth, walking through the flames and slicing apart any unfortunate being who had not burned to death. The fire was the most frequent dream, but sometimes, he dreamt of flight, like a winged predator scouring the night for its prey. On those nights, the dream would end once he speared through what – or who – he was looking for, a girl with chestnut-brown hair that looked so similar to a woman he had known as a child. Those mornings left him shaking far more than he would care to admit (it was impossible, he knew. Ilfana had died in the escape attempt, according to Hojo and all other official documentation he had managed to find). On rare occasions, he'd see children with decaying black flesh, again from a magic of his own hand. He would watch from within his own body how he would curse these people with an anger that felt so bitter and dangerous and alien and yet, not so far out of reach.
There were nights that Sephiroth would see if he could control the dream – try to stall his attack on some poor villager, try to hold back his blade from slicing through that girl's pink dress. He would fail each time. It was as if his mind were trying to teach him some lesson in futility. Some part of him supposed that that was a lesson he should have learned from the Shinra military a long time ago. So, after a while, he stopped fighting it, watched the story unfurl before his eyes. Then, when he woke up, he would try to push down the mounting tangle of feelings that the dreams inevitably continued to surface.
The obvious feeling was a relishing, a joy, that came from the exertion of power – after all, his strength was what he was known for, what gave him value. For that, he learned to prize his abilities, however destructive. It had taken him time to reconcile himself to his reality after that horrific first stint in Wutai (he remembered his much-smaller body sobbing in the cold laboratory room after returning to Midgar, back turned to the camera he knew was installed in the corner in hopes of hiding his weakness from Hojo. Not that it mattered – the scientist had merely took the tears and broken him down further, until any protest about being sent over again in a few months died on the operating table). Sephiroth's capacity for cruelty was just a byproduct of his function now: it was what Hojo teased out of him, encouraged so viciously in his experiments. Though, perhaps in some twisted form of defiance, it was a piece of himself that Sephiroth tried his best to keep locked away.
Not so, in these dreams. There was a sort of pained resignation in that thought. Hojo always insisted that he was a god capable of great destruction. That was what Sephiroth became in those dreams – and Sephiroth both hated it and yearned for it. It was the reality of his life, this conflict. Genesis and Angeal were the first to show him a different path, only now neither of them were here to walk it with him. It made the choice Hojo offered even more appealing, to give into the anger and the sorrow. But there was still some part of him that clung to what was maybe the delusion of his humanity, or at the very least, the idea that he was worth more than whatever Hojo constructed him to be. The opposition felt like it was both constricting his heart and breaking it into two and fighting that feeling each morning after the dreams brought that conflict to a head was beginning to feel more exhausting than fighting the Wutai War.
Which was why this night, the night he dreamed of those eyes, was different. A ray of sunlight in the devastation he wrecked. A young man that stood before him, with a sword that looked eerily like the one Zack now carried on his already burdened shoulders. Blue-eyes that shone with anger, despair, longing and determination. When he lifted his sword and Sephiroth could feel the blade slice through his own flesh, there was no longer that pain or confusion. There was only relief.
So this morning, despite the cackling of his alarm and the ache in his back and neck from another long day of pouring over paperwork in the office, he felt something different from the usual conflict, confusion, hurt.
He felt a little hopeful.
It curled like a tiny wisp around his heart, as Sephiroth lifted his arm and shut the alarm clock off. Going through the motions of the morning (splash of water in the face, slide of the leather coat over his shoulders, bitterness of coffee mingled with the sweetness of a fruit salad), he let it sit there in his chest, warm and safe. It was the first remotely good feeling he had in a while, and he wanted to savor it for as long as he could.
Of course, his morning then decided to take a turn. The omen took the form of a black-spiked figure, sitting in Sephiroth's office, with his booted feet on Sephiroth's desk. Lieutenant Zack Fair, however, seemed oblivious to the intrusion and was intent instead on watching Midgar wake up from the impressive view through the window behind his desk. His second-in-command was also distracted by humming some idiotic tune, no doubt one of those pop songs that played unceasingly from the Goblin Bar.
"Zack," Sephiroth acknowledged. "Feet off."
Zack whipped his head away from the window to face him, a look of surprise on his face. "I didn't even hear you come in. You move like a cat."
Not the first time Sephiroth heard that comparison. He walked to the front of his desk and waited for Zack to take the hint and move out of his chair, which, to his credit, the younger man picked up on quickly. "What are you doing here this early?" Sephiroth asked. The silver-haired man began organizing his desk, setting down his coffee and turning on his monitor and laptop.
"Lazard assigned me to that monster clean-up in Kalm. Supposed to be a one-day trip – we're leaving in a few. But I wanted to catch you before then."
"What for?"
Zack leaned back against the window, crossing his arms casually. "Just wanted to check in, that's all."
Sephiroth paused, took a moment to regard Zack, the longer hair, the scar on his cheek, the sword on his back. This was yet another unusual occurrence. Sephiroth understood from reading psychological textbooks how grief worked, and it was obvious from the change in Zack's behavior over the past few weeks that he had most certainly been grieving over Angeal. The man was still a puppy in some ways, but the insistency at his attempts of creating laughter or joy took on a slight sorrowful, even desperate tinge (as if Zack was trying to convince himself of happiness). But Sephiroth always defaulted to privacy, and even though he noted Zack's transformation, he thought it best he stay away. The fact that the Lieutenant had not reached out either seemed to affirm Sephiroth's decision.
Like most other situations in which Sephiroth found himself in uncharted territory, the General thought it prudent to proceed with caution. "Check in?" he repeated, as if for clarification.
Zack seemed to be ahead of him. "You know, see how you're doing. We haven't really talked in a while." Then, after a moment of hesitating, he added, "You've looked a little tired lately. Have you been sleeping?"
Sephiroth thought briefly about the dreams, about how he never really woke up rested since they had started. Was his exhaustion that evident? He thought about the handful of interactions he had with Zack since Angeal's death – and there were only a few of them. What had he given away? There was a part of him, tied to that tendril of hope he had awakened with this morning, that seemed to reach out. But he quickly shoved that notion down, almost out of instinct.
"Yes," said Sephiroth instead, which was technically still true.
Zack examined him for a moment. He was clearly unconvinced. "Sure you have," he said. Then, his eyes flickered to the clock on Sephiroth's desk, and he sighed. "Listen, you got any time later today?"
"Unfortunately, not," Sephiroth said. As if to add emphasis to the point and hopefully end the conversation, he added, "My calendar is booked until ten at night."
But of course, leave it to Zack to take what was supposed to be a rejection as an invitation then. "I'll take it then," Zack said, grinning.
"You'll be tired after your mission."
The young man's grin grew wider. "We can be tired together."
Ah, innuendo. The classic Zack Fair disarmament manual. Genesis played the same cards, too. That thought momentarily shot through Sephiroth like a lightning strike, but he kept himself upright all the same. The best response was to simply give up, as it would at least end the ridiculousness. "Fine. You are going to be late. Please leave."
"Yes, sir!" the Lieutenant replied, leaving with a salute that Sephiroth was certain was an attempt at a joke versus a sign of respect. He let it slide anyway. It was better for Zack to be joyful. Even he had to admit a happy Zack was preferable, over the Zack he saw weeks ago following the mission in Modeoheim.
The only problem now was what to say to Zack once ten at night came around. He supposed he could play his usual card, which was extreme silence to a level that would cause Zack to babble and fill the spaces on his own. But then Sephiroth thought about that hope, that light, that came from his dream this morning. It was a shift in the winds, a change. Was it a sign that he should try something different? And what would it mean if he did?
He let himself turn that thought over for a moment longer. But then his phone rang, his email pinged and Midgar began to awaken, so Sephiroth had no choice but to move forward with his day.
Though he had only arrived at Shinra less than a year before, Cloud Strife knew the number one rule passed down to army troopers: under no circumstances should you ever consume the mystery meat served in the barrack cafeteria on Tuesdays.
Yet, here he was, his measly salad untouched and his blue eyes shocked wide, watching one First Class SOLDIER Zack Fair, devouring said mystery meat like a starved puppy. The man had just returned from a mission eliminating monsters near Kalm, and when he had texted Cloud asking him if the blond would join him for an extremely late dinner, Cloud had responded with excitement over the prospect of having something other than bad cafeteria food. But, as Cloud was now beginning to learn over the few months of knowing Zack, the SOLDIER was simply full of surprises. Apparently, Zack was the only man in Midgar who loved the barrack meatloaf, which then left Cloud with no choice but to eat in the cafeteria after all.
So much for the hope of a decent meal, Cloud thought forlornly, sticking his fork into a grape tomato, and watching the red juice dribble out. Around them, the cafeteria was empty, save for one worker who drew the short straw to stay up with the late-night shift, and a janitor mopping the corner of the room. The fluorescent lights casted the space in a sickly yellow that bounced unflatteringly against the grey tiled floor, and the clock placed above the door read nine-fifty.
"You sure you don't want some?" Zack offered. He reached for the ketchup bottle for the third time that evening. "I swear, this meatloaf got me through the SOLDIER training program."
Cloud raised a brow. "You really are something else, Zack. Or at least your stomach is."
"Trust me, Spike, once you make it into SOLDIER, your appetite is going to grow off the charts too. It's like I eat dinner at seven and am starving again by nine."
Cloud supposed that explained why Zack was trouncing around for another meal at close to ten on a Tuesday night. He stabbed another tomato. "If I make it into SOLDIER," he commented, perhaps a little too bitterly. In response, he noticed that Zack paused his chewing to regard him with a quiet, sad look.
Cloud glanced away. He genuinely tried not to sound bitter, but the truth was that the results from the last round of exams provided Cloud with little hope. While he had scored just above average on the materia and strategy portions, the physical exercises and the simulated missions were his downfall. Unable to keep up with the physical demands of the program, the evaluation stated. Doesn't play well with others.
That was marginally better than his first time around, though that was of little consolation to Cloud.
As if following Cloud's train of thought, Zack spoke up. "You'll get it this time, Cloud. You've been kicking ass at our training sessions. In a few weeks, you'll get where you need to be."
"Only thanks to you."
"Yeah, so?" Zack wiped his face down with a napkin and smiled, in his warm way. "No one ever goes through this process alone. I had Angeal. You got me." To punctuate the thought, the SOLDIER stuffed another bite of the mystery meatloaf in his mouth, chewing obnoxiously for emphasis.
At that, it was hard for Cloud not to smile a little. That was the thing about Zack that he liked the most. Unlike all the other SOLDIERs, or frankly anyone else he met in Midgar, he was always reaching out, always trying to relate and comfort. It was his best skill, which was saying something given that Cloud had seen Zack in action a handful of times, slaying monsters without breaking a sweat.
"Sorry," the blond muttered. "I'm not trying to be ungrateful. The handful of training sessions you've given have been more than helpful and I definitely feel stronger. It's just frustrating…to have to go through this a third time. I thought I could be better than this, that's all."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You wanna be the next Sephiroth," Zack teased. "Ace everything on the first attempt without even trying. You and every other trooper trying out for SOLDIER."
Cloud ducked his head into his scarf to hide the heat that suddenly rose from his neck to his cheeks, which only served to encourage Zack further. The Lieutenant reached out and immediately began scuffing up his blond hair. Cloud swatted his hand away. "Cut it out!"
"Really don't know how you manage to keep it this spikey and yet so soft. You got to tell me your secrets."
"Yeah, well, maybe if I pass the exam, I will."
Zack grinned. "Oh, I'm going to up your training just for those secrets. You got yourself a deal, Spike." He leaned back in his chair to scan the room for a moment, pausing at the clock above the door. The moment Zack seemed to register the time, Cloud noticed his friend's eyes widen in what seemed to be slight terror. Zack pushed forward his tray and reached into his pocket to fish out his PHS. "Shit. I got to go, Cloud. I have this really important meeting."
Cloud blinked. "At ten o'clock at night?" he asked in disbelief. "You can just say you're meeting your girlfriend, you know."
Zack smirked. "Nope, not with Aerith, though with someone you probably think is just as pretty."
It took a moment for Cloud to get the joke, and once he did he rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Zack." Then, realizing the implications of the time, the blond asked, "Does Sephiroth usually work this late?"
"Sephiroth is a workaholic," Zack explained, waving his hand in exasperation. "Give him a mountain of paperwork, he can't seem to stop until its done. You two kind of have that in common." He reached down to try and bus his tray, but Cloud interrupted by yanking Zack's tray from his hands and stacking it under his own.
"I got it," Cloud said. Before Zack could protest further, the blond stood up and began gathering their trash. "Thanks for second dinner, Zack."
Zack paused for a moment, then sighed, though it was evident from the smile on his face that it was not out of exhaustion. "I rest my case. Too stubborn for your own good, Spike. And you wonder why you won't make SOLDIER with a backbone like that."
Cloud ducked his head into his scarf again. "You're going to be late. Go!"
"Alright, alright!" The black-haired man smiled, walking backward with his hands in the air toward the door in mock surrender. He stopped at the doorway for just a moment and met Cloud's eyes. "Sorry. Just having a weird moment of déjà vu. Pretty sure I had this exact same exchange with Sephiroth this morning…"
"What?"
Zack shook his head. "Oh nothing. Just saying, I think I'll tell him you said he was pretty."
Cloud stammered, very tempted to take a ball of trash from their trays and toss it across the room in the other man's direction. He liked Zack, very much, but like an overactive puppy who couldn't help but chew your shoes, even the banter could get a bit much (though it was never as bad as the boys back in Nibelheim and never with the same malicious intent – so he couldn't bring himself to ever hold it against his mentor/friend). "I did not say that! Anyone ever tell you to shut up?" the blond said, hoping the deflection would hide any more of his embarrassment.
Zack, luckily, seemed to take the hint to stop with the teasing. He said, "Yep, everyone and all the time. See you tomorrow. Training grounds at one!" The SOLDIER waived and exited the room, taking much of the noise and warmth in the room out with him.
Once the cafeteria doors swung shut, Cloud sighed into the silence. He walked the stack of trash to the cans by the doors and made his way from the cafeteria toward the housing buildings. The night was nippy with late winter air, and though Cloud would deny it if asked, this weather never failed to remind him of Nibelheim. At this time last year, the sleepy mountain town was still covered with snow. He would have been chopping firewood in the backyard while his mother warmed stew in the kitchen, singing under her breath. The memory made Cloud smile. He could name the things he missed about Nibelheim on one hand, and his mother would always be on the top of that list.
He swiped his keycard and opened the doors to the trooper dormitories. Even though curfew was just a half-hour away, the halls were still abuzz. A few people were walking down from the showers, and some were conversing across open doorways. Cloud shuffled through the mess to his room, feeling the fatigue of another long day of patrol, training and terrible cafeteria food sinking onto his shoulders. He was really looking forward to a night of sleep –
- which is why, in hindsight, it was the exactly perfect opportunity for trouble.
"Look who's here, back from a quickie with Fair," a sneering voice stated.
Cloud tried his best to school his face into a neutral expression. Leaning against his door, dressed in sweatpants (which really ruined the intimidating effect, not that Cloud would ever admit to finding this infuriating bully intimidating) was Jackson Connor. As far as Cloud knew, Jackson was a Midgar city kid with a father who was some manager in some department at Shinra, but the guy acted as if he was related to the President himself. The dark-haired and dark-eyed man had only arrived at Shinra a few months ago, determined to break into the SOLDIER program after the spring examination, just like nearly every person who applied for a place in the army. Jackson was confident he would too, and as soon as he heard it would be Cloud's third attempt, the man had made it a point to remind Cloud of this fact every day. It didn't help that he had Cloud beat in height and strength, and he wasn't at a complete loss at materia usage, either.
"That's SOLDIER First Class Lieutenant Fair," Cloud corrected. He tried to make a move toward his doorknob, but Jackson immediately stepped forward to block his approach.
The other man smirked. "Yeah, I bet he makes you call him that."
Cloud clenched his fist. He didn't mind the comments so much – the people back in Nibelheim were a lot more malicious, especially after the fall from Mt. Nibel with Tifa. He could deal with taunts and insults, had an immunity to them. But just as he hated it when those words were directed at his mother, he could not help the anger that was bubbling in his chest about the insinuations being made about Zack. Zack, who had done nothing but be kind to him, since they met in Modeoheim. Zack, who was clearly grieving something even though he always tried to hide it. Cloud suspected Zack took him on as a mentee after the older man had lost his mentor as a way of honoring him. He wanted to make sure that he worked hard to be worthy of that honor, too.
Despite the fact that it was killing him, he pushed the anger down and tried not to lash out. Instead, Cloud responded, "Curfew is soon. You need to go back to your room, Jackson."
"We still got a few minutes. Enough time for me to kick your ass."
How original, Cloud thought. To say he could name all the cliché bully phrases in the book at this point in his life would be an unfortunate understatement. He tried again for his door, but this time Jackson put his hands up and shoved the blond back. It took quick reflexes for Cloud not to tumble over, but he managed it somehow, standing his ground and shooting the other trooper what he hoped was a defiant look. "Look. We can either fight here, get caught after curfew and be kicked out, or duke it out in a few weeks at the SOLDIER exam. I think you and I both would rather do the second."
Jackson glared back, clearly smoldering with anger – though Cloud had no idea whatever the hell he did to deserve it. He wasn't the friendliest, but it wasn't like the blond went out of his way to antagonize the guy since he came to Shinra. Then again, it wasn't like he or his mother deserved the derision that Nibelheim gave them regardless. There was a part of him that had already accepted the fact that the world was unfair like that. That same part also hoped that things could maybe change if he did manage pass that exam this time.
"C'mon, Jack," one of the other troopers watching their standoff said. "Strife's right. We'll get in trouble."
It took a moment, but eventually, the bigger man scowled. "Fine. Hope you know that third time won't be the charm, Strife," Jackson said. He gave another glare, possibly, Cloud surmised, to emphasize his point, before turning away from his door and shoving past the other troopers down the hall.
Cloud watched as the group rounded the corner, then moved to open his door and slip inside his room as quickly as possible. His roommate was already asleep, snoring softly and completely oblivious to the confrontation that happened just a wall away. Not that he would have helped otherwise: while Cloud found that most other troopers were relatively nice and mostly indifferent to each other, each trying to make their own way through the confusion that was Shinra and Midgar, there were inevitably bad apples. One was most likely to survive by keeping his head down and his nose in his own business. It was unfortunately not so different from life at Nibelheim; it was also unfortunate that Cloud really never liked keeping his head down when something needed to be said or be done.
Still, that was thinking for another night, when he wasn't so tired and didn't have to get through patrols and another training session with Zack the next day. Cloud slipped out of his boots and his uniform, tossed on a sweater that his mother made for him (it had a tiny hole now, near his thumb, which Cloud made a mental note of making sure to bring this sweater back to Nibelheim for mending if he ever scrabbled together enough funds to visit) and climbed into bed. He fell asleep to the sound of his roommate's quiet breathing.
At five-past-ten, Sephiroth was convinced that Zack had forgotten about their scheduled meeting. He had a moment of relief. Then, of course, the black-haired man decided to barrel into his office like a chocobo rushing to the finish line. Zack stammered out profuse apologies, plopping down gracelessly into the chair in front of Sephiroth's desk.
"I was just getting a bite to eat and catching up with Cloud, and I completely lost track of time," Zack said, finally getting to the end of a rather long-winded explanation.
Sephiroth merely nodded. He had heard Zack mention this Cloud several times over the handful of interactions they had. From what he could surmise, he was a Shinra trooper that Zack had gotten attached to and taken on as a mentee. It was oddly similar to what Angeal had done for Zack. The connection was, admittedly, endearing.
"It's alright, Zack," Sephiroth said. "I was still here working, regardless."
"Oh, good. Wait – not good! What the hell are you working on this late?" Zack stood up quickly and walked around Sephiroth's desk to peer at his monitor, blatantly ignoring Shinra data privacy protocols. "Wait, are these the parameters for the next SOLDIER exam?"
Sephiroth quickly ran his hands over the keyboard to close out the screen. "Yes, they are. And seeing as you have some bias in this particular round, I would rather not show you them."
"Aw, c'mon."
"No."
Zack's face changed into something that was suspiciously close to a pout. "Okay, that's fair. But I mean, seriously, Sephiroth. Cloud totally deserves to get in. He's smart, he's tactical and he has a mean right hook. Here, I'm going to show you his file." The Lieutenant leaned forward to steal control over Sephiroth's keyboard and began pulling up the Shinra employee directory.
Normally, Sephiroth wouldn't been keen over the invasion on his personal and professional space, but there was a part of him that was still relieved over the distraction Zack had found. It at least avoided what he assumed was going to be yet another awkward conversation between the two, in which they would circle around what happened to Genesis and Angeal, but never come together on what was truthfully a grief that was shared between them. By now, Sephiroth was schooled in avoidance of these matters. If it meant indulging Zack's tangents, it was a small price to pay.
At least, he thought it was a tangent. But when Sephiroth turned to his computer screen to see the file that Zack had opened, he realized it was something else altogether.
"What do you think?" Zack said, grinning. "SOLDIER material, in my opinion."
Sephiroth let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Staring straight back at him, from behind a flop of sunflower colored spikes and with a defiance that he was now, strangely, familiar with, were those blue eyes from his dreams.