Chapter 2 – Alteration

It was as if a dam had broken. In the nights following his discovery, the blond now frequented Sephiroth's dreams. Sephiroth experienced a thousand different lives, locked in a body that refused to listen, that continued to set the world ablaze. And each time, Cloud Strife would appear to free him, leaving Sephiroth awake in the morning awash with an unsettling feeling of relief.

But it seemed to be a complete paradox, given what he could see of the blond SOLDIER hopeful now. Sephiroth was watching, unknown and hidden behind the dark glass screen separating the VR Training Room from the Control Room, while below him Zack was running the blond through a series of monster-slaying simulations. The young man – and he looked young, and though his file indicated he was in his late teens, one could easily mistake him for much younger – was vastly different from the man that killed him in his dreams. He was decent with a blade, with proper footwork, and had a clear knack for materia, too. But despite the modicum of talent, there was nothing to suggest that this man would become anything close to Sephiroth's match – especially the Sephiroth in his dreams that seemed to have no issues holding back his cruelty.

In fact, Sephiroth was even questioning what it was about Strife that had Zack so interested. Angeal's choice of taking Zack on as a protégé was obvious: Zack was a rare talent, a nearly perfect mixture of brass, instinct, charisma, and skill that indicated very serious promise, a new leader for the next generation of SOLDIERs. While Strife certainly displayed a similar boldness in spurts, the reality was that the blond did not trust himself. From what Sephiroth could observe, Strife would often second-guess maneuvers, almost as if trying too hard to reach a standard of perfection very few people could hope to achieve. He would swing when he shouldn't, cast when he should swing. He was just trying too hard.

(It reminded Sephiroth, achingly, of Genesis in the early days, of the man's bad habit of demanding nothing less than perfection. Genesis had high standards, but his highest were always reserved for himself.)

He supposed then it was good thing that Zack was the mentor. While the Lieutenant was far from stupid, he did have a knack for accidentally (and, sometimes, purposefully) throwing thought out the window. Despite that, it seemed evident that even Zack was having trouble getting Strife out of his own way. The black-haired man had now turned off the simulation, motioning for the blond to remove his headset and stand at attention. In response. Strife put down his sword and slid the VR set off, running a gloved hand through sweaty spikes.

"Okay, what did we do wrong this time?" Zack said, holding up his PHS. The timer read five minutes and twenty seconds, which was twenty seconds more than the time limit that would be set in the simulations run for the SOLDIER exams.

Strife sighed, opening and closing his right fist and shaking it out to loosen it up some more. He was clearly exhausted. "I switched my strategy midway, dealing with those drakes. Should have stuck to magic, acted as support for my team since I was carrying a sword and not a long-range weapon."

"And the guard hounds?"

The blond frowned. "I'm seriously never going to get this right, am I?'

"That's your problem, Cloud," Zack said, moving forward and taking the headset out of his friend's hands. "You keep thinking that there's a right way. You also keep thinking you got to do it all yourself. It's a team mission, Cloud. Follow your gut and trust your team."

"That didn't seem to work the last two times."

It was now Zack's turn to sigh. "C'mon, Spike. You got it in you. I've seen how you operate when you just stop thinking and just let yourself go." He reached over, clapped a hand to Strife's shoulder, a gesture that Sephiroth recognized from Angeal. "All you got to do is show the SOLDIER examiners that."

Quietly, the blond looked down. It was obvious from his expression that Zack had not completely convinced him, but he nodded, nonetheless. "Okay."

Zack seemed to think it was enough for the day. He switched modes, from serious and well-meaning mentor to grinning goofball. "Well, good. Now let's get some food, I'm starving."

"Again?"

"SOLDIER appetite, baby. You'll see it in action soon enough!"

Sephiroth watched the two pick up their swords and exit the Training Room, their voices eventually fading into the hum and whir of the machines around him. He looked down at the tablet in his hand, once again open to the file that Zack had showed him about a week ago. Right now, the only thing Cloud Strife the trooper had in common with the man in his dream were the eyes, bright and fiery despite the intense blue. They were…breathtaking, in a way. He had certainly thought so the first time he saw them in his dreams.

Unfortunately, Zack was never as oblivious as he oftentimes pretended to be and had promptly noticed Sephiroth's reaction to seeing his friend's picture. Sephiroth had played it off as passing curiosity and ignored the way his Lieutenant's eyebrows wiggled, like the tail of a puppy that had just found a new thing to be excited about. He had let Zack ramble on about Strife, though he was barely listening at that point, more interested in scrolling through the file to see what else he could learn, which had unfortunately been nothing much at all. Still, Sephiroth, knew that he had to keep his interest to himself. Otherwise, he would have to explain everything to his rambunctious Lieutenant, and beyond the fact that Sephiroth himself had no knowledge to be able to explain the dreams, the General also had enough experiences with the Science Department to know that any revelatory courses of action should at least be preceded by more careful thought.

The end result was that Sephiroth needed more information, before he could figure out how to proceed. He had learned that Strife was from Nibelheim, that he arrived in Shinra after the Wutai War ended, a few months following Zack's promotion to First Class. Notations on his file indicated that he was relatively average in mostly everything, from materia, to weaponry, to tactics. There were only two real things that stood out to Sephiroth: the fact that Cloud Strife had failed the SOLDIER exam twice (and was trying again for a third time – that was nearly unheard of, which was a revealing fact in itself) and that Strife had a propensity for being involved in fights with his fellow troopers.

It painted an extremely confusing picture, that someone who was relatively so unnoteworthy featured so prominently in Sephiroth's subconscious. What exactly did it mean? Why was everything telling him that this blond was important, even though logically, no evidence seemed to support that fact? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was this some side effect of what had transpired with Genesis and Angeal? Why Cloud Strife, of all people? None of it made sense – and there seemed to be no sound reason to the reality. Sephiroth preferred having knowledge, understanding, the full scope – it was what made him a skilled tactician. But all he had now were random pieces, with no real sense of what ending picture the puzzle was supposed to form.

If there was anyone that knew something, it seemed to be Zack, so confident that his friend had something special, something that belonged in SOLDIER. But what hope was there for Strife to exhibit those characteristics if he didn't seem to see that in himself?

Sephiroth sighed, pressed the button to shut off the tablet. He had spent far too long now running around in circles in his own mind. And there was still much he had to be concerned over currently. Hollander, after being take into custody by Zack, was being interrogated by the Turks for more information and had been stubbornly resistant for the last several weeks. The Turks were investigating rumors about the existence of a potential mole in SOLDIER that may have been feeding Genesis information. Though no Genesis copies had been spotted since Modeoheim, there were still concerns about the missing copying technology that had been stolen from the Science Department. Not to mention that there remained so many questions regarding just what had happened to Genesis and Angeal, what had spurred or caused their degradation – and what other Shinra secrets lurked behind those corners.

In light of all this, it was becoming ridiculous, this distraction with Strife. Sephiroth had no time to chase ghosts. Perhaps, as Zack had insisted earlier, Strife would reveal something different during the SOLDIER exam. Though Sephiroth never typically made it a point to observe (that was something he left to Angeal, as well as Genesis, when the latter simply was curious about the "fresh meat"), he made a note to clear his schedule for that day. He'd give Cloud Strife one last chance to show him a sign, a flash, of the man in his dreams. If not, he'd lay the matter to rest, chalk it up to sheer coincidence, and move on.

If Cloud didn't know any better, he would say this whole thing was a set-up.

The day had started out alright. He had managed a few hours of sleep, despite the nervousness that continued to bubble and simmer within him. His roommate, who had elected to take the fall exam instead, actually wished him good luck. So did Zack, his well-wishes sent in a series of excitable text messages (the Lieutenant had mentioned that he couldn't watch this round due to another mission, which was a relief to Cloud, since the blond wouldn't be sure if he could ever live another day if his friend had to watch him screw up again). He had called his mother two nights before, and she too offered more words of encouragement.

On top of all of that, Cloud felt good. He felt stronger, more prepared than the prior two attempts. Even the derisive comments from Jackson and the other troopers over breakfast failed to discourage him. Cloud had walked into the morning exam session with a confidence that surprised him, and the events of that session only helped to build him up further. The tactical written exam felt easy – there were only a few questions that caused him difficulty – and his spellcasting during the materia-usage evaluation was crisp and controlled. While Cloud stumbled a little during the sword-play section, he did manage to get his sparring partner to a draw, which was better than his prior two performances. When they broke for lunch, Cloud sat himself a corner of the room to calm his pounding heart. Too good to be true, he thought, and then quickly shoved the notion down. But it was too late: there was that tiny voice in his head again, reminding him that these were not the sections that caused him much difficulty in the past. What would make or break him was what would happen next.

Of course, it was at this point that Cloud's day took a turn for the worse.

The candidates were lined up in the largest VR Training Room, all rigid backs and stiff muscles, watching as Director Lazard, flanked by four other second class SOLDIERs (Cloud recognized the one at his right as Kunsel, Zack's friend), made his way to the front of the room to address them. The Director looked a little tired but was otherwise as sharply dressed. He fixed his glasses and surveyed the room with a small but encouraging smile.

"Candidates, welcome to the next stage of your examination process," Lazard said, repeating the same speech that Cloud had unfortunately heard before. "For this portion, we will break you up into teams of three, and you will take part in a simulated mission, led by one of the SOLDIERs standing behind me."

At this, the Director gestured to the men behind him. Neither of them moved an inch though, which Cloud guessed was supposed to be either an exhibition of their discipline or an attempt to make the candidates even more nervous than they already were. After an awkward pause, Lazard opened his mouth to continue. But he was interrupted by the whoosh of the sliding doors opening, and if the room could suddenly grow more silent, it certainly did.

Cloud tried his best not to open his mouth in surprise, but he knew that he had to have failed. With quiet steps and a commanding gate, Sephiroth walked into the room, his glowing green eyes scanning each of the candidates. Cloud had only seen the man once before, addressing the army and Midgar citizenry for a very brief speech following the Wutai War. He had certainly never been in the same room with him, breathing the same air. It was beyond jarring – Sephiroth looked much taller in person than the magazine and newspaper photos Cloud had surreptitiously collected as a teen back in Nibelheim. The General now looked a little older too, with broader shoulders and a more angled jawline – a slight difference from the wonder-teen the Shinra media paraded all over the television during the height of the Wutai War. The man almost seemed like a fantasy, too unreal to exist. To see him now, walking to the front of the room, that cool and assessing gaze rushing over him, it was enough to knock Cloud's heart into overdrive again. It took a moment, but when he heard the shift of everyone else around him, Cloud suddenly remembered that he had to salute.

Sephiroth didn't seem to regard the slow reaction of the candidates with anything other than indifference. He stopped a few feet behind Lazard to cross his arms and lean against the wall. "I apologize for the interruption," he said, voice cutting through the air as smoothly as his sword. "Please continue, Director."

Lazard raised an eyebrow but did not comment any further. Everyone in that room understood how unusual an occurrence this was – that Sephiroth, the greatest swordsman on the planet, the most prestigious SOLDIER to have ever lived, was standing in a VR Training room with a bunch of SOLDIER-wannabes to observe a program entrance exam. He was notoriously known for his indifference to these types of matters. However, no one was going to question whatever was happening out loud.

"Alright. Well, as I was saying, the purpose of this section is to evaluate your abilities and instincts within a mission-like environment. You will be expected to complete the mission within the timeframe allowed under the guidance of a facilitator, who will be the SOLDIER assigned to your team. This is the most important section of your evaluation, so your failure – or success – will be heavily weighted in determining whether you make the program." The Director again paused, turned his head slightly to glance at the unexpected guest. "Have I missed anything, General?"

Sephiroth looked absolutely disinterested. "No."

"Good." Lazard returned his attention back to the candidates, clicking open a tablet. "Well, then good luck. Here are your team assignments."

In Cloud's mind, he had realized then Sephiroth being here, observing this session, was a bad sign. This was the section of the exam process he had been dreading distinctly, and if he was struggling to keep a grip on his nervousness before, it would be near impossible now.

Then, the universe seemed to toss another grenade in his direction. Lazard called, "Team Four – Cloud Strife, Jackson Connor and Oliver Nickson."

It took a moment for the list of names to register, and another for the implication to dawn on Cloud. But once it did, Cloud could swear that he could hear Jackson smirk, and it took every ounce of military-hounded self-control for Cloud not to groan out loud.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," Lazard said, a grin on his face. "But I have a feeling that your presence at this exam might lead us to failing every candidate here."

Sephiroth gave a small scoff. He settled himself in one of the chairs in the control room, his eyes fixed on the monitors, pretending to be interested in whatever Team Three was attempting to do (and attempting was a generous word. Lazard was not incorrect in that Sephiroth's late appearance had the unintended consequence of completely throwing the candidates off-guard, thereby impeding their performance). Strife's team was up next. That was the only reason he was here, though of course, he knew better than to make that fact obvious.

"I should hope not. SOLDIERs will need to operate under my command, after all."

Lazard folded his arms, still clearly amused. "Though we usually wait until we get them acclimated before, well, you."

Sephiroth said nothing else. He watched, as the timer in the right corner of the screen expired, signaling the end of Team Three's session. They had unfortunately failed to clear the warehouse within the time allotted, had in fact failed to make significant progress at all, which would undoubtedly lead to the failure of at least one of them, barring any sort of strong intervention on the part of the SOLDIER facilitator. Though, judging by the way Sergeant Kunsel seemed to shrug toward the camera in resignation after the botched mission, that was unlikely to happen.

That left the last team for the day on deck. Sephiroth shifted in his seat, his eyes trailing Strife's movements. It was evident that the blond was nervous and tense, his grip on his sword almost agonizingly tight. It was also clear that young man had not received his ideal choice of teammates – the larger one, a dark-haired man at least four inches taller than Strife (Connor, his photographic memory supplied, though he honestly could care less), seemed to have a sneering sense of contempt for the blond, making it a point to shove, get in his way, and generally disrupt any fighting rhythm that Strife attempted to settle himself into. It was idiotic, really. The success of the mission – of the evaluation – rested on the ability of the team to work together and decide upon a strategy that best utilized each of their strengths, in order to eliminate the monsters in the warehouse in the allotted timeframe. The constant antagonization of teammates was not conducive to that success, and it certainly wasn't a quality Sephiroth desired in his men.

Still, it was also infuriating to watch Strife simply take the abuse without so much as a word. When Connor ignored Strife's suggestion to work together to sweep the building, insisting he could eliminate more monsters without having to handle extra baggage, Strife didn't even so much as roll his eyes. He instead turned to the third team member, who seemed slightly more receptive. The SOLDIER facilitator stood in the corner, silently observing.

Sephiroth almost sighed in disappointment. It seemed like this team was going to perform similarly to all the others: a candidate or two, so determined to show off in front of the General, would try and break out on their own, maybe even succeed in killing off some of the more powerful monsters, before realizing there was a time limit and a whole other section of the warehouse to clear, and failing due to their inability to strategize or work well with others. On some other teams, similar tensions between teammates led to outright fighting. Either way, the mission would not be completed.

Strife, while more willing to see the game for what it was, clearly only had that advantage because he failed similar evaluations in the past. He worked methodically with Nickson to sweep the building floor-by-floor. Neither candidate was extremely skilled with a sword, but Strife took more of a support role with materia, given his natural propensity for it. It was at least a little more promising than the performances of the prior candidates. But, given the absence of their third teammate, who obviously had the strength advantage that they would need to defeat some of the more challenging monsters, it would in no way guarantee a passing result.

Regardless, Sephiroth was now becoming more convinced that his mind really was just playing tricks on him. There was nothing special of note here, and he had already wasted enough time on this Strife – maybe coming to that conclusion decisively and consciously would finally allow his subconscious to settle down and stop producing these confusing dreams.

"Holy shit!"

"Connor!"

Sephiroth snapped to attention. On the screen, a trio of Grand Horns had collided with the larger candidate, and one of which sent a crushing blow to Connor's leg. It was graphic enough to make Sephiroth nearly wince with sympathy. While the training simulations were not designed to leave lasting injuries, the technology was created to emulate real-life missions as closely as possible, which meant that the pain, and possibility of bruising and crush injuries, were still real.

Connor scrambled to blast a fire spell, in order put some distance between him and the monsters circling around him. From the floor above, Strife and Nickson were shouting. Nickson flashed Strife a desperate look, unsure of what to do next. They still had some of their floor to clear, and they were running out of time to complete the mission. But Strife, without hesitation, immediately readied his sword, climbed over the railing, and jumped down, angling his blade with the full intent of beheading the Horn closest to his teammate. The sword connected with a sickening crunch. Strife then followed up with another fire spell to block the approach of the other two creatures and then turned to Connor.

"Can you get up?" he said.

"What the fuck, Strife!"

"I'll take that as a no." Strife bent down, trying to get the larger man to put his arm over his shoulder. "C'mon, Jackson. You're too tall. You got to help me out here."

Connor looked absolutely indignant, though it was likely the pain talking at this point. "I had it handled."

"Sure."

"It's just a fucking simulation. It couldn't have killed me. You are wasting time!"

Strife took a breath and heaved himself and Connor upward, legs shaking under the weight. "Can you shut up for once in your life?" The blond turned upward, to look at Nickson, who seemed frozen to the spot. "Oliver, can you make your way down here?"

The third teammate blinked once, twice. "Strife, Connor is right. His leg is going to be fine. You're going to fail again. You should leave him."

Strife paused. He looked at the SOLDIER facilitator, and then at one of the drone cameras that had been following them around for the entire simulation. And there, Sephiroth saw it. The steel behind the blue. The unbreakable element. Buried deep, under the self-doubt, the teenage anger and resentment, the unassuming frame, there it was, the proud defiance of the man in his dreams.

"No," Strife said. "Go clear the rest of the floor if you want to then." He moved, practically dragged Connor, to another room of the warehouse the larger man had previously cleared, through sheer force of will. The other candidate protested, but Strife ignored him, setting the man down against the wall and pulling up the pant leg to get a better look at the calf.

"It looks broken, but not that bad," Strife commented. He switched around his fire and restore materia. "I'm not great with healing, but I'll try my best."

Connor met Strife eyes. There was something strange there, almost like an understanding, a resignation. As if he recognized there was nothing else he could do – in the face of an unstoppable force, he was no immovable object. "Okay."

Cloud began casting. As he did so, the timer rang a two-minute warning. The team still had one more floor to clear, so the mission failure was most certainly inevitable.

But Sephiroth saw what he needed to. It was like watching a trickling stream fight hard against a dam, the water building and building and building until the pressure speared through the metal, a nearly physical impossibility. There Strife was, small for his age, relatively unskilled for a warrior, with few of his mentor's personal skills to make up for what he lacked otherwise. And yet, there was that flash of promise, like a spark that settled quietly in a thicket, that maybe someday would rise into the greatest fire this world would ever see.

He turned to Lazard. "Strife. How did he perform in the morning sessions?"

The other man started slightly, in confusion. He typed a few things into the tablet and the passed it onto Sephiroth. A passable score on the tactical exam, a strong score in the materia evaluation, and a draw during the sword exhibition. But failing to complete the simulated mission would no doubt be a black mark on what could have been a pass. It also did not help that Strife displayed borderline average fighting abilities throughout most of the simulation, having let Nickson take point for most of the mission, save for the momentary display of bravery he showed to leap down a floor and incapacitate a Grand Horn. One could even argue that Strife's inability to convince Connor to work with him was what led to this failure in the first place.

Any other observer might have failed him. Too scrawny, too fiery, too troublesome, not enough promise to justify otherwise.

But not Sephiroth. He looked at Lazard, and with a firm nod, made his choice.

Here was paradise, and Zack would fight anyone who disagreed. Here, being the wooden church, the large patch of pink, yellow, green, blue, violet flowers, and Aerith's melodious humming. It was no wonder that Zack had thought he had passed to heaven when he fell from the plate those months ago. There was no place else like this in the world.

Though, Zack supposed that had more to do with his companion, than anything else. Aerith was kneeling beside a tuft of daffodils, spraying the leaves with a combination of water and sugar she created herself. He wasn't sure what tune she was singing under her breath, but it sounded a lot like one of the silly pop songs he introduced to her when he bought her a new radio. The thought made his heart sing a little, too.

"Are you done just sitting there, or are you going to actually fix that flower cart?" Aerith teased, looking up with a wicked glint in her eyes. She tossed her braided hair over her shoulder, in that careless and completely beguiling way that made Zack very weak-kneed.

"I wasn't just sitting here, I was staring at you," Zack said, because honesty was the best policy, after all.

His girlfriend grinned. "You are the worst flirt, Fair."

"Hey, worked for you, didn't it?"

Aerith shrugged, mischievously, then turned back to the flowers. She reached a gentle hand forward and stroked one of the petals, almost as if comforting a small animal. Zack watched her whisper something, her voice soft and lilting, like the lullabies his mother used to sing for him as a child. He noticed that Aerith did that often, and he once asked her why she talked to the flowers so tenderly. To help them grow, she had said. But she paused, and then added, Sometimes, they need someone to listen to them, too.

Zack wasn't oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend was definitely something special. It was as if life itself was drawn uniquely to her, the energy in the air shifting and bowing and glowing. It was sort of the opposite of Sephiroth, in a way. But they did have one thing in common: the two were clearly just…beyond.

But Aerith was also refreshingly sweet and tender and human. She had a playful streak, like any other kid that grew up in the slums of Midgar. She was nothing like the other SOLDIERs he spent most of his day with – it probably had something to due with the mako, rendering them just north of abnormal and strange. Aerith was neither of those things. Aerith was Aerith. And Zack could not have survived these past months without her.

He got up from his position sitting between the pews and moved closer towards her, careful not to step on the blooms. "Talking to the flowers again?" he asked, crouching beside her.

Aerith tucked her dressed beneath her knees. "Listening, actually."

"They say anything interesting?"

She paused, shifting to folder her hands on her lap. Her eyes turned toward Zack, green sharp and assessing. "Yes, kind of."

For a moment, hesitance flashed across her face. It wasn't an uncommon look to Zack – there were times that Aerith seemed to want to say something more but then thought better of it. Zack would be lying if he said that those moments didn't hurt him a little (he loved this girl, wanted her to trust him, wasn't sure what about him wouldn't be trusting to begin with). But he knew better than to push. She would tell him when she was ready, and he would listen and be there for her.

Finally, after a second that seemed to stretch to minutes, Aerith spoke up, "Do you believe in destiny, Zack?"

"Destiny?"

"Like…things being written in stone."

Zack blinked. Of all things, he honestly was not expecting this. In response, he then shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought, to be honest."

"Oh."

Aerith looked disappointed, which was the last thing Zack wanted to see on her face. Quickly, he put a hand on hers and added, "I mean…I think there are things that are fated. Like soulmates. But I don't know if I like the idea that everything is predetermined, you know?"

She smiled a little, running her thumb against his gloved hand. "I guess I don't like that either."

"I mean, I think it's better to think that what we do matters, in some way," Zack continued. His mind flashed to Angeal, all about honor and pride, and how words and actions build to meaning. Yes, Zack had to believe that what he did mattered. Needed to believe. How could he not, when it was one of the few ways that he could keep his feet moving forward, one step at a time?

Aerith hummed. She reached forward once more, to touch the petal closest to her. "I think you are right."

"Of course, I'm right," Zack said, grinning cheekily. He leaned forward, placed a smacking kiss against her cheek, which caused Aerith to squirm in delight.

"Oh you," she said, her easy smile brightening her face. Then, she took his face into her hands, stared into his eyes closely, trying to level the moment with a cautioned sincerity. "The flowers…they were talking about destiny."

Zack lifted his hand to encase one of hers, the one that was pressed against her cheek. It was another one of those things about her that he had observed, this strange connection to the world that only she seemed to possess. It could be unsettling, if he was a lesser man. But the truth was that none of that mattered to Zack. He had seen far too many unsettling things in the past year than he had growing up in sleepy Gongaga, but he always remembered what his mother used to tell him – that at the end of the day, it was the person that mattered most.

And Aerith, well, she mattered quite a lot.

"What about destiny?" he asked, hoping his face displayed the serious genuineness he felt.

Aerith's eyes flickered to his lips for just a moment, and Zack made a mental note to kiss her again and again, after they were done talking.

"That it is now changing," Aerith said. "And that we may have some hope, after all."

She moved forward to brush her lips against his, but then a loud sound shot out of Zack's pocket, the trilling echoing through the high ceilings of the church. Zack cursed out loud in surprise, drawing a laugh from Aerith, who shifted backward to sit on her heels and to give him space. Zack could feel his own face heat up in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly, fishing the offending PHS out of his pocket.

His girlfriend shook her head, smiling.

Zack glanced down at the device. It was a missed call, followed by a text notification from Cloud. The moment he read the name, realization barreled through him. Cloud, the SOLDIER exam. That was today, wasn't it? The results would have been in by now. A pit curled in his stomach, one that continued to grow and grow as Zack hastily flipped the PHS open and typed in his passcode.

Gaia, please, let this be good news.

He opened the message. It read: Zack, I passed.

I'm going to be a SOLDIER.