Chapter 15 – Fear

That night, when Sephiroth closed his eyes, the fire returned.

It blazed, suffocatingly thick, swallowing all it its wake. Flames kissed the now recognizable wooden roofs, melted the snow patches, burned through the dirt. Above the crackling of the sparks, he could hear the chaos he had come to know so well – the screams, the pleas, the tears. But despite the cries for mercy, despite the desires of his own heart, Sephiroth knew the truth. This was not to end – instead, this was the end. This was to be an insatiable conflagration, one that would turn all it touched to ash, and even then, it would continue blazing onward, reaching higher and higher until every last star in the sky was burned out.

He knew, because he felt the endless hunger of the wildfire burn in him, too.

Like a puppet on strings, Sephiroth moved steadily, methodically, through the town, through the land, through the whole earth. He heard the dying let out their final screams, saw the orange and the yellow and red chart their crooked paths. He experienced the corrosion of life at his very touch, sensed the curling of the air, as if breath itself desired to flee from him and the death he wrought. And most of all, he felt the thrill of the destruction, burrowing deep inside him, kindling the blaze that pulsed from his body and his mind and his hands.

Was this what he wanted?

Why was this what he wanted?

If Sephiroth could have, he would have stopped, tried to contemplate, tried to think, tried to regain control. But there was no escape and there was no time to question. No matter how far or how long Sephiroth walked, the fire would be there. It followed him from Nibelheim, to the edges of the Planet, and to the sky, almost as if it were carrying him upward, buoying him like wind underneath outstretched wings. As Sephiroth soared higher and higher, the flames around him transformed into something brighter, more tangible – a star, a comet, a meteor, scorching through the atmosphere, burning through the air. The heat continued to tear its way through the heavens, and it was only when it reached the vast and empty space that overlooked the Planet, that the brightness finally ceased its climb.

What followed was a moment of relief, an odd suspension of time and space and light and dark, like the gaping pause between the ticking of a slow-moving clock. It seemed to stretch into eternity, for long enough that Sephiroth questioned if he would remain here, floating in the blackness and breathlessness, forever. But then, the moment ended. Then, the fire released him, left him, slipped from him. Then, the star suddenly turned – and fell.

Sephiroth could only watch. It was inevitable, irrevocable, inescapable. The meteor would descend. The Planet would shatter. Everything and everyone would burn, and there would be hollowness left behind, a pure wasteland, a solitary confinement, a boundless silence. Upon that terrible, powerful, wonderous impact, nothing would remain of the world that Sephiroth had lived on, breathed on, killed on. Nothing at all but him.

Once upon a time, Sephiroth could have recognized this as something he might have wanted – the end of everything, the end of all his pain. Let it all fall to dust, crumble in his fingertips. Let him be as alone as the world so keenly wanted him to be.

Except he knew now that being alone was never what he really wanted.

And his dream seemed to sense that too, because from the nothingness came a voice, sweet, gentle. It tasted like honey in a warm brew of tea, sounded like perfect chords in a melodious symphony. It was familiar, in the sense that he knew the voice was always meant for him, though the truth was that he had never heard it, her, before. But the moment the sounds reached Sephiroth's ears, his chest began to ache, because this was a lullaby that he had longed to hear since he was a child.

My son, it said, lilting and soft. My son.

Mother?

Sephiroth attempted to turn his body toward where he thought the call was coming from, but in the empty space, in the lack of gravity, he could hardly maneuver, could only float on, endlessly, uncontrollably.

My son. My son.

He tried again, to reach out, to move, but to no avail. The struggle, the inability to ground himself and latch onto something real began to build frighteningly in his throat. Sephiroth pushed through as hard as he could, to call back, Mother, is that you? I cannot see you. I cannot reach you.

The laughter that responded sent a flicker of warmth through him, enough to soothe the edges of his panic. It's alright, my son. I am here.

It was so simple statement, and yet, like a spell, it sent an unbridled joy surging within Sephiroth. He closed his eyes, let it melt, let it sink. Mother. I have wanted to meet you for so long.

I have longed for it, too. But we cannot. Not yet.

Why?

Our Reunion is close. You simply must have the will to carry it through.

Carry what through?

Something bright flashed before his eyes then, and he could see the remains of the Planet, its inner soul desperately grasping and clinging to pieces of the earth's now broken shell. Some part of Sephiroth's mind, the part that came from his childhood, from reading books with Ilfana and being tutored by Professor Gast, wondered if that was what the Lifestream was supposed to look like – green tendrils reaching out from Gaia's core, like veins and arteries from a beating heart. Sephiroth was not sure why he felt instinctually afraid of it, why he feared being caught in its hooks, why he feared being taken and swept away. Because now, there was little to fear. Because now, the green and warm light was flickering away like the embers of a snuffed candle. Because now, the heart of the Planet had been broken and was beating its last.

This, the voice said, curling around him, like a loving embrace. This is what you must do.

There was supposed to be dread, despair, regret, anger – all the things Sephiroth had felt when he had walked through another razed village in Wutai, when he had read the kill orders Shinra commissioned against his two closest friends. But instead of all those reasonable things, out there at the edge of creation, Sephiroth felt peace. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all, but it was as if his body had lost all capacity to process emotion. He could do nothing but stare, watch as the Planet emptied itself completely, the green light of life fading into grey, into black, into oblivion, into nothing.

Like an echo, his own voice, his own mind, repeated: This is what…I must do.

The curl turned into a hook, and dug into him, into his soul, into his heart. Yes, my son. This is what you were born to do.

Sephiroth let it burrow, let it settle, let himself close his eyes. It was so warm here, so comfortable, so painless – and it would be so easy to fall into that feeling further. It felt a lot like the moments Ilfana would indulge him with a mythical tale or Genesis would bring him coffee or Angeal would invite him for a walk. It felt a lot like the happiness he thought he would never have, like everything he wanted. In fact, Sephiroth could have accepted this, this kind of free and insane existence, a universe with only him and this voice. A year ago, he maybe would have made this choice. But something was different now, and when that hook broke through his chest and tried to grasp for his heart, he remembered why.

Sephiroth remembered that he had already given his heart, gladly and freely, to another.

The realization fractured the façade that floated around him.

But what if I want something else?

The edges cracked.

My son, my son.

Instead of gentle warmth, there was a searing blaze. Instead of peace, there was pain. It was all the hurt he had ever felt in his lifetime in a single sharp second, poured into the tip of a blade now piercing through his body. It was all the anger he had honed into fine weaponry, all the sorrow he had hidden away inside. It threatened to consume him, to tear him apart, shatter him like the fire he had summoned had shattered the Planet. But Sephiroth forced himself to hold on, forced himself to breathe, forced himself to push against the thickness and the embrace that was trying to suffocate him, trying to swallow him whole.

My son. You do not need anything else but me. I will give you all you want.

I don't understand. I don't—

That is alright. You will soon. I promise.

But I – I –

Light began bursting through then, breaking through the vision. He was awakening. The dream (nightmare) was ending.

The voice began to fade, whisper. My son, my son.

Mother, wait please!

Sephiroth tried, clung desperately to the wisps of the vision. There were too many questions –what was happening and why was he seeing this and was this a message and were all the other dreams messages and if so what was his Mother trying to say – and he needed the answers. But there was nothing he could do. The darkness slipped away, the vision of the broken Planet replaced by the trims of the sunrise peeking through the curtains, by the chittering of the town now emerging underneath the new dawn. A few more seconds passed. Finally, when Sephiroth willed himself to open his eyes, the only thing that remained from the dream was the confusing mixture of emotions and thoughts and questions, the woven threads of bewilderment, happiness, sorrow, and dread.

The weight of it was nearly paralyzing and it took Sephiroth more than a few moments to shake the vestiges out of his mind. He closed his eyes once more and worked to center himself in the present moment, think about his breathing – how loud it sounded in the room, how prickly the air felt flowing in and out of his nostrils. He concentrated on the thickly woven blankets supplied by the inn and how they scratched on his skin, on the coldness of his toes poking out from the edge of the bed. But as much as Sephiroth tried, the haunting tones of that voice and of those visions continued to creep into his headspace, like a rising tide. It seemed that focusing on the physical was not going to be enough. So, he let his mind wander to what he knew he needed.

Last night. It was almost too good to be true. Sephiroth had heard the adage that there was nothing better than a homecooked meal, but he had not understood what that meant until Claudia served her stew. And yet, divine as the taste was, the meal somehow managed to pale in comparison to everything else about that dinner. There was Claudia, regaling them with stories of Cloud's childhood, of the time that Cloud chipped a tooth from falling from the roof of the school building after trying to rescue a cat that had clamored up there in fear. There was Zack, who fired off embarrassing tales of his own, of the pranks he and the blond pulled on each other and together on fellow SOLDIERs. And there was Cloud himself, somehow scowling and blushing all at once, holding Sephiroth's hand underneath the table throughout the entirety of the night.

Everything about that evening – the warmth, the pleasantness, the peace, the soft goodnight kiss he had shared with Cloud (the blond had made his mother and Zack turn around for that moment out of embarrassment), even the teasing chat with Zack as the two of them made their way back to the inn – was an anchor in a storm. It was the opposite of what Sephiroth had felt in his dream, floating listless and high above everything, lost and unsteady and desperate to cling to the first real thing he could find. In his dream, the only option had been that voice, evocative and sweet, whispering of glories and reunions to come. But in his waking life, it was and always would be Cloud, grounded and solid and warm in his hands, against his lips.

There was also something else – an even more important contrast, an even more salient truth: unlike that voice, which demanded a cruel and heavy price, Cloud had already given him the one thing Sephiroth always wanted, and he did it easily and simply, all because Sephiroth had asked.

("I promise you. I'll never leave you.")

That reminder was enough.

Slowly, Sephiroth let himself rise, rolling his shoulders to creak out the aches in his back. The bed on the other side of the room was empty, the pillows and sheets tossed aside, indicating that Zack had already woken up and had probably made his way down for breakfast. Sitting on the rather antique-looking bedside table was a clock that read a few minutes after six-thirty in the morning. By his normal standards, Sephiroth had slept in by more than an hour. While he recognized that it had likely been much needed rest, some tiny part of his mind was quietly unsettled by the deviation from routine.

But Sephiroth set such feelings aside and elected instead to begin the process of dressing and preparing for the day. In the brief interlude between dinner and saying goodbye, he, Cloud and Zack had settled on the plan of heading to Shinra Manor in the morning, to start digging through the remains for any information about Project S and the specimen Shinra used as the basis for its experiments. Cloud had explained that it was sort of a coming-of-age ritual for the school kids to sneak into the abandoned building at one point or another, and as such, volunteered to act as their guide. They were to meet back at the inn shortly before seven, the time selected as a small compromise for Zack's sake (the Lieutenant was notoriously known for transforming into an extra whining puppy in the obnoxiously early hours), though that turned out to be an ironic twist now that Sephiroth was the one who was running behind schedule.

Briskly, Sephiroth shut the door of the room behind him and walked down the flight of stairs to the lobby. As expected, Zack was sitting at the table to the far right of the entrance, mug of steaming coffee at hand. But so too was the young woman who had boldly introduced herself to them the prior day. Tifa, the mayor's daughter, his near-perfect memory helpfully supplied. Her presence immediately placed Sephiroth back on edge, for ugly reasons he would rather not contemplate or admit to at the moment.

"There you are," Zack called, eyes crinkling into a smile as the General approached the table. "You slept in, for once."

Tifa laughed. "It's not even seven in the morning. This is what you call sleeping in?"

"For this guy, yes."

Sephiroth ignored Zack, instead extended his hand toward Tifa by way of greeting. "Good morning, Miss Lockhart," he said. Then, just to cut to the chase, "Did you need something from us?"

The young woman paused, as if taken aback by the swift and direct question. But she did not turn away, and it only took her another second before she adjusted and shook his hand. "Good morning to you too, sir. I figured you would be heading out early, so I came by to drop off the key to the reactor, only…"

"Apparently, it's missing. The mayor couldn't find it," interrupted Zack, in between sips of his coffee. His tone was light, but there was a slight hint of curiosity, and maybe even of worry, though it would have been imperceptible to any who did not know the young man well. Regardless Sephiroth was inclined to agree: this detail was both SOLDIERs knew they had no intention of actually going to the reactor, some other unknown party clearly did. The fact that there would have been no legitimate reason to do so (and that therefore, any intentions would have been decidedly illegitimate) only made the situation more concerning.

But even with that acknowledgement, there was still something else that bothered Sephiroth more. "Have you heard from Cloud?" he asked, eyes glancing quickly at the clock hanging above the entrance of the inn. It read six-fifty, and while perhaps still a few minutes before their scheduled meeting time, Cloud was usually punctual. His absence, coupled with Sephiroth's dream, Tifa's presence, the missing reactor key, and everything else about the morning – it was all starting to build something close to panic in Sephiroth's chest.

"No, but I bet he's just chatting with his mom," Zack said. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

As if on cue, a head of sunflower hair suddenly stepped into the inn. But it was not the particular Strife they had been anticipating – instead, it was Claudia, who was now rushing toward them with a frazzled look on her face.

"There you two are!" she called, her voice tight and afraid. She nearly stumbled over her own feet as she crossed the hardwood floor to their table.

"Ms. Strife?" questioned Tifa, moving forward to clasp the woman's shaking hands. She tried to speak as warmly and reassuringly as possible, but Sephiroth could tell that the girl's own sense of worry was beginning to sharpen her words. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Claudia inhaled, her breaths coming ragged and uncertain. There was no mistaking it now – that was outright fear in those blue eyes. The recognition was enough to turn up the fuel on Sephiroth's already mounting anxiety, though he did the best he could to stay focused, to breathe, to listen, to still.

Then, of course, the woman's very next words shattered any hope Sephiroth had of staying composed.

"Cloud is missing," she said. Her volume was barely above a whisper, as if afraid that even speaking the words aloud would somehow tempt further danger.

Zack had no such qualms. He stood up, nearly spilling his coffee, and yelled, "What?!"

For his part, Sephiroth remained silent, though the chaos was most certainly swirling in his head. His mind rushed through the possibilities – that Cloud was taken, that Cloud was hurt, that Cloud was in trouble. But there was also a voice in his mind that sounded eerily like the one in his dream, that poisonously murmured: Perhaps he has left you.

He squashed the notion immediately. No, Sephiroth thought. He promised.

They all promise, don't they?

It took a considerable amount of effort for Sephiroth to tear himself away from that traitorous thought, so much so that he nearly missed the tense conversation now brewing near him. Some time during the intervening seconds, Zack had moved to stand next to Claudia, to guide her to the chair he had previously been occupying. Tifa, too, had shifted, and was now kneeling in front of her, though she still had her hands around the woman's, still grasping, still comforting.

"I know he was supposed to meet you," Claudia began. "But when he hadn't come downstairs, I went to check on him and—"

"And he wasn't there?" asked Zack.

The woman shook her head. She tugged away from Tifa and reached underneath her apron (she had not taken it off, Sephiroth realized, which meant she likely ran over here as soon as she noticed her son's absence) into the pocket of her dress.

"No, he was not. But this was on his pillow, instead."

And right there, in the palm of her hand, with its purple hues rotting into black, was a sign, a message, a truth, that Sephiroth knew was clearly meant for him.

A dumbapple.

Sephiroth closed his eyes and breathed out the name.

"Genesis."

When Cloud had fallen asleep, it was to warmth, and not just from his mother's wonderful cooking. It had been growing in him from the moment Sephiroth kissed him against the wall of the backyard barn, and it kept intensifying all throughout dinner, even hours after he had finally said goodnight and climbed into his childhood bed. As he tossed and turned from a restless bliss, more than once Cloud had to ask himself whether it was possible for a heart to be this full. Because every time Sephiroth squeezed his hand or offered one of his rare smiles, or Zack barked out in laughter, or his mother winked at him mischievously, Cloud could feel his very soul expanding, as if trying so hard to accommodate this vast and surreal good fortune and affection and care all at once.

That was a startling contrast to what Cloud felt now, when he woke up.

His body registered something cold beneath him. In fact, everything felt like frost, tickling, nipping, and biting his skin. Some part of Cloud's mind became aware of the fact that he was barefoot, that he was still dressed in simple sleepwear, and that the surface he had been laying on was hard and freezing and clearly no longer his bed. But when he finally opened his eyes, to scan his space, to see where he was, to grasp at reality, those no longer became the details that mattered.

Immediately, Cloud screamed.

In front of him, sprawled out on the grated metal floor, was a monster. It looked vaguely humanoid in its appearance, with arms and legs and a torso, but its face had been disfigured by grey and black patches of flesh, and its head featured wild and twisting horns. The creature's feet were in the shape of morphed hoofs and its hands and fingernails were sharpened into talons. But what frightened Cloud the most were its eyes, open and glowing, but empty and green in a way that was eerily and terribly familiar.

"What?!"

Quickly, Cloud tried to get up, tried to shift away. But in the aborted movement, he found that his ankles were bound, and his wrists were tied tightly together, and before he could even think about that fact or shift an inch further, someone took hold of the bindings and pulled hard, to hoist him up in swift, indifferent fashion.

"Oh, won't you shut up? These makinoids have been dead for ages."

Between the sudden shock, the cold winter air, and the fact that he had actually never met the man in person before, it took several moments for Cloud to recognize the owner of that voice. But the giveaways were obvious, in the tattered coat, in the black feathered wing, in the shimmering rapier, in that grey-tinged red hair.

"Genesis," Cloud said.

The man in question smirked, clearly entertained, even as he tugged on Cloud's ropes to pull him further upright. "Oh? Were you a fan? That's not surprising. You do seem like the type."

There was something so malicious, so purposefully cruel in the tone. It made the uncertainty and confusion Cloud felt about the situation retreat, only to be suddenly replaced by a palpable and searing anger. Immediately, the blond tried to yank himself away, jerking his arms backward to release Genesis's hold. But despite the man's degraded state, he held on firmly, only now, whatever amusement at Cloud's reactions he had held initially was beginning to fade.

"Stop struggling. Don't make me cast another Sleep on you."

"What do you want? Why are you here? What is going on?"

Instead of answering, the former SOLDIER lifted his sword and pulled Cloud forward, slamming the smaller blond's torso into the hilt of his blade and effectively knocking the wind and the fight out of him. Cloud cried out in pain, his knees buckling from the force of the blow. He sunk to the floor, his chest heaving up and down as it tried desperately to find air again.

"You are far too talkative and energetic for someone in your situation," Genesis stated, walking around him and swishing that rapier in the air, teasingly. "I would stop trying to escape. The only reason you made it up this mountain is because I carried you. You would never make it down unarmed and dressed as you are."

Cloud glared up at him. "Shut up."

Genesis smirked. He then tossed his head to move his bangs out of his eyes. The casual motion telegraphed as an insult, and in spite of the pain in his abdomen, Cloud found himself absolutely seething, once more.

Still, he took a moment to recall his training and center himself, to get his bearings, to think. They were in some steel and titanium structure, a large and single line of stairs cutting through the center of the expansive chamber up to some door at the top level. Protruding out from the staircase were three or four additional levels of platforms, each housing a series of pods that Cloud had only seen in passing during his appointments with the Science Department. But he recognized the pods and their purpose mostly from the descriptions Sephiroth had given him of the man's time in the laboratories – they were designed for holding experiments, for drowning them directly in mako, for trapping monsters and keeping them contained, no matter how powerful or deadly they were.

At that, Cloud's eyes flickered to the creature lying next to him. There were droplets of fresh mako on its skin, as well as scattered on the adjacent floor. Like a cracked silver eggshell, the pod closest to them was wide open. His blue eyes began to widen.

The mountain. Mako pods. Steel. They were in the reactor, the one next to the town that Cloud had grown up in, ran around in, played in, dreamed in. All along, all throughout his childhood, these things– what had Genesis called them? Makinoids? – had been there, slumbering in their steel cages, forgotten, dead, left behind. They looked monstrous enough to be frightening, human enough to be unsettling. Were the makinoids once human? Could they have been?

If they were, Cloud realized somberly, that would be incontrovertible proof of Shinra's deception and cruelty. Much like the man in front of him right now.

"Oh, Gaia," Cloud whispered.

Genesis quirked his brow, evidently placated by the change in Cloud's demeanor. "Reality finally dawning on you? Good. This will make the next step easier."

Suddenly, Cloud found himself lifted once more, dragged forward by his wrists to the open pod. The panic set in, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. Once or twice, he tried to scream, for help, for something, for Genesis to stop, but the redhead seemed utterly disinterested. Cloud even attempted to break through the bindings, channeling all the strength he could through his arms, down his legs. But it was to no avail. Despite the struggle, and with a few harsh shoves and twists of the arm, Genesis managed to maneuver Cloud into the pod and engage the lock, shutting the blond into the metallic casing.

"There. Comfortable?"

Cloud answered that by slamming his fists against the small glass window.

The redhead laughed. "You certainly have fight in you. That suddenly explains a lot."

"What do you want?" spat Cloud, offering his best and most pointed glare.

Genesis smirked once more, and Cloud was beginning to see why Sephiroth often described his old friend as one of the most infuriating people one would ever encounter. The man's condescension did not end with his expression, but also infiltrated his words, his gestures, his tone. "From you? Technically nothing. Unfortunately, you are just collateral damage."

Though the anger was still there, Cloud suddenly felt something else – dread. It was now clear: he was here as a bait. There was something, or rather someone, else that Genesis wanted, and in spite of his overwhelming predicament, Cloud found he was even more fearful of what exactly that could mean for the person he cared for most.

Whether Genesis noticed his train of thought or simply did not care, he gave no inclination. He continued speaking. "But I will say, Cloud Strife of Nibelheim, you do have me very curious indeed."

The blond knew he should not respond, knew that it would be giving the man the attention he so clearly craved, but Cloud could not help himself. He was trapped in a pod, his claustrophobia and anxiety were threatening to break through his skin, and the words came falling out of his mouth.

"About what?"

Genesis stepped up to the window, his eyes examining him with a mixture of fascination and maybe a little bit of disbelief. "You. The little SOLDIER who saved Junon," he said, tapping the glass with a maddening playfulness. "That was impressive work. Though when I saw your photograph, I must admit that you were far from what I expected."

Cloud had heard comments like that enough times to know the best retort, which would be to ignore the noise and to let the words roll down his back. But while he kept his mouth closed, that did not stop him from hardening his glare. Genesis was so obviously trying to push his buttons, dig in deeper, find more information. The last thing Cloud wanted was for anything he would say to be used as a weapon against Sephiroth. So, he kept silent, refused to indulge the insanity, the danger, the fear.

But Genesis remained unperturbed. If anything, he seemed even more delighted by the challenge, like a predator who instinctually knew it had the upper hand against its prey. And as it turned out, he did have the advantage, in a way that Cloud did not expect.

"No reaction then? How adorable. You seemed much more talkative the other night. Practically gushing in the General's arms, I say."

Despite his best efforts, despite his attempt to stay calm, stay neutral, the realization that Genesis had been there, playing witness to that vulnerable moment, the image of the man that had wrecked such havoc in Midgar and nearly blew Junon into obscurity skulking in the shadows near his childhood home, where his mother lived and slept – it was all too much. Cloud let out a shaky breath, his weakness now slipping onto his face, now stripped bare. He averted his gaze, in an attempt to stifle and hide the tears now brimming in his eyes. But he knew there was no use in hiding, knew that Genesis would see, knew that he had given the man exactly the reaction he wanted.

Unfortunately, Genesis did not stop there. Cloud had heard of the former SOLDIER's reputation for relentlessness (there was a reason why troopers were cautioned to avoid him specifically, lest they end up accidental fodder to one of his outbursts), but this was his first time truly experiencing it, and the unabated cruelty hurt far more than he had expected.

"Well, you might not be what I expected for a SOLDIER hero, but you look exactly like someone who would get on his back for Sephiroth. I suspect you must have a unique talent for that, to have a man such as him begging for you, so pathetically."

This time, Cloud slammed his hands repeatedly on walls of the pod, and with every contact, he screamed out his frustration, his anger, his rage. The metal did not give, not in the slightest, the vibrations of his assault merely ringing around him, making the limited air feel tighter and tighter.

The laughter that came out of the redhead's mouth was dark, nearly accusing. "Oh, I see. Don't like being called a whore, do you?"

Cloud ignored him, focused on lowering his shoulder and ramming forward to try and knock open the lock. But without the proper space to ramp up enough momentum, the attempted tackle was futile. Still, he refused to give in to the despair and panic that was starting to edge on his movements. He could not. He had to keep fighting. He made a promise, after all.

He straightened himself up, fixed Genesis with another pointed stare, blue eyes blazing bright. "I truly pity you," Cloud said, each syllable like ice, like the chill of the mountain wind. "You just don't get it at all."

Genesis narrowed his eyes. "You are a nobody, a stranger. Do not presume to know the truth."

"I don't," Cloud said, leaning forward so he was as close to the glass window as possible. "But I do know Sephiroth. I know how much he cared for you, for Angeal. How much he wants to help you and make things right. And I know that you know this, too, even if your desire for revenge has blinded you to the point that you can't even see it."

Somehow, that managed to hammer home. The other man paused, stepped backward, watched him with curious eyes. For a moment, Genesis looked a little hesitant, contemplative, maybe even guilty, and Cloud allowed a flicker of hope to light within him. Maybe, just maybe…

"You are wrong," Genesis murmured, so softly that Cloud, trapped in his metal cage, almost did not hear it. "I know Sephiroth cares. Why else would you be here?"

Then, Genesis reached over, flipped a switch on the side of the pod, and after a suspended second, Cloud smelled the familiar stench of mako beginning to encircle his tiny space. Sure enough, the green liquid was there, bubbling around his toes and ankles, burning and itching through the exposed flesh of his feet.

He glanced upward, through the looking glass, his plea unconcealed and unambiguous in his eyes. But Genesis only offered a sly smile in response.

"Well, for your sake, I hope we're both right."