XX
CHAPTER XX
HOUSE OF STEEL AND MAGIC
Cloud lay on his back, the soft grass cool against the bare skin of his arms, entranced by the movement of the stars. The eternal blackness of the universe was alive with an immeasurable number of gleaming specks, like the swarms of fireflies deep within the caves of Mount Nibel. He had watched the parade of constellations come and go long after his comrades had retreated to their tents or bunks, thinking of the Gods many had been named after. Though his rural hometown shared the same continent as the prairies where the party was now camped, Nibelheim was situated across the equator on the Northern Hemisphere, and the patterns here were not quite as he remembered from his childhood.
He noted several, however, that he did recognise: Alexander the Holy Crusader, the glorious armoured knight from ancient mythology; Typhon the Disintegrator, a hideous dual-headed monster; Minerva the Goddess of Gaia, readying her double-curved bow to unleash an arrow of judgement; the Bahamut Dragonlords, each winged and flare breathing; Ixion the Thunderhorse, a valiant unicorn with the power to command lightning. Cloud wondered if these deities had ever really existed, or if they were no less a fable than the lost chapters of Loveless.
There was a sudden rustling to his right, a stirring in the low underbrush. He reached carefully for the Buster Sword, taking the long handle in his palm and drawing it towards him. The sound was erratic, the snapping of twigs and crackling of dead leaves somewhat intermittent. Rolling onto his stomach, he listened as it grew nearer, closely observing the tell-tale tremble of the evergreen shrubs. With a rumbling croak, a large beige touchme sprang from the bush, the toad's slimy body landing in the weeds before him. Scouring its surroundings once with its round blinking eyes, it hopped off, oblivious to Cloud's cursing.
What else did you expect on a riverbank?
It was only the second night since departing the Gold Saucer, but already the Buggy had brought them to the shores of the River Gagighandi. Their passage had taken them southwest of the desert, the last traces of rock and dust finally dissipating that morning to form the vast stretches of the Vargid Plains. They had agreed to travel off-road where possible so as to avoid detection by Shinra scouts and roboguards, using the Corel Mountains and the vehicle's hi-tech navigation system as a guide.
The Buggy had handled like a charm, its suspension absorbing any unpredictable shock that its eight hulking tyres had made with the ever-changing slope of the endless fields. As the only three capable of doing so, Cloud, Barret and Tifa had divided the driving shifts between themselves while the others analysed maps of the province. Opting to follow an elevated ridge over the grasslands, they had found the view to be spectacular.
Aerith had spent much of the journey staring dreamily out over the lush savannahs, with their forests and crystal lakes clearly visible for miles under the cloudless azure. Great flocks of wild chocobos and cokatolii had stopped grazing to watch the travellers pass on the bluffs above them, the majestic birds a sea of gold and silver amid an emerald ocean.
When the company had at last come to the turquoise rapids of the Gagighandi, they were forced to trail the rushing waters eastbound in the direction of the Grandhorn Peninsula and the coastline of Flapbeat Bay, named for the bizarre winged seahorses that nested there. Many millennia had elapsed since glaciers had crafted a wide valley from atop Mount Cyclopes, marking the southernmost point of the Corel range from which the river sped.
The region was best renowned for its wondrous mountaintop lagoons and the beautiful Cyclopean Causeway - a natural stone crossing that spanned the Gagighandi near its source high in the craggy peaks - but it was neither accessible nor appropriate for a truck as substantial as theirs. As darkness enveloped the country, Tifa had slowed and pulled up at a glade shrouded by both the incline of the earth and a grove of ash trees, and a camp was erected for the night.
Now, as Cloud peered into the smouldering remnants of the dying fire, he heard delicate footsteps on the metal rungs of the Buggy's doorway. Glancing up, he saw Aerith's silhouette against its crimson exterior, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth as she joined him on the log against which he rested. She was shivering lightly and her teeth chattered, her boots damp with dew.
"I didn't realise you were still awake," she said, her voice just above a whisper.
"Couldn't sleep," Cloud replied grumpily, hauling himself up onto the fallen trunk beside her.
"Me neither," she patted her dress over her knees. "I was hoping to perhaps pray for a while."
"Pray?" he frowned. "You mean speak with the Planet?"
"Yes," she smiled faintly. "I could sense its call. The serenity of the wilderness allows me to hear the Planet more clearly. The messages are like a trumpet in comparison to the ones I felt in the city. Even at the church they were often indistinguishable. The Planet is afraid. I want to comfort it, to heal its loneliness."
"Oh…"
"Shiva's spirit tells me the same," Aerith continued, tapping her breast pocket where the Summon Materia was hidden. "A malevolence has risen. The signs are clear. But, I can't work out if it's Sephiroth or something else. We have to be careful."
"We will."
"So, uh, the stars are really pretty tonight, aren't they?" she quickly changed the subject, her eyes transfixed on the mesmeric heavens as if the sadness of her circumstances was too much to bear. "In all these weeks, they haven't ceased to amaze me."
"Since we left Midgar?"
"Yup," Aerith nodded gently. "I used to go up to the Plate just to see them. But, even on the cold winter nights when there wasn't the usual haze of pollution, they weren't as bright as this. It's wonderful."
"Do you know any of the constellations?" asked Cloud.
"A few," she said thoughtfully, pointing towards the Thunderhorse. "Like that one."
"Ixion?"
"That's not his name, silly," she chuckled, patting him playfully on the back.
"Huh?"
"The Cetra have different names for some of the stars," Aerith explained. "Older names. You call him Ixion, but my people called him Sleipnir, the eight-legged stallion of Odin the Allfather."
"Whatever…"
"That's exactly what he would have said," she sighed.
"Who?"
"My old boyfriend," Aerith responded quietly, lowering her head.
"The one who was in SOLDIER?" he presumed.
"Yeah."
"You never told me his name."
"It was…" she hesitated, "Zack…"
'Zack,' repeated the ethereal voice, floating from the murky void of his absent memories and inner turmoil.
"You?"
'Zack…' it said again, now a burning pain in the forefront of his mind. 'Remember…'
Cloud froze; hearing the name spoken aloud for the first time had stirred an emotion that had been buried deep within his subconscious. His heart fluttered; his breath caught in his throat. He had known of Aerith's boyfriend since they had first met: a SOLDIER First Class who had abandoned her many years before, never to return. However, their current dialogue had caused an unexpected reaction. The young SOLDIER's name held significance to Cloud's past - that much was obvious - but try as he might, he could not find a satisfactory reason for this sudden connection he shared with the flower girl.
"Is something wrong?" she queried, touching his shoulder. Her fingers were subtle against his skin, soothing as they ran down his arm. She took his hand in hers, her longing gaze meeting his glowing Mako eyes.
"Aerith, wh…what are you doing?" Cloud stammered, turning away.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"That evening in Costa del Sol," she gulped shyly, "you didn't answer my question. You didn't tell me what you really think of me…"
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, understanding her meaning but uncertain how to proceed. "I haven't considered us in that way."
"Cloud-"
"I know you must've missed Zack after he left," he shrugged, "but I'm not him."
"How could you say such a thing?" Aerith snapped, her lips trembling and tears forming as she swiftly rose to tower over him. "Sometimes you make me so mad, Cloud Strife! Oh, I never should have brought this up."
"Aerith-"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she whimpered, barging past him and stalking back towards the Buggy. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
Cloud remained motionless for what may have been hours after Aerith returned to her bunk, cradling his head in his hands. He felt regret and even sorrow at how badly he had articulated his position: he had not intended to hurt her; he had been confused by the swell of suppressed sentiment and the mention of Zack. The SOLDIER First Class was important, a piece of the puzzle, and he was growing increasingly frustrated by his inability to recall what it was.
He was awoken the next morning by a feeble drizzle, the thin beads of rain sticking to his face. He had fallen asleep by the campfire's charred leftovers, his clothes slightly sodden and clinging uncomfortably to his torso. He stood and yawned, stretching as he watched the water of the River Gagighandi career past the glade's embankment of tall reeds, gurgling and hissing as it went. Barret's and his own tents had already been dismantled and packed, and hushed voices drifted from inside the Buggy where the others were enjoying breakfast.
Given the manner in which Aerith had taken her leave of their conversation, Cloud instead chose to seek refuge from the shower beneath the knotted branches of a hefty and crooked tree on the border of the clearing. They had a rough ride ahead, and he could foresee himself being the subject of silent disdain as the girls condemned his attitude. He was sat there no more than a few minutes, however, lost to his brooding thoughts, when Barret emerged from the car to inspect the fuel gauges at the rear of the gasoline engine.
"Gotta check 'em manually," he called out from behind one of the elongated exhaust cylinders as he noticed Cloud's curious stare. "Ain't gettin' a proper readin' from the dashboard."
They set off along the Gagighandi soon after, its shoreline snaking east among wild grass and woodland alike. A wealth of vegetation trailed the old dirt road, from giant golden sunflowers and deadly snapping prongs to the lofty brown trunks of ash and palm, offering entirely new scenery every few miles. For a time, the river slimmed to little more than forty feet in breadth, but as early afternoon came and went, the waters widened and darkened from foaming turquoise to a muddy indigo as they approached the delta at Flapbeat Bay. From there, the coast and the Antenora Sea were bound by the low-lying terrain of the Grandhorn Peninsula all the way to the ocean, uninhabited but for a Shinra, Inc. naval base and submarine dock to the north.
As promised by their charts, they at last discovered a public crossing, though it required venturing onto a central albeit vacant transcontinental expressway. The suspension bridge was reinforced steel on sunken concrete foundations, and seemed sturdy enough to support the immense weight of the Buggy. Taking care to safely manoeuvre the armoured vehicle across the swaying viaduct, the heavy beams groaning in discontent, they reached the opposite bank of the Gagighandi without event, and started for the distant Gongaga region in search of the elusive Sephiroth.
Neighboured by the respective deserts of Corel and Cosmo, the southeast provinces boasted a fairly temperate climate, with warm winters and a refreshing summer rainfall as the tail of the monsoons swept from the archipelago of the Southern Continent. Everglades bustling with nature and dense wooded areas slowly consumed the Valron Plains until a sizable expanse of unbroken green fields was as common as the villages and hamlets whose presence would have been overlooked had it not been for the occasional weather-beaten signpost.
To the east, several standalone rock monoliths dominated the horizon, each colossal inselberg column more than a few miles in circumference and rising sharply from the earth. Beyond a dreary sky of threatening clouds in the west was a backdrop of the rolling Cosmo Mountains. These vast batholithic sierras were of striking fiery granite, topped by great rainforest plateaus whose summit was hidden by the grey sky. Red XIII had taken to studying the ranges, often enthusiastically repeating that his home lay deep within the valley there.
As night fell and the scarlets and magentas of twilight set the inselbergs aflame, the party opted to camp near the base of a relatively squatter column, far from the highways and prying eyes. In the softness of dusk, the feline beast had noted a lone and faint glow ahead, emanating as if it was a beacon meant only for them. As they drew nearer, they found the light belonged to a solitary homestead located on the island heart of a shallow bog, one that dwelled beneath the mighty rock formation. It was not an inn as they had hoped, but the pleasant radiance from the bay windows of the second floor was enough to keep them from rumbling on.
Urging the others to stay where they were, Cloud climbed down onto the gravel driveway, and trudged towards the porch entrance. An iron crest hung above the portico, old and rusting, an unfamiliar insignia of a monster with three distinct heads: stag, demon and dragon. Buzzing blue moths busied themselves among the ivy that crept up the timber walls of the croft, its voluptuous leaves drooping as if they had been there for an age. Hesitating, Cloud knocked three times on the tall door, disturbing the tranquillity of the setting and a few animals in the mire, but there came no reply.
He retraced his steps and peered through a side window into a well-lit lounge furnished with ornamental weapons and artefacts. The objects were draped from lavish pegs or framed on fine wooden shelves, a collection of swords and vases and trinkets that was impressive to behold. Licking tongues of fire from an antique brazier sent shadows dancing around the dining table at the centre of the room, and a plume of dusty smoke from a redbrick chimney on the shingled roof.
With a bewildered shrug, Cloud gestured to his comrades that he was going to enter the house, and returned to the porch. He gripped the black iron handle, and cautiously pushed the creaking door slightly ajar, a narrow strip of lamplight washing over him. Inside was a spacious antechamber of rich pine with half a dozen passages to smaller rooms, and a slender staircase that led to the upper corridor. Stepping into the hallway, Cloud heard a scrape in the floorboards above.
"Hello?" he called, pausing. "Is anyone there?"
Again, there was no answer, and his ears detected only the dull rhythm of blood pumping through his veins. Brows furrowed in bafflement, he skulked across a russet carpet to the left of the entrance, and was brought to a workshop of sorts. He scanned the assortment of blade designs on the walls with interest, slim katanas and heavy longswords and rune-engraved rapiers all bearing the same maker's mark.
A number of odd items and relics were arranged randomly throughout: smith equipment was attached to the broad workbench in the corner; delicate tools were set in a neat order on an adjacent shelf; blueprints and other documents littered the small study desk by the fireplace. Much of the bare floor was covered by a rug, the image of an exploding sun etched upon it; Cloud recognised the supernova instantly, the phenomenon of a star's death unmistakable. His probing gaze came finally to the metallic chest below the window, drawn by the strange gleam that escaped its joints. Kneeling before the trunk, he slowly turned the elegant key that protruded from its mechanical lock, and lifted the heavy lid open.
A stunned gasp left his lips as he saw the shining selection of coloured orbs within, each one as mystically alluring as the next. The glassy Materia spheres were approximately two inches in diameter, filled with swirling vapours that created illusions of their primary functions as Cloud traced his fingers over their glazed surfaces. There were upwards of fifty crystals in the casket - almost impossible outside the military - and he counted at least one of each type: emerald for Magic; amber for Command; sapphire for Support; amethyst for Independent; a single ruby Summon. Taking a Magic Materia in his gloved palm, the vision of shattering icicles momentarily appeared in the mist.
Blizzara…
"It's rude to barge into someone's home unannounced," boomed a hoarse male voice from behind.
Cloud spun hastily, the Ice Materia tumbling from his hand with a thud and rolling across the floor. In the antechamber stood an elderly gentleman, his maroon nightgown wrapped tightly around him as he gaped peculiarly at the Buster Sword on the intruder's back. He had been handsome once, his gaunt copper face laden with wisdom, but his hairline had receded until most of his head was bald, the remaining silver strands now tied in a ponytail.
"I'm sorry," stammered Cloud. "I knocked but-"
"Don't worry about that," the man chuckled dismissively, beckoning him to get to his feet with a welcoming smile, again glancing at the SOLDIER's greatsword. "The fates have been kind enough to bring you here. Now, be a good lad and go invite your friends in. Supper will be ready in thirty minutes…"
Even at such a late hour, Kimaira had cooked a splendid meal of chicken and steamed vegetables for the weary travellers. The humans had gathered around the mahogany dining table, their host positioned at its head, while Red XIII and Cait Sith shared a spot by the brazier. He had behaved extraordinarily pleasantly to them, insisting that they rest here until dawn. All but the tiny crowned cat had hungrily consumed the feast and, content now to relax at the table by the warmth of the fire, Kimaira presented an explanation for his generosity.
"I expect the eagerness in my hospitality may seem a little bizarre to you," he began huskily, sipping his wine, "but I have my reasons. Least of all, it has been many weeks since last I conversed with anyone."
"You live out here on your own?" asked Aerith, daintily picking a piece of meat from her teeth. She sat with her back to Cloud, as she had throughout the day's journey, her persistent sulkiness a side to her character he was unaccustomed to.
"To tell the truth," nodded Kimaira, "I cannot recall how many years have passed since I settled in these lands. I am a blacksmith by trade, specialising in blades. Long ago, when I was a much younger man, I fashioned a great many weapons of war. I grew to detest that, and eventually moved away from Midgar and its usurpers. I have enjoyed success, but at a cost."
"City life not your thing, huh?" Barret frowned, his beard thick with grease.
"I find this place so peaceful," admitted Kimaira, "It would be difficult for me to leave after all this time…especially at my age."
"Do you have any family?" said Tifa.
"I had a daughter once," he sighed, cradling his glass. "Beautiful she was, with hair like molten steel. A SOLDIER."
"A SOLDIER?" Cloud looked up.
"Yes," Kimaira responded with a shrewd expression. "Like you, lad. Your eyes, they have the mark."
"What happened to her?" enquired Aerith with softened words.
"I do not know," he said forlornly, his gaze distant. "Argento was an astute girl. A skilled warrior. A First Class. She commanded the Ragnarok Unit, the best of the best. During the early stages of the Wutai War, her team was responsible for completing the most covert of operations. Things that seemed beyond anyone else.
"The assassination of Imperial General Phantasma? That was them. Victory at the Battle of the Zephyr Heathlands? That was their doing. Though it all had to end somehow, I suppose; it was only a matter of time before Ragnarok was sent on an assignment from which they would never return. Where Argento is now, only the Gods can guess."
"I'm sorry…" offered Tifa.
"Yeah," added Barret.
"Thank you," Kimaira acknowledged with a courteous bow. "Her disappearance was very hard for me, and what drove me to abandon Midgar for good."
"You said you used to make weapons of war," Cloud regressed, his voice low over the crackling fire. "Is working with Shinra what you meant by that?"
"All that you see around you was forged by my own hand," replied Kimaira, motioning to the various swords and daggers and spears mounted on the walls of the lounge. "These are works which are personal to me. Some represent a specific period in my life, while others are simply too delicate for anything other than display. This is but a fraction of my creations. They have been purchased from all corners of the Planet, for military use or private collection. The Shinra Army was indeed my largest client. You are already familiar with my expertise."
"I am?" Cloud recoiled sceptically.
"All SOLDIERs are," he smirked wryly. "The standard issue Hardedge is one of mine. But, that's not what I'm referring to."
"The Buster Sword?" Cloud raised an eyebrow, oblivious to the troubled miens borne by both Tifa and Aerith as they listened with intrigue.
"Exactly," said Kimaira, allowing himself yet another lingering stare at the magnificent blade now stood aside the blonde-haired mercenary. "It was an ambitious greatsword, commissioned by an old friend from Banora almost fifteen years ago. May I ask you how you came into its possession?"
"I earned it as a First Class," Cloud hesitated, his amnesia hindering a fuller answer.
"I see…" the blacksmith was unconvinced, his features swathed in haggard wrinkles.
"So, this isn't a typical SOLDIER sword?" Tifa muttered quietly, biting her lip. Barret's questioning gaze flicked between the girls, perplexed by their discomfort.
"Far from it," Kimaira shook his head, leaning forward as if to scrutinise Cloud. "But, then again, my craftsmanship was revered by most high-ranking personnel."
"Like who?"
"The former Captain of SOLDIER."
"You made Sephiroth's sword?" spluttered Barret.
"He practically demanded it of me," affirmed Kimaira. "He was only thirteen or fourteen back then, but had the composure and maturity of a leader twice his age, and showed more natural ability than any man I had ever seen. I was summoned to council with Director Lazard, and was instructed to design a katana that would be unique to Sephiroth."
"The Masamune," Cloud squirmed at the name, "and the Buster Sword are both yours?"
"Ah, so you know it?" he said, concealing what pride may still have existed for them. "Yes, the blade I produced for Sephiroth was indeed the Masamune; a sword so powerful that only he could wield it. It was based upon one of my earliest forges, a katana called the Murasame. Visually, their only difference was the handle: the Murasame's was black leather studded with platinum, but Sephiroth strongly requested that his be dark blue studded with gold."
"That can't be right," Aerith stroked her chin inquisitively.
"I assure you it is, my dear," retorted Kimaira.
"Didn't the sword that killed President Shinra have a black grip?"
"It did!" exclaimed Tifa, her throat dry. "I never gave it much notice at the time, but I'm positive it was black."
"Yer sayin' Sephiroth didnae use 'is own weapon to murder the President?" scoffed Cait Sith. "That's ridiculous."
"Improbable but not impossible," Kimaira deliberated calmly. "The Murasame belonged to a senior Turk by the name of Balto. It would explain why it was in the Shinra Building that night. But, Sephiroth…I am not so sure. There was one rare attribute of his that few are aware of. Something which regardless of his immense talent marked him as special in SOLDIER."
"What's that?" posed Barret.
"Sephiroth was left-handed," Cloud realised what the old man was suggesting.
"That he was," Kimaira nodded. "The two katanas were also mirror images of one another. The Masamune was created for a warrior with a leading left hand, not the vastly more common leading right hand. If it was Sephiroth who executed the President, it is uncharacteristic that he did so with a right-handed blade. I apologise for my lack of conviction, it's just…it is hard to believe that he is still alive, never mind without his sword."
"I'm finding it difficult, myself," snarled Cloud; the man he had idolised was wed to the Masamune.
"Are you sure it was Sephiroth?" Kimaira stressed incredulously. "I know what is stated in the official reports; I remember the newspapers well, but-"
"He confronted us on the cargo ship," Barret grunted. "He didn't have no damn sword then."
"And the sightings in Mimett and Junon didn't mention it," maintained Cloud. "Neither did the manager of the Gold Saucer-"
"Dio met Sephiroth?" Kimaira gasped in surprise.
"You know 'im?" squeaked Cait Sith.
"Dio, like myself, is a lover of fascinating things," he replied slowly, absorbing the torrent of information. "He takes a keen interest in the artefacts that I study, and has been one of my most consistent customers of recent years. It was Dio, in fact, who was the last person with whom I met. I sold him an antique item of much worth: the Keystone of the Ancients."
"The Cetra Keystone?" Aerith was dumbfounded, her face turning serious. "You had the Keystone?"
"I acquired it from a travelling salesman more than a decade ago," Kimaira answered sheepishly. "I always supposed it to be somewhat intimidating; the Keystone is a legendary object, and had far too much historical value to be kept on a desk in my home. I traded with Dio so that he may present it to the world in his glittering showroom."
"What exactly is the Keystone for?" frowned Tifa, glancing at Aerith.
"Eons ago, according to lore," Kimaira took a long breath before guzzling the remnants of his wine, "the Cetra built a secret pyramid as a haven for the wandering souls of their people. It is said that this magnificent structure can only be accessed by the 'Path of Light', unlocked by the Keystone. An old wives' tale, I am sure, but nonetheless enthralling."
"Do you know much about the Temple?" said Aerith, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Only what I have read in books," shrugged the blacksmith. "And those I have in abundance. You may take some if you so wish. Perhaps these gospels would satisfy your thirst for knowledge. A tired mind like mine must busy itself when work has dried up."
"Why'd you stop?" asked Barret.
"There is a distinct element to my weapons," described Kimaira, his gruff voice laden with despondency as he peered up at the room's exhibition, "one which sets them apart. It is the reason for which they are famed. A rare metal ore, found deep in the mines below the Midgar Mountains. When the facilities there closed down, this commodity became so scarce that its price was incalculable."
"You're talking about Mythril, right?" Cloud deduced, sensing an opportunity.
"Ah, so you are acquainted with it?" his expression warmed as if he was recalling a cherished memory. "Yes, Mythril is the most resilient of all natural matter. It is virtually impenetrable, but as light as a feather. Because of the alloyed metal, my blades can cut through rock, steel…anything but denser Mythril. But, alas, I can no longer afford it, and I fear I have forged my last sword…"
Even as the man spoke, Cloud felt the firm stares of his comrades upon him, their combined force urging him to do what he had already concluded he would. As Kimaira trailed off, he reached into the left pouch of his brown leather braces and withdrew the amulet that had been gifted to him by Cripshay three weeks before. The nomadic courier that had escorted the party from Fort Condor had insisted that Cloud use the fragment in his war against Shinra, Inc., and he intended to do just that. He set the locket on the table, a silvery grape-sized nugget whose polished gleam stole the attention of the entire gathering, as if nothing else existed in the world.
"Gods forgive me!" blurted Kimaira, his thin and sagging skin shuddering with nervous exhilaration. "Is that…is that…?"
"It's yours," said Cloud, sliding the ore across the mahogany surface, watching the blacksmith's trembling hand stretch out to receive it.
"This is too much," he whispered. A kaleidoscope of colours exploded around the lounge as he lifted the pendant into the light to examine the Mythril, his features contorted in absurd delight. "How can I repay such a heavenly gesture?"
"Your hospitality has been enough," said Tifa.
"You have shown this old man a great kindness," contended Kimaira as he fought back elated tears, "and offered me a chance to appease my heart's yearning. No amount of food or wine or beds to sleep in could compare. Name your price. Anything in my home is yours to claim."
"You serious?" choked Barret.
"I am most certain," he smiled, clutching the treasure to his chest. "You are welcome to discuss the matter. There is no rush to choose. I will honour our agreement this day or any day hereafter."
"Thank you," accepted Cloud as their host stood to excuse himself from the dining table, crossing the room towards the antechamber.
There's no competition, he thought silently, I've already made my decision…
However, the evening had given the former SOLDIER several other things to ponder, none more so than the mystery of the Masamune. He cursed himself for not making the connection sooner; the circumstances of President Shinra's murder and the hideous fiend they had encountered aboard the Fahrenheit were both opportunities he had squandered to realise that something was amiss. Sephiroth had still wielded his legendary katana when the pair faced off at the Mount Nibel Mako Reactor, but suppressing the nightmare of challenging his hero before Jenova's capsule had blinded Cloud.
Where was the Masamune now?
"I trust you will enjoy your stay," Kimaira paused in the doorway, snatching him from his musings as he bowed low in earnest gratitude. Cloud returned the courtesy, a cold shiver cascading down his spine. "Then, goodnight until tomorrow…"
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