Hair: I purposefully left Terra's hair color ambiguous in this piece since I thought it was best to leave it up to readers' imaginations. Green or blonde? You decide how you want to picture it.

Bruh that chapter length though: Refer to Prologue author's notes.

POV: Currently Tifa and Terra POV-centric, but I promise after this chapter that POVs will diversify.

Flashbacks (Updated): Attempted to fix the whole issue of swapping between flashbacks and present events (which caused confusion) by adding flashback headers. Way better than italics in this case, because these flashbacks are way too long for italics. If the events of canon Dissidia 012 are fresh in your mind, understanding the events and their order in this story will be much easier.

Progress: Interlude I and Chapter II rough drafts are finished at the moment. I spent this month banging my head on the computer monitor and after several proofreads of Chapter I I feel like my brain will combust. It doesn't help that I lean a bit more on the pantser side when writing. I certainly plan important details/events out and have a beginning, middle, and end in mind, but not to a super structural degree. I can't force myself to be an absolute plotter. It kills the joy I get out of writing and makes the characters feel more like props for storytelling than actual people to me as I write them. I'm way more a pantser than a plotter overall so if you catch any inconsistencies please tell me and maybe give suggestions as to how to address them. I will fix them to the best of my ability ASAP.

Updates: This story takes ages to update, as I put in the Prologue notes, and I'm sorry for that. I make an effort to stay ahead by at least two chapters and each one takes like three to four weeks to draft out.

"It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone."

― Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

Chapter I - Stumbling Along Vague Crossroads

Before the Rift closing

On a dark night, they sit near one of the many cliff sides in the Land of Discord.

If the desolate region could be described in one word, Tifa thinks "bleak" fits the bill well. The air that enshrouds them is dry, and every time an airstream slips amongst her, it leaves her bloodshot eyes even more parched than before. Even in the dark, the light around this place is still a dim red. The campfire she's sitting nearby only saturates the color further.

It'll be any day now. Soon all six of them will be charging for the Rift, the thing that caused this mess in the first place. The thing that startled the foundations of this strange war…

Sighing, Tifa gazes up at the stars, adjusting her sitting position so that she's got her knees up, putting her hands at her sides and feeling the rocky terrain indent her fingers. Stars lift up all of the burdens and weights on her heart when she looks at them. Free from the clutches of the ashen land, they sparkle in an unfiltered area of the atmosphere, radiating a pure white. A shade of white that reminds her of Order's Sanctuary.

Abruptly, now it's like she's not in Dissidia anymore, sitting on a tower, telling someone something. It sounds like a promise or a wish, but she can't be too sure, because some of the words are unclear, and it's like looking through a dense fog. Tifa fumbles with her memory, and when she tries to remember that someone's face and the hazy words they shared, she draws a blank.

It's a long, long time before Tifa blinks. When she does, she notices that Vaan's taken to waving his hand in front of her still eyes, all up in her space. "Tifaaaaaa," he says, and his sooty face looks either overly worried or strangely indifferent or some weird combination of both to her. Nonsensical, the thoughts do flips in her mind.

"Hm? What's up, Vaan?" She looks back at him. When she sends out the words, she does her best to pretend she wasn't just hypnotized by some distant dream or memory.

"Looked like you were in deep thought or something just now," he says, scooting back and leaning against a steep stone that's triple his height. "Like you were getting super-duper emo like Light or Kain usually do. Don't get emo, Tifa. Emos are weird."

"Vaan," Tifa chastises, looking over her shoulder to check that Lightning and Kain are still keeping watch several feet away from the camp before gesturing for him to hush up, hoping he gets the message.

Laguna, who's sitting on a slab of stone next to Yuna — who's busy casting Cure on one of his arms — speaks up. "Wouldn't quite call 'em emos, kiddo." He takes a swig out of a flask that's outlined by the amber light of the fire with his good arm. "More like quintessential ass — " — Yuna nudges him lightly in his midsection, though Tifa sees a small smile erupt on her begrimed face from his words — "I mean snarky stoics."

"Snarky emo stoics, then," Vaan corrects.

The beautiful glow of Yuna's spell spills out only far enough to soak parts of Laguna's battle-worn body. His jacket is tied around his hips, and the magic glazes over the murky yellow bruises that spiral around his arms. Once stainless, his sleeveless shirt now has a maze of blemishes smothering it. He shoots Vaan a quick grin.

"No offense, kid, but maybe you should go grab a dictionary."

"Nah," Vaan shoots back, and though he tries to look unfazed, Tifa catches a slight clench in his features before his face goes back to its trademark indifference. "Anyway, you gotta admit it, Laguna, you're totally afraid of Light. Remember that one time you and Jecht were playing that weird game of yours called 'mudball'?"

Laguna visibly winces, but his grin and all things positive aura persists. "Oh yeah… that."

Tifa can't hold back the question, the same way she can't stop the edges of her lips from curving down. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, the usual consequences of 'oh-shit-I-pissed-Light-off,' " he replies. "Jecht's arm game is strong. Big guy almost got me in the nuts with his throw, so I decided to up my game. I went for his face, but he dodged and it somehow hit Light smack-dab in the face. Next thing you know she's hollering 'get your ass back here, Loire' and charging for me with a facemask that makes her look a billion times worse than Satan. Logically, because there's no way in hell I'd deal with that, I ran."

"Well," Tifa begins, standing up with a slight groan to stretch out dense, combat-worn limbs. Her shoes scrape the rocky, unruly ground when she moves up, and the noise echoes around them for a bit. "At least she didn't catch up to you, right?"

"Er, well, she did," Laguna replies, taking another sip from his flask. "She gave me a quick scolding when she did. Least it wasn't as long-winded as a lecture from the Warrior. Also, don't try to outrun her. Lady runs faster than a Cactuar on steroids."

"You're right about that."

Caught off guard in the middle of taking another swig, Laguna slightly double-takes and chokes on his drink when Lightning's voice, along with the echo of clinking armor and steady footsteps, slithers around the edges of Tifa's perception.

"Ah, Sir Laguna, are you alright?" The radiation of Yuna's spell flickers out, her delicate hands already at work patting his back gently as he coughs.

Laguna forces a smile through the coughing fit. "I'm doing — " — another hack — "just fine, ma'am."

The sound of chafing gravel plucks away at Tifa's eardrums as she looks over her shoulder to see Kain and Lightning approaching them, their bodies drafting out from the oily blackness of the night as the campfire's light slips onto them, bit by bit.

Even though Tifa doesn't want to notice how bad they look, the light from the fire makes it impossible for her to ignore. Kain holds his helmet at his side with one arm, and the hand that grips it is crusty along with chipped, blemished nails. A nasty abrasion runs across the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile, Lightning's got grime of all sorts of dingy shades smudged against her sharp, stoic face. Tifa watches her cross her arms, hears the quiet sounds of her waving cape as a dry breeze passes by them.

"By Hyne, Light," Laguna spits, sitting back up as Yuna returns to healing him as if though he wasn't in a coughing fit a few seconds ago. "How the snick-snack did you sneak up on me like that? You scared the bejesus outta me."

"Preemptive strike," she answers, stone-faced. She raises an eyebrow when she spots the bottle he's holding in a lazy grasp. "You better be sober, Loire. You and Yuna are up for lookout."

"Relax, my ever-uptight comrade," Laguna says, waving the flask as Yuna withdraws her hands from him and stops casting. He stands up, glancing at his arm before giving Yuna a thumbs-up. At least now, the bruises don't seem to be there anymore. In the squalid, barely-lit night, anyway. "It's just good ol' H2O. Drinking liquor right now is basically an easy stop to dehydrate-yourself-and-die land. Would've been nice if I could've got the chance to ask Cosmos for some, though."

Tifa hears Kain make a rough 'hmph' noise. "Indeed. It would be quite a sight to see what a drunkard you'd make."

Laguna puts his free hand on his chin in mock thought. "I dunno, Mister Dragon. I think watching you do your typical jumping schtick while intoxicated would make an even funnier sight."

Lightning pinches the bridge of her nose, but Tifa can see the little smile hidden partially behind her hand that snags her frown. "Stupid-time can come another time, you two."

"Boo, fine," Laguna groans. Tifa doesn't understand how he manages to make everything he says sound so cheerful and lighthearted. "Alright, we're outta here."

He sends Kain and Lightning a wink before striding off with Yuna. Kain nods while Lightning rolls her eyes, smile gone.

It's not long until Kain and Lightning are making snide remarks at each other like they usually do, sitting down beside one another. Typical, Tifa thinks, flashing a tiny grin their way as she finally plops back down (carefully, so she doesn't have to fathom going to sleep with an aching butt) on the ground.

A few minutes later, the wind stills itself. The crackling of the flames sounds quieter, more tranquil than before, to her. Silence, at the speed of a crawl, converges on them. They've been tired from everything for so long. The fights, the stress, the pressure. Even now, where they got a rare chance to unwind and not worry nearly as much about the future, they're physically drained.

She knows that they're all painfully aware of what's to come. It's easy to see in the uncharacteristic downcast look Vaan makes as he turns his face away from all of them. Easily heard in the dwindling comments Kain and Lightning share, which were initially lighter with freedom and levity, and even though she can't hear what exactly they say because she's drifting off to sleep, the tones they share are now heavier and burdened. She turns to look at Laguna and Yuna, and narrowly makes out his atypical frown and the unusual lack of the everlasting calm that would always control her face in the dim starlight.

As they began traveling deeper into Chaos territory, strange sights began to show up. They stumbled across Garland's carcass, run through with crystalline blades, armor fragmented and strewn across the earth. Lightning had promptly kicked him off the mountain-high ledge he lay at. Ever since, they knew what was truly going on, who the real enemies were from this point on.

The fact of the matter still remains: they have to close the Rift before the manikin hordes reach Cosmos. It's the only clear-cut path they've got to follow in this mess of a world. The only purpose in their lives that they can see because otherwise the manikins will overrun them all if they're not stopped in time. If that were to happen… well.

Tifa thinks that route would lead to anywhere else but back home. And even though the path they're taking isn't any less miserable by that much, at least with this one they've got a shot at surviving, making up for the lives of those they lost, and maybe even getting out of this hellhole of a world.

If there's anything she's gained from the whole cycle nonsense Kain taught them about, it's that they can't afford to fail. If they die by manikin, it's game over. No more resurrections or second chances. And if the purification thing's true, then the warriors Kain took out won't remember what happened this cycle, and be lost, and probably get overwhelmed by the amount of manikins that have already gotten through the Rift…

Tifa and the rest of them can try to survive. But even if they do, it'll only be a matter of time until Cosmos dies to the manikins headed for her… right?

She sighs, shakes her head. She's not sure what to believe in anymore. So she goes with the simple answer: she'll try to hold out for as long as she can. The longer she lives, the more she's got a chance at fixing what she can.

Tifa wishes things were different, and she's sure they all wish that too. She wishes that they didn't have to meet in some war waged by unrepentant gods; that they could've met in a safer, better place. In a world where they could just freely be themselves without having to worry about some evil menace sapping the life out of the world, or from her friends…

Shivering, Tifa internally begs the drowsiness that's gaining on her to pick up the pace. She's exhausted from it all, her bones are aching all around like there's no tomorrow, and she wants it to already be another morning where she's got a good night's sleep and feels renewed and alive.

She lies on the solid, stiff terrain, cushions her head with her stained, gloved hands. Her consciousness fades in and out at the pace of restful ocean waves.

Goodnight, everyone and myself, she thinks before sleep overcomes her.

Present

When Tifa places the ration bar in Terra's bony hands, Terra just stares at it as if she's trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

"Go on, eat it," Tifa tells her before biting into her own bar, easily taking off two-thirds of it. After some nimble crunches, she swallows. "Don't want you to go starving on me."

By the time Terra's crunching her bar, tasting the faintest tinges of cinnamon on her hurting tongue, Tifa's already finished hers, dusting off her hands on her soiled miniskirt. Again, Tifa breaks the silence. "I hope I'm not bothering you too much."

Tifa glances at the marbled floor that they're sitting on, wrapping thin strands of her hair around a nail-chipped finger. As she does, Terra eyes the splint on her leg Tifa made for her. Tifa had to rip off her sky-blue cape and secure it with her own suspenders to make it. The soot and blood that's long since marked the fabric of the splint is garish.

Silently, Terra rubs the rank splint with her cold digits. When she looks back at Tifa, she's quick to catch that Tifa glanced back up at her at the same time. Stiff and tense, Terra rubs her arm, trying her best not to pry her sight away from Tifa.

It's not that she's uncomfortable around her (okay, maybe she is). It's not that she doesn't like people in general (of course not). It's just that… well. Human interaction isn't really her forte, and it's been what feels like too many seconds for her to feel like she can put up a conversation that won't sound forced. That, and not being a fully human entity, doesn't help.

"Terraaaaaaa," Vaan's tone is sharp in her head, and she remembers him clutching her shoulders, trying his best to literally shake the words out of her usually immobile lips. "If ya meet someone new, you gotta, y'know, talk with 'em. Socialize. Interact. Bond. Not only when it's necessary, okay? Try to, I dunno, pop 'em a joke or something. Oh, I've got a good one for you to share…"

Well… Here goes nothing…

Swallowing back the embarrassment that wants to fluster her features, Terra sets her bar on her lap. "Hey, Tifa?"

"Hm?"

"Uh… What does a sky pirate say when he gets… gets thrown overboard…?" Terra can barely mention the last bit of the question before she notices Tifa's face scrunch up in undeniable amusement, watching her cover her mouth while she laughs. For as well-mannered as Tifa seems, Terra doesn't expect her to sound like a snorting pig when she finds something funny.

And just like that, Terra doesn't remember the punchline. Part of herself wants to apologize to Vaan for forgetting while the other part is glad that she won't have to mention the questionable last bit of the joke to Tifa.

"Oh," — another snort — "I'm sorry, go on," Tifa insists.

"Ah, well," Terra shakes her head, feeling a strange heat from unfamiliar, unprompted emotions she doesn't know how to describe bloom through her gut and chest. "I forgot the rest of it."

Finally ceasing her riot of snorts, Tifa lets out a serene breath. "You really are the girl that Vaan taught me about. Goodness, he told you so many of those god-forsaken jokes, didn't he?"

For what feels like the first time in her whole life, Terra feels a slim smile replace her perpetual frown for a millisecond. "Yeah, he did. And…" For a moment, she considers not throwing out the question that wants to free itself from the cage that is her lips. Quickly, she crumples and shoves the hesitation into the back of her mind. "He really taught you about me?"

Tifa brushes caring fingers around limp, straight strands of hair that fester among one of her temples, pushing the bundle behind an ear. Hanging on it, framed by her hair, a teardrop-shaped earring jostles; a radiant treasure in a sea of dirt.

Terra can't help but wonder how Tifa does it all; how she'd managed to heal her when she was on the verge of nothingness; of death. How she can keep her head held so high and proud in the face of intimidating odds. How she can see what good there is in a ruined canvas that's full of blemishes…

"Yup," Tifa eventually responds, resting her chin on her knees, folding her arms around lacerated shins. "A lot about you. Your eyes, your quiet nature. Pretty much a lot of what he knew except for your name, really."

Tifa goes unblinking, eyes unmoving and fixed on Terra's. For a moment, Terra sees something distant and distressful cloud her bright, cerise eyes. Something private, saddening, personal. Then, suddenly, it's as if Tifa never thought that personal thing, it only takes one blink for her calm, radiant energy to re-grace her expression.

Terra considers asking her about what she's just witnessed, but she eagerly declines the possibility. It wouldn't be right to do, asking her when she's probably felt those poignant feelings well enough.

In the hazy sky of Order's Sanctuary, larks take wing in an ever-darkening evening sky. At some unseen force's behest — Fate, destiny, something — Tifa says another thing.

"You should get some rest." Uncoiling her limbs, she walks over to a fallen pillar, perching herself on it.

Terra automatically obliges, finishing the rest of her bar in a succession of crunches before lying on her side. The floor's cold and generally all things uncomfortable, so she puts her hands against her head to try to make lying down a bit more bearable. They're hard and not much better than the ground, but they'll work.

"Oh, and FYI," Tifa calls out right before Terra closes her eyes. "The punchline literally goes, 'he says aaargh'. Questionable pun, I know."

Despite herself, Terra snorts quietly at it.

The Rift closing

Ramming a brass knuckle against the entity that has Yuna's beautiful face, Tifa swallows down the hesitance that ascends her throat, chains down the eager remorse that wants to stop her agile limbs.

The manikin falls to the gritty ground. Around Tifa, innumerable, lunatic sounds, feelings, tastes, smells and sights rail and howl, overwhelming her senses. There's the clattering of rusted swords against magic that thins out the dusty atmosphere, infesting her lungs and nostrils with suffocating dirt. Nausea pollutes her throat as she spins around an impossibly large sword that belongs to either some Jecht clone or Cloud copy. There's the bellowing of many things that sound like enemies and friends alike with distorted, ruined voices. The odor of gunpowder and ash clogs her nose.

There's no more order or clear-cut strategy to this final charge — to this struggle to stop the manikin infestation in general. To kill these things before they kill any more of them — Cosmos warriors, Chaos warriors, whoever. Lightning's not nearby to shout her a brisk tactic; Kain's not at her rear to back her up; Laguna's not there to fire down any manikins that aren't within her melee range. None of Yuna's summons are close by, and Vaan's not here to give her an uplifting comment to keep her hopes steady.

She's all alone, surrounded by these things, stuck in the middle of a nonsensical battlefield, and the realization locks up her joints, nearly gets her killed by the Vaan manikin that swipes at her with a crystal cutlass that she stumbles away from in the nick of time.

The sky above her is cutthroat red. Before she can ready herself to kick the charging manikin, it gets tackled by one that looks like her. Bloodthirsty, the thing that she's not smashes fist after fist into its face, shatters its jagged cheeks and eyes. All while sobbing. Tifa thinks she can see the glasslike-liquid stream down from the thing's pupil-less eyes.

Tifa recoils from the assault, shakes out the dizziness that corrodes her brain as much as she can. She's seen them fight their own kind, and this is nothing different or unique from the previous times she did. But still, the sight of it stills her bones, freezes her up for god knows how long. Whipping the perspire-soaked curtain of hair out of her eyes' way, she reorients herself, counts — one, two, three — and slams a whirlwind kick into another crystalline monstrosity that approaches her from behind.

Keep moving forward, to the Rift, Tifa, she reminds herself, but the thought doubles over on itself as soot singes her eyes, abruptly illogical. Which way is forward?

There's no time for an answer. A powerful force — something she can't make out the source of in the polluted, hazy air of battle — snags her, flings her body with an impossibly strong airstream. She lands in a tumble, feels the brutal terrain scar and tear through her sweat-sleek skin. Vision teetering back and forth between too bright and too dark, she tries to gather herself up, urges jelly-like limbs to push her body back up, but between her thriving lightheadedness and creeping hesitation, she can't bring herself to. Defeated, she groans, barely makes out the slaughtered manikin bodies around her that got the worst of the force's impact.

Bile thuds in her rippling throat. It gushes out of her bone-dry mouth, warm and putrid and foul, drenches her cuticle-swarmed nails, leaves river-shaped trails on her chin as it flows out like a waterfall.

No. Get up, Tifa, she thinks, heaving and gagging. Her long hair conceals her lowered gaze, lying against the brown, vomit-smudged ground in twisty, limp patterns. Bleeding nicks drool new blood from her palpitating legs. Get up, dammit.

Narrowly, she's able to glance through the musty shawl of hair that hides her countenance. A blinding flare of light, stemming from some huge, luminous monstrosity that has wings. A searing sensation that toasts the air, sending out cacophonous sound waves that make her ears want to pop. Whatever this thing is, it's charging some sort of attack up to burn her and the other living beings around her to smithereens. Disoriented and delirious and unable to move as she is, she can't stop the thought from beating her optimism down. Guess this is it…

Tifa lets her eyelids fall, tries to think of concepts that put her at ease to soften the inevitable torture that will burn her to ashes. Inhale — Marlene, flowers, Barret. Exhale — Aerith, Lifestream, Cloud. The notions are easy to remember the names of, but she can't envision all of them properly.

Splenetic light and the erratic noises of destruction rupture her senses. She waits for the splitting of flesh and bone. Holds her breath. Lets out a messy exhale to take in another inhale. Waits more.

The impact she expects never comes — not where she expects it to. The blast sounds like it's happening too far away from her. She opens an eye. Through a wobbly, dust-imprisoned vision, she makes out the ebb and flow of a skirt, the elegant spin of a petite frame that swings a staff with undisturbed, peaceful grace.

In spite of her delirium, the name's clear to her like the back of her hand. Yuna.

With the little strength she has, Tifa forces herself to glimpse her surroundings. The air seems a little less filthy and unclear in her proximity, coalesced with the denseness of the transparent barrier Yuna's built out of thin air. The spell encloses them, brimming a snowflake white and aquamarine blue. As if pulled from an otherworld where there are no limits to what one can do, Yuna stops her dance, slumps over her staff, all poise and fluidity gone. Above them, two winged entities slit through the sky, in pursuit of one another. Two Bahamuts, Tifa can barely make out; one real and the other fake.

When Yuna kneels to her side, her angel-wispy hands slide around skin that's scarred and bruised all over. White magic runs through Tifa's physique and the comforting sensation almost makes her forget she's in the middle of a warzone. Nausea in her depletes as some of her wounds reseal themselves. But then Yuna gives out a sigh and nearly collapses, the spell fading out.

"I'm sorry, Tifa," she murmurs, hardly managing to stand and help Tifa up. "I don't have much mana left. We… we have to hurry. Follow me."

Tifa nods, feeling newborn strength flush herself when she forces sore legs to carry her into a sprint. Not all of the damage is healed and she feels some cuts tear and widen around her thighs and ankles from the movement, but she's in good enough shape to keep fighting. In front of her, running with a slight limp, Yuna maintains the Protect and Shell that shields them from projectiles and blades that would otherwise bisect through their flesh with simple ease.

Yuna's strained strides worsen and she nearly trips, but she keeps one hand open and held high, the other one gripping the staff, breathing new life into the shield as parts of it grow spiderweb cracks from unseen forces. Tifa wishes she could see much beyond the spherical barrier, but battle-born dust clouds the exterior.

"We're almost there," Yuna says, vocalization calm but knotted with exhaustion. The barrier's starting to flicker, the cracks are getting denser, and before Tifa knows it the whole thing shatters under the force of some unseen impact. Gritty air surges around them with their protection gone, blinding in its own way.

"Watch out!"

Yuna's yell barrels into Tifa's ears just as she feels her shove her away. Tifa keeps her footing, looks up and immediately regrets seeing the sight — Yuna falling to the ground from the blunt blow of some manikin that's unrecognizable.

It swipes mad claws at Tifa and she sidesteps it. She grabs the wrist, gives it a shrewd twist, and instead of hearing the bone-popping noise she's used to, she just feels the arm break off into her grasp. Huffing and holding the limb like a bat, she swats the thing right in the throat, snapping off its head and breaking the rest of the arm in doing so.

She drops the damaged body part, skids down to her knees to check on Yuna, bites a lip when scorching torment blooms along her knees and shins.

Faraway echoes of war urge Tifa to keep moving, but she can't. She cradles Yuna's limp body against herself, puts a tender hand to her breast and — Thank goodness — feels a thin pulse reverberate beneath her filthy fingers.

"You guys!"

The youthful shout cuts through the cantankerous clanging blades. Tifa rips her gaze from Yuna to see Vaan and Laguna, still coatless, rushing to them.

"Teef, we gotta get outta here," Vaan says, and Tifa watches him fail to keep his expression calm and neutral, feeling his grip on her shoulder tremble when he touches her. He looks at Yuna and more kinds of shock contort his features further.

Beside him, Laguna's trying his best to keep watch, glancing around his shoulder with his machine gun in hand, but Tifa can see him spare some of his glances to glimpse Yuna's pale form, and she knows what the uncharacteristic tired, waver in his eyes implies; what the little falter in his stance suggests.

"She's fine," Tifa tells them. "Just out of it."

Vaan sends out a "whew", but the tone in his voice betrays his lingering unease while Laguna's movements become less jittery. "Anyway, like I said, we have to go. Light, I don't know why she decided to volunteer to become some freaky martyr, but… but she told us to get away from the Rift."

Tifa feels her gut well up with heaviness and she involuntarily tenses up. And even though she gets the hunch that she knows why Light's doing what she's doing, a part of her still questions. "But why would she? We're supposed to be in this together, right?"

Vaan runs a stiff hand through the ruffles of his ashy hair. "Well, crap, I don't know anymore. She told us 'to survive', I didn't take her nonsense, and…" — Vaan lowers his head, fixing his stare away from Tifa's — "we got separated. And now there's too many of them to fight."

Tifa can't bite the questions back. Not when it concerns the lives of her friends. "What about Kain? Where is he?"

The distress that flashes in Vaan's normally dull eyes floods Tifa with regret. "Kain… he's… Light didn't exactly tell us where he went. I don't know. And Light herself… I… they're both probably dead by now, Teef."

Reeling in the knee jerk reaction of shock or anger or sadness or whatever the feeling is, Tifa doesn't let herself give in so easily to his words. They've already been through something similar like this, anyway — Lightning and Kain ordering them to leave when surrounded, and them coming out relatively fine. If Lightning could hold off Kuja and Kefka on her own and come out alive, and Kain could do the same with Exdeath, then Tifa's sure they can hold up against these things, no matter how much stronger they've gotten the further they went into Chaos territory. No matter how much those nagging thoughts she's trying her best to ignore say otherwise…

So, them being dead this time around? Yeah, right.

"No," she replies, holding back the sinking feeling that wants to make her shiver. "They can't be."

"Tifa," Vaan starts, but he's cut off by the firing of Laguna's gun. In the distance, shadowed, glistening manikins — whole battalions of them — surge onward in their general direction.

"Don't mean to interrupt," Laguna says as he locks and loads his firearm to spray another batch of bullets at the incoming crystal tide. Gunpowder taints already-unclean air, and the smell of smoldered sulfur clogs Tifa's olfactory senses. "But we gotta get moving. Pronto!"

Even though Tifa knows that this isn't good for her and her friends' lives, she can't stop herself from staring at the approaching mass of creatures. Even as Laguna holsters his gun and takes Yuna from her delicate grip to pull her up into a fireman carry. Even as Vaan yanks her up to her feet and pulls her into her a sprint.

The manikins look haunted, shambling and aimless and lost. Some merely crawl, while others run. There's some sort of strange conception in their soulless-seeming eyes that Tifa can't quite make out, but even if she could put those notions to paper, she couldn't bring herself to do that.

That certain something that flourishes in their endless stares is just too private; too abstract for words to bear the burden of attempting to describe. It's too saddening. Too poignant.

Shaking the wonderment out of her system, she doesn't stop looking back. For Kain; for Light. And as much as she wants to follow the road that's screaming at her to go back and make things right, she can't. Because while she could make things right, she could also make things so much worse at the same time doing that. The hunch is instinctive, too real to ignore.

Between the unclear future and the marred past, it's all too much for her to make a choice. Forward, there's nothing but craggy mountain tops and airborne dust. Behind, just more dusty atmosphere and waves of manikins that will likely kill them all if they get near them.

She's stuck, just looking back at the rampaging horde.

By the time Tifa registers that they're crossing a narrow ledge that overlooks a deadly abyss, it's too late. The land beneath one of her feet breaks and kills her sense of balance, thrilled to sacrifice her to the maw of gravity. Vaan cries out her name when he loses his hold on her, and she can't feel the burst of terror snag her joints or make her blood run cold.

It's a depressing, eerily hollow sentiment that rushes inside her instead as she falls. Fragments of all the things she's felt and kept to herself flow through her like a riptide — falling off of some mountain from a different world or universe, her always waiting and mulling over innumerable things before acting, hiding so many different feelings at once from others...

Internal emotions punch her in the gut nonstop. Tears pour down her mottled cheeks. And as she gets ready for the final blow — the hard sensation of the consciousness being knocked out of her head when she hits the ground — she wishes she could rewind time and make things better than they turned out to be.

Silent and regretting, Tifa screams.

Present

Time is a mystifying concept, Tifa Lockheart decides.

She can't shake off that it's been only days since she got separated from all of them. From Kain, Laguna, and Lightning and everyone else.

It feels wrong. Like it's all gone by too fast.

I never got to say goodbye.

It's also bewildering that only just a few hours ago, she'd finally met another living person. Someone she never really had interacted with before.

Idly, she looks at the pitch-black sky that enshrouds the bright moon of this broken world. As she does, her mind shifts to Terra.

She remembers it all too well, setting Terra's broken bone back into place so that she could apply an improvised splint there. Taking off one of her suspenders and putting it into Terra's mouth to distract her from the impending pain and doom, to keep her from biting her already bleeding tongue. Pushing and pushing against the impossible tension of her leg muscles, pumping out scream after scream, hearing pop after damned pop…

Sitting atop a collapsed pillar, she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugs them close to herself, and rests one of her cheeks on her discolored knees. She keeps her gaze up and fixes on Terra's sleeping form, nestled on the ground some feet away from her.

I'm sorry for putting you through all of that, she thinks, sighing. You've already been through a lot.

Tifa lets out an exhale. Too much happened in so little time. Leaving old friends behind to the jaws of danger, meeting a girl that was formerly lacking in free will and trying her best to help her despite her limited resources…

It was all too ephemeral, too fast. Everything. Using her last X-Potion — "Don't waste that, Tifa," she imagines Lightning would scold if she were here and not at the mercy of manikins, probably broken and bleeding by now — Oh, please don't be, Light. Remembering bits and fragments of her world a little too fast — mako, Shinra, Aerith, and… who Cloud was — left her uneasy.

It's all like skimming a story too fast to savor the nice little interludes and characters.

Yawning, Tifa decides that maybe sleeping will help calm her frenzied mind down. Slow and steadying, dreams make feel lighter, more free. Sure, sometimes unwelcome nightmares barge into the middle of them. But more often than not, her dreams leave her feeling relieved and pacified. So much so that without their soothing grace, she's not sure she'd be as in good mental shape as she is right now without them.

Besides, she thinks, hopping off the column and stretching taut limbs loose before lying down on her side, I'm sore as hell. And tired.

Underlined by dark, nail-like dents, her eyes close, submitting to gravity's whims. And for a moment, things finally seem right, like all the disorganized jigsaw puzzle pieces are clicking together properly together at once. Everything feels in harmony. In sync and in tune, and time suddenly feels right and evenly-paced for her…

Only for a moment.

A deafening, distorted screech, followed by another, echoes around her, and in seconds she's on her feet. Crap. Crap. Manikins. Frantic, her heartbeat is a lightweight, disorientated thing she can't control the pace of, and it pumps cold fear and hot adrenaline into throbbing limbs, tightens her chest as she rushes to Terra.

Terra's already stirring her way back to consciousness by the time Tifa's started grabbing her, shaking her. The screams and spry echoes of clinking, crystalline feet are getting louder, nearer. Out of control, Tifa's breaths become audible, and now she can't shake the feeling of mako eyes stalking her from inky shadows, glowing in the dark…

Out of nowhere, a riot of force, so hard it punts all the oxygen out of her system for a second, knocks Tifa to the ground, away from Terra. Shit. Grunting, she takes instinct's guiding hand and looks up at the helmetless monstrosity that has Kain's countenance. Huffing, she rolls away from the crushing thwack of its crystal spear.

Steady breaths, Tifa. Steady breaths. She gets up, commands wobbly legs to stand. The thought isn't enough to stop her legs from wavering beneath her or to make every inhalation more calm and slower, but the adrenaline that sails her bloodstream helps push the terror back enough for her to fight back.

The Kain-thing releases a demented laughter, nothing close Tifa remembers the real deal being like — he never laughed around me, and he wouldn't laugh like this — and when it thrusts its spear toward her chest, she sidesteps the blow, grabs and yanks the shaft of the weapon along with its body weight with both hands, and kicks it in the gut. Its body, heavy and tough, doesn't fall that far away from the impact, but it's far enough to buy her some much needed time.

Still, a slight hesitation pauses her for only a moment. Because it looks so much like him, she can't help but remember what could've happened to him, what probably happened to all of them. It's a feeling that will always linger in her mess of a heart, and even when she shakes her head to get a grip on reality again, the pain of it only flares.

If only there was more time in the world, she thinks, turning back to Terra and away from the Kain-thing's slowly recovering form. To fly. To dream. To remember and cope. If only.

She runs back to Terra — Thank gosh, she's not hurt — and as much as Tifa wants to process the newfound shock that strangles Terra's features, she knows she can't afford to waste more time. They're outnumbered and Terra can't move on her own.

"Tifa? What's happening?" Lost and confused, Terra's voice is syrupy-sweet, and it almost slows Tifa's rapid heartbeat. Almost.

Adjusting Terra on her shoulders so she's got her in a fireman's carry, she hears her grunt from the abrupt movements of her shin, dangling off to her side.

Right on cue, several kaleidoscopic bodies, some twisted and shaped in the most gruesome forms, while others look nothing like any of the warriors she's seen this cycle, pounce from everywhere — shadows, from behind pillars, anywhere.

"No time to explain," Tifa finally replies, vocalization taut and stiff as she braces her legs. "We have to get out of here."

She twists on a sharp heel, rushes to the wide staircase that spirals around the entire tower that's at the nearest edge of the platform. As she runs down the steps, she can't stop herself from glancing over the towering height of Sanctuary every now and then. It's somewhat hard to make out since she's in constant motion, but it's like she can see the whole of Cornelia Plains from up here, and it looks dull and faint, almost sad.

The clanging of manikin bodies hitting the stairsteps pulls Tifa's focus back on the path in front of her. Some of them descend past the ledge, off the tower, while others land face-first on the thick steps, sloppily so. She darts past and through the brimming forms, but not too far ahead she sees a whole regime of marching manikins, blocking the only way she's got out of here. Feeling her stomach do somersaults, she starts looking at the tower for any doors she might be nearby.

The doors that would lead to the rooms we all used to rest and hang out in, she recalls solemnly. She sees a rail-encased, flat platform not too far ahead. An interruption in the spiral staircase's pathway that's several meters wider than the stairs. And when she spots the ornate door handles that somehow manage to sparkle in the sullen, dim moonlight of Order's Sanctuary, leading to the inside of the tower, nothing stops her from picking up the pace even as the manikins start to overflow the platform.

When she first came here, she considered resting indoors rather than outdoors. But it felt off and wrong, resting inside, where manikins could unknowingly be lurking, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting in the dark, and getting back outside in of itself would be tough if she happened to be surrounded by them in there.

But this time, there's nothing to keep her from going inside. It's either that, fall to her death, or become manikin fodder.

There's gotta be another way out of this. She kicks open the door before the manikins reach her, slamming it shut to buy whatever time she can. She resumes her sprint anew in the ruined, tarnished halls of the tower's interior. But right now this is the best choice I've got.

After the Rift closing

Tifa never hit the ground after she fell.

On a vacant shore, she cradles the head of a luminous creature that's much bigger than her. It has the wings of an avian, and the cawing noises it makes are sporadic and tired. In what little light the cloudy, oily sky has to offer, its uneven beak gleams with twenty-five different colors at once.

Nestling a bleeding temple on the manikin's head, she strokes its brow, looks at one of its shattered wings and the streaming, gemstone-like rivers of liquid that leaks from all over its form. Knife-sharp shards glisten in murkening light.

It saved her, risked its life, whisked her away from the land of Discord all the way back to someplace in Cornelia Plains. And now it's dying.

It's not fair, Tifa believes, that this thing has to die instead of her. That something that's so readily, selflessly decisive has to die in her place. And strange too, that it's not so different-looking from all the monsters that are trying to kill her and her friends and any other living beings in sight.

It's not cawing anymore. The rhythmic beats of its crystal-feathered chest are slowing. She hushes it, makes sure to make its final moments not so bad.

"Thank you," she whispers, looking at the faraway, misty distance, because sometimes looking at dying benevolent beings is too much for her.

Order's Sanctuary isn't far, and she reckons it'll only take her a few days to get there. It beats taking a long, deadly travel while ill-supplied back to the Land of Discord, where she's not sure if her friends are there anymore.

It's weird that the decision's easy to make this time around. It feels too wrong. But she supposes she's got at least enough common sense to make some logical distinctions when the road ahead is clear enough to see.

It's not like Tifa readily operates on keen logic. Hordes of manikins probably already got to Cosmos and are likely infesting the tower nonstop? Doesn't matter. She just needs to see if her and that solemn Warrior guy are okay. Surely they should be, because somehow she's still in-one-piece and not being purified or whatever, but it's not something she's certain about. Besides, whenever she's troubled and has nowhere clear to go, she finds that retracing her footsteps back to the literal beginning of things when she can is a good start.

Looking back at the giant bird-manikin, she notices that it's dead and motionless. Waxy, blank eyes are stiller and perplexingly prettier than glass.

They look a little like mako eyes.

When she shuts its eyes with tranquil-graced hands, it's a long time before she gets a move on.

Present

They've got nowhere else to run. Or to hide.

Watching Tifa push herself against the barricade of thrown-together-at-the-last-minute furniture that conceals the door of the shadow-soaked room they took refuge in, the cruel truth snakes its way through Terra, keeps her unmoving, seated in a perspire-drenched wreck of a living being.

The conglomerate of thoughts and emotions that unfurl in her head are too much to take. Here, something that seems like torture or fear, dreading the full might of her power. There, graceful acceptance for the possible death that's coming to claim both of them. Fettering about, a brisk thought that's somehow a whirlpool of negative emotions, ever at the ready to consume her and her humanity…

Squirming in her little pathetic corner, she drinks in the image of the gaunt fists she has drawn to her thumping breast, takes in the fidgety pulse that pumps her full of unending terror.

You'll have to use your full power, a snide mimic of herself taunts. You'll use it and destroy all you'll see, and you will love-love-love it.

No. You're wrong. I won't use it. I will never love using it. Stop-stop-stop.

Terra strikes one of her temples with the most force she can muster, tries to pry away the devil that's feeding on her unbalanced mind. These thoughts will consume her, hollow out whatever bits of herself that's in this body and fill it in with the monster that's got inchoate fangs sunk into her soul, gradually growing deeper and stronger with every word it speaks.

It's then that she spots something in the corner of her peripheral vision, a barely-perceivable silhouette of something human-like, limp and outlined by what little moonlight's managed to seep in the ink-dark room. The sight is enough to rescue her from the internal fiend that's trying to gnaw on her mercy and sympathy.

Contorted as the form is, gnarled bones are spread out from it like the wings of some angel that's fallen from grace. It's obscured by a curtain, so Terra crawls toward it, ignores the sharp pangs from her leg, and whips the material out of the way.

Immediately, she wishes she didn't do that. With tenuous resolve, she recoils from the display of a bloodied form, a soundless gasp tearing from her quivering lips.

The woman's body is twisted, arms angled like the talons of a bird. Her white dress and night-kissed, radiant locks of hair are plastered onto the tiled floor, splattered by blotches of crimson and muck. It's her motionless, open eyes, though, that capture Terra's full focus. They seem nearly whited-out, almost scared…

If Tifa notices any of this, Terra hears no indication of that, and she can't bring herself to look over her shoulder to glance her. And as the initial shock dies down, Terra's forced to remember who exactly this woman is.

She's the one who gave her the reprieve she didn't deserve. The mercy she would otherwise not have without her.

Oh, Cosmos… What happened…? As pity embeds itself into her otherwise unsure and confused psyche, she presses pulp-soft hands to her busted lip, endures the uncomfortable, bulky sensation that crowds her thudding throat.

Tifa's intonation slits through the unbearable silence, disbelieving and uncertain. "But… if she's dead, how am I… how are we still here? Shouldn't… Shouldn't there be a new cycle?"

Staring absentmindedly back at Tifa, who's standing stock-still and clearly lost in a well of exhaustion and sadness, the term that Terra hears makes no sense. "Cycle?"

Before Tifa can reply, a riot of collisions jostles the door, and she grunts, digging her feet into the slippery floor as she tries to push back against them. Trails of sweat glide down her overshadowed face, little rivers of light that trace her supple, quivering features.

No, Terra thinks, scooting back as the impacts diversify, getting louder, getting stronger. No.

Use your power. Decimate them. Tear the screams from their lips. Watch them all burn.

Terra shuts her eyes, tries to close herself off from the cruel images of the world that dance to an uncaring staccato rhythm in front of her, but no matter how hard she claws her ears shut, the cacophony of the incoming assault and Tifa's worsening yelps only becomes more ear-splitting.

No. I can't. I won't.

The shriek of falling furniture gets her to reopen her eyes. A knobbly, multicolored hand bursts through the door, clawing at Tifa's shoulder and leaving septic, scarlet tears there. The yell that flies through Tifa's lips intensifies as the hand pulls her against the barricade.

Pinpoint edges of the heap of furnishings carve new patterns into her uncovered skin, plunge their teeth into aged scars and bruises. The door groans from the piling pressure as tables and chairs fall like dominoes, overflowing and nearly crushing Tifa.

With the chaos of emotions that wracks her mind, Terra's not quite sure what gets her to submit to the whims of the fiend that internally haunts her. She wants to think it was because she wants to keep Tifa from dying. To finally do some long-lasting good. But then that mocking mimic of herself laughs, keeps urging her to just destroy everything she sees because that's all she's good at doing. And as resplendent, suddenly-there magic obfuscates her vision and intoxicates her bloodstream, the answer is now perfectly clear, even if she doesn't know how well she'll steer the drive behind it.

I can't just do nothing.

Atoms of wrath multiply in her glowing self as her hair falls from its ponytail, cascading down her hunched back and growing. Terra doubles over, suffers the pain of thousands of syringes and knives stabbing into her all at once, lets out a severe scream. Dragon-sharp claws protrude from flesh-colored hands that darken into a lilac tone. There is the echo of ripping and shredding fabric as cold air strokes now-bare spots of skin. The agony from before is gone, and in its place, an immense desire pounds her instincts. It's both feral and tame, yet to be uncontrolled or controlled.

Thoughtlessly, she stands tall, and the mild pain that flares up her now-uncovered shin is nothing compared to the power that swarms her open palms. Reality drowns her in an unfamiliar, distant wave, and all she remembers of it and herself are two things. Protect and destroy.

There is a flesh-colored person in her line of sight, straining under the hold of several kaleidoscopic hands. Protect, a placid command chides within her. So she does. She propels herself skyward, commands blistering flames to shape in one of her fists.

As the door gives away to the force of the incoming horde, sending the person reeling and flying along with chaotic furnishings, she catches her by the wrist with her non-lit hand, feels the human dangle like a ragdoll in her firm grip.

Now, destroy, a thought orders her as the monstrous entities spill into the room. She smirks a ruthless smirk, and serrated fangs jut from her mouth.

Fire spurts from her free hand in a surge of raw power. In seconds it sets the dark space alight with an amber, fluctuating hue, burns and feasts on the things that reach for her in an ocean of flames. This ruination is not enough.

So she commands water to materialize and watches it burst up from the floor. Ivory, glowing magic clouds over her yellow scleras and violet irises. The resulting torrent snatches all kinds of charred things — roasting chairs and charcoal-black decorations and wailing humanoid creatures — and rushes them through the doorway.

Destroy. Just destroy.

Flitting into the puddle-strewn hallway, still holding onto the human she's forgotten the importance of in a clawed hold, she hisses at the blast of unseen sorcery that sends her careening. She seethes, re-steadies herself in her perch in the atmosphere, and latches merciless eyes onto the translucent creatures whose forms refract starlight and moonlight at unpredictable angles with every movement they make. Newborn burns rupture her fibrous sinew, discolor tendrils of head fur and arm fur, but the pain doesn't deter her.

It's not long until her vision goes spoiled with red as she shrieks with unbridled might. All that's clear to her now are the spells that fly from her hand, the implausible magic that renders her ripe and pleasured the more she casts it. Here, three cyclones of piercing winds. There, a cascade of more water…

The creatures look prettier this way, shattered into shrapnel-sharp shards; dead in this cold and uncaring universe. Yes. She takes so many strikes, magical and physical, but she dishes back twice the damage. Flailing about from all kinds of impacts, she realizes that the magnitude of her flight is declining; that the spells that fly from her hands aren't as loud or destructive as before. This destruction is not enough. She needs more.

Growling, she forces fresh sorcery through root-patterned, blackening veins that proliferate around lavender and pink skin. On an unending march, throngs of them invade every spot, from sweaty temples to thighs that are splattered with gore-red and magic-blue blood in messy lattices. Still a blinding, shining white, her eyes narrow into focused slits.

Meltdown, she commands. And when the orb of flames brims to life, swelling up with every passing second, she waltzes around whatever projectiles her prey send her way. Then she sends down the gigantic conjuration with no hesitation.

As it bites down its devilish fangs into anything it can gnaw down — more crystal monsters and marbled floor and walls, even bits of herself as the force of the blast sends her hurtling through the atmosphere, out of the tower and into the oily sky — she grins; a crooked, toothed thing that pulls all the pieces of her face together into vicious angles.

Her eyesight is hazy and poor, but the sounds that chime away in her ears are robust and clean. Ardent wind pressures her hearing as she hears someone cry "Terra". There is the clenching of thin fingers around her untroubled, thick ones. Oh, right. She was holding onto someone this whole time.

Who? It's not important. What do I do with them? Ravage them.

She barely regains control of her flight in time, just enough to avoid skidding into lush, rich grasslands with too-powerful momentum. It's then that she begins to feel the damage of numerous assaults on her body take its toll on her.

No matter how much she tries to fly higher, she can't. No matter how much she tries to see the world as lucidly as before, she can't. And before she knows it, she's a limp puppet that smacks against the unforgiving surface of water, losing hold of the last prey that's available for her to destroy.

Her back smashes against the trunk of a tree she narrowly makes out, and as endless ringing pollutes her mind as physical shock does her physique, she can't bring herself to escape the grasp of the water. It pulls her along with it, weighs her down.

As she sinks down into an abyss that could be bottomless, she simply thinks as mucky liquid slinks down her throat. It refluxes through her sinuses and back out to dirty water.

What is there left for me to do again?

The answer's so obvious, she doesn't know why she bothered asking herself it again. But still, it's good enough to motivate her, and she doesn't feel stupid at all for daring to ask the question.

Do what you can to kill her.

Present

Tifa's managed to survive many near-death incidents and get back up on her own two feet in with ease. So it's weirdly perplexing that this is not the case this time around.

As she spits out some of the acidic saltwater that swishes in her tender, burning mouth, the thought caves in on itself, now nonsensical.

None of it makes sense.

It's hard to make out exactly what 'it' is supposed to be. Maybe it's Dissidia, or the nature of everything that lives in it, including her. The feral monstrosity Terra became just as they were going to die, or maybe just Tifa's own existence in this world; her inexplicable, delicate survival in the face of colossal, insensitive odds.

It all seemed so easy before, to stay alive when these things happened. When she fell off of Mt. Nibel, she now remembers that she had her father to help put her back onto her feet, had the frame of a good childhood to support her in place of her brutalized skeletal system.

But now — Tifa coughs out more astringent water and realizes it's soaked through her clothes, leaving pearly droplets to twinkle on her heaving guts and neck until more comes to wash over her again in a wave, stinging her eyes and stealing what little air she's managed to breathe — it's just living hell to survive.

Because the waves keep smashing into her, Tifa struggles to focus on the stars that gaze down upon her. The dazzling bits of pure light that become fireworking starbursts in her view every time another tide smacks against her.

Focus on them, Tifa, she reminds herself because there's nothing else left to give her a sense of purpose or company or comfort. She can't retreat to the past — Terra, Kain, Yuna, Vaan — because it hurts to isolate herself there. Because it hurts to remember all of them so vividly when she's all alone and is probably going to die sometime soon. And at the same time, there's no way she can move forward like this, nearly paralyzed.

Again, she's stuck. Again, she's stumbling along, unsure of what's the best thing to do in the long run.

Tifa's not entirely sure why she's trying to push her busted hands against the same mucky sand that outlines her wet hair, willing her body weight to follow suit even though the waves are faster and stronger than her. But she figures following the feeling that looking at the stars grants her is at least better than dying alone.

She crinkles her nose at the thought. It feels so selfish when she puts it that way.

A bitter, stark wind runs itself through her. Like the sea, it's too cold, and breathing through it with wet nostrils is utter hell. It sharpens the ache that's already seized every tendon and ligament, and no matter how hard she chomps down her cherry-painted, dripping bottom lip to dull the suffering, it only aggravates it.

Keep looking at them, Tifa. Keep moving, Tifa.

Tifa tries her damned hardest to fight the flood back. Convulsing elbows dig deep grooves in viscid sand. Trembling fingers hook themselves into particles of slippery dirt, only for some to unhook too soon under the wrath of another tide. The distinct starlight she sees deforms when sour water plunders her mouth and nose, gushing down her esophagus and sinuses. Some of it spills right back out when she gags and feels her glottis go tender from all the coughing.

She's really not sure how backing up only a few inches is enough for the water to stop slapping against her head. Or how she's managed to make progress at all like this.

Something of triumph and hope washes over her. Tifa would keep savoring the relieving sentiment if she didn't roughly flip over onto her stomach, no longer able to make out the stars. And just like that, she's got no chance to re-feel that relief. Because a crawling, beaten-beyond death being — Oh, Terra — is what she immediately spots not too far ahead, and she knows — just goddamn, somehow knows — that it's coming to end her.

Even if Tifa had the strength to stand tall on her two feet, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to fight or run. Like she's doing right now, she would only have the power to stare at the howling thing that she hopes still has a semblance of Terra in its being.

Tifa doesn't want to kill her, but she doesn't want to leave her. At the same time, she doesn't want to die.

I don't know what to do. She squeezes her eyes shut, feels another splash of freezing water crash against her numbing legs. Tears spurt from underneath particle-invaded eyelashes. Everywhere, there's saline. Itchy, harsh salt. From the sea, the sand, her tears. I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to leave her.

It's the tough decisions that leave her motionless, not wanting to act. The ones that involve her having to make a choice that'll majorly affect the people she's come to know and love, for better or for worse.

It's so hard for her to get back up and move. She doesn't want to open her eyes, even as the monster's growls are getting more raucous; closer. Looking at the stars won't work anymore.

At least internally, it's easier to make a choice. It's not like isolation this time, when she chooses to think of them, now that Terra is near her. When she thinks of Vaan and his stupid rats, or about Yuna's calming giggles, or of Laguna's eternal positivity.

She hears the sharpening of claws that want nothing more than to carve her into a bleeding pulp of a human.

Tifa keeps her eyes closed. If she's gonna die here, then she'll do so in her dream-like memories. It's selfish and cruel, she believes, but if it means Terra will get to live on a little longer at least, then Tifa figures it's probably for the best.

Inhale. Exhale. Any second now, she'll die.

Inhale — Yuna, Aerith, Lightning. Exhale — Kain, Cloud, Laguna.

Chilly talons press against her reverberating chest. She waits. Breathes. Marlene. Flowers…

"Get the fuck away from her."

Tifa has no ample time to react to that all-too-familiar feminine voice and the crack of a firearm that follows. But she has enough to react to what comes after as she reopens reclusive eyes.

The creature roars and tumbles off of Tifa, trying to gather itself up from trembling knees when a sputter of cracks overtakes still air, a barrage of electric shots slamming into a form so frail. Dust springs up from the assault, swathing its falling form. Holes of blood are carved into its quaking back, joining with the many others that are already there, along with dreadful burns and damaged skeletal structure. Drops of dark liquid run down sharp curves, sinking into and staining old, wet sand with dark blots.

Pressuring her elbows into soaked sand, Tifa ignores the resulting pain and gazes at the impossible. At the person she didn't expect to see again so soon.

Light… you're alive after all… How… How did you get here?

Tifa can't cherish the happiness when she focuses on Lightning's eagle-sharp look. It's pinpointed on the veil of dust that hides her target. The barrel of her gun mimics her gaze as she sprints forward, her damaged-beyond-belief cape following her abrupt movements.

Tifa doesn't really think through her next decisions. All she recalls is that she cares for both of them, Lightning and Terra. Suddenly, it's not so hard to make a choice, now that there's a clear way forward.

Now that there's a future she can see where neither of them will die, and things will be perfect enough. No self-sacrifices, or tears, or loss to risk if she were to make a daring choice…

Intuition forces her to crawl as much as she can to Terra's now-humane, nearly naked form.

She beats Lightning to the chase, wraps painful arms around Terra's human-toned, rib-outlined midsection. She tries to cradle her against herself even though she can't sit up. Warm wetness stains her skirt with vivid red.

She has no idea how Terra's still alive, after she sees all the gaping wells of crimson around her body, some perfectly circular with dense, oozing redness and others shaped unevenly with spread-out, faded and dried blood.

"Light, please don't," she pleads, hating how weak she sounds, meeting her imperial glare. "She's a good person. Please…"

Lightning doesn't lower her gun. Her filthy overcoat sways in tandem with her cape to a fresh breeze. Her dirt-sludged glare doesn't let up when she fixes it on Tifa.

"You give me one good reason not to kill this Chaos freak," she says, retained rage building up in her striking eyes. "She could've killed you, Tifa — "

"I know. I know. But… she saved my life before." Tifa's sticky fingers settle around the frayed, burnt threads of what's left of Terra's garments. Baby-soft, pale flesh resides beneath her hands when she tightens them on Terra's bare stomach.

Thin pulses beat beneath her arms. Strands of Terra's un-ponytailed hair brush against her midriff. Tifa looks at her closed eyes, holds her like she's the most darling thing in all existence.

"Even if she did," Lightning starts, taking a step forward, "she's too unstable to be around. She's better off dead."

Tifa recoils, shudders from another passing wind. Droplets slide down her goosebump-laden limbs. "Maybe she's too unstable, sure, whatever. Didn't Vaan tell you about her? She doesn't want to fight — "

"He told me plenty," Lightning shoots back. "Fact of the matter is, you would be dead if I wasn't here in time."

"But that's… we're all okay. That's all that matters now. You don't have to do this. I… when she transformed, she saved me from a horde of manikins. I think she tried her best to control herself, but it didn't work out."

Tifa swallows back the sadness that dwells in her larynx. Lightning sighs, searches the muddy sand with tired eyes as Tifa's sure she's readying another retort. Before she can send it off though, Tifa speaks up again, finding the implausible strength from un-numbing, hurting legs to sit on her shins. Terra's frame lolls in her lap, a porcelain doll crafted in a universe that will never understand the depth of her value.

"I know you're worried. I know we've risked too much and lost too much from all of this. The fighting, the cycles…"

She stares at Lightning's softening-but-still-stoic expression.

"But you — we — should give her another chance, at least. To be with us. When I first met her, she needed help. And she was nice, sweet and friendly, not dangerous or 'unstable', so, please. Just give her another chance. I think it would do Vaan some good to see her again, too, if possible. And… I did so much to save her life. I didn't want to leave her to die on her own."

Lightning blinks, gazes off to the side. Tifa sees emotions flash through her eyes, but she can't exactly make the specifics out. Tifa holds her breath, expects Lightning to snatch Terra out of her grip and end it all right there. But there's just more daunting silence, and between the fleeting seconds that flit by, Tifa realizes what it all means.

She's broken through to her for what could be the millionth time in Dissidia. And then she remembers, that above all else, that Light has a heart. Hidden behind some steel and ice that takes ages to crack through to see hints of, sure, but it's still there. Still well and alive.

Even though Tifa knows this, she doesn't know the precise reasoning behind Lightning's actions. She can make some potshot guesses — Maybe she just didn't want to hurt me in that way, or thought about what Vaan would say — but she can never be certain.

Whatever it is, it's due to one of the many things she's got pent up inside herself, just like every person does. That much she's sure of.

"For fuck's sake, what the hell," Lightning says, but the tone isn't terrifying for Tifa to decode. "Fine. You win, Lockheart. I really shouldn't be doing this…"

Lightning reluctantly holsters her gunblade, gaze still directed away. "But if she loses control of herself again, she won't be lucky next time."

Tifa fights back the haunt of Lightning's last words, finally free to relish in the solace that makes her want to thrive. Adrenaline pumps her exhausted legs and arms and gets her to spring to her feet, Terra rolling off gently onto the ground — though she wishes she didn't jump up because she can't take the sudden surge of pain.

She falls forward, but Lightning catches her with sturdy arms, all hints of coldness and rage sapped from her face and replaced with barely-perceptible surprise as she looks back at Tifa. Grinning, Tifa wraps her arms around her warm neck, nestles her chin on Lightning's shoulder. Pink tips of hair rest against her face, a little knotted, a little soft, cushioning her soiled chin.

She sends thanks to whatever gods or higher beings are up there, for giving her this one little miracle. Thank you. Thank god. She'd been separated from all of them for so long. And in the warming seconds that fall by, it's as if they're just two normal girls in a normal world, and that they've never been separated for days that felt like forever.

"Thank you so much, Light," she tells her, hope thriving in her near breathless tone. "And I'm so glad you're okay."

Tifa can feel Lightning's barely-there smile. Piercing fingers pat away at Tifa's back, awkwardly so. "Same goes for you. I have no idea how people like you get by in places like this."

"Hey, don't underestimate us, Miss I-take-everything-too-seriously. We've got our ways."

Lightning laughs a short, sharp laugh. It's concise and blunt, just like she always is. "Right, right. Anyway, I gotta get you fixed up. You look like shit, Lockheart. And so does she."

Chuckling, Tifa loves that the reply comes naturally. "Yeah, well, so do you. Girls like us, getting out in the open 24/7 and fighting every day? We're doomed to look like this all the time."

Tifa knows that this all won't last forever. That the stars will succumb to morning, and that she and Light will have to get a move on eventually. And that she'll have to wake up to another grueling day and live out her messy life further.

So she makes sure to drink it all in. One of her friends being okay after all, having a new one to be with, having a shot at survival at all.

Smile not waning, Tifa Lockheart plants her feet firmly in the damp sand and doesn't let up on her embrace.

Rift: Remember what I said about gateways being meta'd? The Rift closing happens in the plain old Land of Discord and not the Empyreal Paradox for a reason related to that. ;)

XII: Off-topic but I started playing FF XII: TZA this past week and I've been loving it so far. Ivalice is a pretty immersing world to explore. I've seen the cutscenes for XII before but it's been a while so it's been nice re-experiencing the story while playing it myself. Balthier and Fran are my favorite characters in the group for sure.