Quick author's note—this is essentially an attempt at explaining why and how Genesis disappeared from the world during the four or so most eventful years of its history, as well as the ending scene in Dirge of Cerberus. I know it conflicts with what little canonical information has been provided, but I think that the canon explanation doesn't make sense. Reappearing to protect the world is all very well, but that doesn't explain how come he was nowhere to be found in the years when the Planet was in the most danger.
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice
(Loveless, Act V)
The final act is over and done. Wings of light and dark shed their feathers. Of the Hero, the Prisoner, and the Traveler—which am I, truly?—two have faded from existence, returning to the Planet, and the third now chooses to vanish among stone and water.
Bathed in moonlight, kneeling among the rocks, I pray the Goddess grants me slumber. I am weary of the world, and the isolation that comes with living within it. Is it cowardly to run away from my self-assigned duty to liberate the world? Is it selfish to achieve peace at last, if only through silencing my restless thoughts?
But my suffering remains unrelieved through the hours, my doubts ever growing. Why did the Goddess cure me, a monster, of degradation? My existence, the soul I fought to salvage by fleeing Deepground just a short time ago, is meaningless. All is nothing, now that my mission has failed.
When my eyes finally close come sunrise, through no divine miracle but my own earthly exhaustion, my sleep is fitful. I hear a voice calling to me out of the darkness, murmuring my name in my ear, and my soul stirs uncomfortably. The words are indistinct, fading and flickering in and out like a wavering radio signal. Their sound is somehow familiar, but softer than it had ever been before, and there's a threatening undercurrent that sets me on edge.
Sephiroth, I realize, placing the voice in my memory, and open my eyes to find myself in a dream. I stand in darkness, but the Lifestream winds around me, offering some dim illumination. And he stands before me, impossibly, looking no different than the day on which I last saw him.
At my utterance, Sephiroth raises his head opens his eyes. You came, he observes tonelessly. I wondered if you heard me.
The more I stare at him, the more I sense something fractured deep inside, and the intuition saddens me more than anything. The way he can no longer smile with all his mouth, the glassiness of his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the twitch in his hand—something irreparable has been broken.
My heart freezes. I was the one to shatter his soul so long ago, in a selfish and misguided desire to protect my own. What reason can he have to appear before a traitor such as myself?
I drop my gaze and close my eyes, thinking back to the day I first heard news of his presumed death. Remorse had once been an emotion unfamiliar to me, but my hand in his fall taught me the meaning of contrition. The guilt for my actions was overwhelming; I had not realized until that moment how deeply I still felt for Sephiroth, how unbearably sorry I was for so pointlessly destroying his perception of the world.
And as I fell asleep that night, and almost every night thereafter for years, I begged forgiveness for driving him towards the harsh light of truth when he had lived in darkness all his life.
I was in denial for months when I heard of his death, for more reasons than just an attempt to absolve myself of my inextricable involvement. First Class SOLDIER Sephiroth, the perfect monster, killed in action? Impossible. And it wouldn't have been the first time Shinra lied. They had spread falsehoods about my own demise, after all, and about a great many fewer trivial matters than mere casualties. Even when I fought the puppy long since grown into a wolf, I had my doubts about the truth surrounding Sephiroth's disappearance.
One would think his presence before me would be reassuring, then. But as the green light of the Lifestream lends Sephiroth a seemingly spectral glow, I recognize that perhaps Shinra told the truth after all.
The time will soon come for me to return to life and reconquer the Planet for Mother, says Sephiroth, and I cannot fathom the emotion clouding his voice; it seems to be a combination of pain and pride. He raises his arms with dignity to the heavens and stares up into the blackness stretching infinitely above us, unbroken by stars, and says no more.
How are you here? I ask, slowly, cautiously. Sephiroth's eyes snap to mine, his features distorting into a sudden scowl as his arms fall to his sides. I had never seen him angry before the last day we met, and it does not suit him any more now than it did then. (I wonder how much is left of the Sephiroth I once knew.)
Our cells are connected. He speaks with more authority than ever before, a prince among monsters, and his words chill me with dread and reignite my remorse for reaching inside and tampering with his core. I can only bow my head unwillingly, unable to meet his wintry eyes.
Sephiroth takes a few steps forward and rests a startling hand on my shoulder—heavily, as though he is using my comparative solidity as support. I heard you from the Lifestream, he says quietly, looking me full in the face with unsettling earnestness, and I have no choice but to reciprocate. You're tired of waking each day. You want to withdraw from this world.
Yes, I say eventually, at a loss for words. Sephiroth's eyes are ever so slightly unfocused, unblinking, and I search their depths for a meaning, but find only fragments of disjointed emotions. But I don't want to die, I add hesitantly, and the afterthought sounds childish as it tumbles from my lips.
Sephiroth only smiles secretively. If you help me take back the Planet, I will grant your wish.
Why? Why would he preserve me in such a way, after all I said and did to him—even considering whatever I could do to help him in his new mission? But I cannot voice such questions. Perhaps it came too close to home, an admission of guilt. Instead, I can only ask, How?
Jenova is your mother, too. You will prove a valuable ally, if you choose to heed her call… as I am.
We lock eyes, and I know Sephiroth will say no more: I must take or leave his offer as it is, without either the knowledge of what I am meant to do to help him or how long my respite will be. And if I refuse? I ask cautiously, knowing already that the alternative will not be worthwhile.
Sephiroth only moistens his lips, regarding my heart pensively (its beat quickens under his relentless gaze), and does not speak.
I am ashamed to admit that it is first out of fear that I say, I'll help you, and only the next moment for any more rational concerns. And even then, they are selfish. I still wish for the complete destruction of all that is Shinra—the obliteration of their disgusting corruption. But more than anything, I want Sephiroth's rarely bestowed forgiveness. I want to be a part of whatever life Sephiroth has chosen, as he was once a part of mine. Plainly speaking, I want Sephiroth.
But can this fractured version of him provide me that?
Sephiroth's eyes narrow as he tilts his head, carefully evaluating my expression. He says nothing, neither accepting nor rejecting my offer of loyalty. Perhaps he thinks me a coward, joining the side I think more likely to win. I must convince him otherwise.
You claim you will return to life if I follow your orders, I say, as boldly as I dare. Sephiroth's fingers finally relax, dropping back to his side as he looks away from me. I yearn to continue, to ask whether he will return to the way he once was, the rival I loved, or simply a physical version of this broken form—but the words stick in my throat.
Sephiroth must know what I mean, because he gives a single, harsh laugh. First Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos, he says, paralleling my words from that fateful day, and my blood freezes. Are you turning your back on me again?
The last word bites into me, and I shake my head, more resolutely. I made Sephiroth the way he is, or at least struck one of the first blows in the barrage that shattered him. Perhaps my duty now is to comply with his new ambitions, and by doing so, work to reverse what I did to him so long ago.
Good, says Sephiroth, satisfied, and the barest hint of a smile—achingly familiar with a tinge of the alien—touches his face as he extends his hand. Now, will you uphold your duty as my brother? Will you join me in taking back the Planet that once was ours and ours alone?
I will, I say, with more conviction this time, and he nods approvingly as we shake hands to confirm our bargain. His bare skin is as cold as his heart has become, and I find myself relieved when I am allowed to release his icy palm. The last time he touched me, he had knocked an apple out of my hand; I always imagined, in line with this experience, that his first physical contact with me after my revelation would be punching me in the face, not this.
You will hear the call when it is time, says Sephiroth unreadably, and unconsciousness overtakes me so suddenly that I don't even have time to register the expression on his face before darkness conceals all.
Sephiroth's call does not come for a long time.
I am not conscious, but as with all periods of sleep, there are brief moments when I come closer to breaking the surface. Something feels wrong with the world—unbalanced—and my slumber becomes more fitful, fraught with nightmares.
Yet Sephiroth still does not awaken me.
Whether his restraint is to keep me safe through some lingering notion of friendship, or because I am simply unneeded as of now, I have no way of finding out. I simply continue to exist, unaware of the world outside my head just as I had wished, and await my summons to his cause. It never comes, but I hear muffled snatches of his voice, all meaning stolen by the roar of distant shadows.
They're more powerful than I thought, croaks Sephiroth one day, the first clear words I have heard in what might be years. I force open my sticky eyes to find myself standing in familiar darkness once more, the Lifestream swirling more agitatedly than before.
Sephiroth, bloody from countless cuts, rests on his hands and knees. He is panting as though from some great struggle, his bare chest rising and falling in ragged and shallow breaths. His single wing, exposed, droops at his side, Masamune pinned to the ground in his shaky left hand. His hair is in disarray, obscuring his face, but I imagine his teeth are grit in agony.
I sink to my knees, knowing there is nothing I can do for him in an imaginary space, and he looks up at me with some surprise. Did he not summon me, then? Is this not my call to action?
Genesis, says Sephiroth, and at the effort of speaking, he coughs and spits blood—but rather than heed my murmur to be silent for his own sake, he fights to continue. Your mission is different from the others, he manages, looking into my eyes dully, but can say no more, whether in elaboration or to explain his circumstances.
What happened? I ask desperately, searching Sephiroth's glassy eyes for an answer, but I receive none. His wounds are grievous indeed, enough so that any lesser man would surely be incoherent from the pain. I receive no response, save to be pushed aside with surprising strength. Out the corner of his eye, he casts an ugly look at the Lifestream, which extends its sparkling tendrils towards him as though tentative.
Holy. Before I can ask questions, Sephiroth heaves himself to his feet, using Masamune as a cane. Stumbling forward, he uproots his sword from the ground and hacks viciously at the Lifestream, driving it back. Don't touch me!
I think I understand what's going on. Sephiroth, I murmur, as reassuringly as I can. The Goddess is trying to heal you. Just as she healed me, cured me of my incurable degradation, gave me a second chance at life. A life in servitude of Sephiroth—a life over which he now had almost complete control—but a new life nonetheless, and one of my own choosing.
She's no Goddess, snaps Sephiroth, and I stare at him, appalled. She's an Ancient.
I blink, shocked. The Ancients are gone. They've been gone for thousands of years. The projects that produced monsters like myself and Sephiroth were intended to replicate their abilities, but by some ironic twist of fate, we inherited the abilities of their destroyer instead.
Only because I—killed the last one, growls Sephiroth, panting, and stabs Masamune into the ground to lean on it: the reflective surface beneath our feet ripples like water at the thrust. And yet—she still offers me—absolution!
Sephiroth lapses into muttering to himself, or perhaps to the Ancient he felled, and I cannot bring myself to listen to his ravings. He has not allowed me to awaken, and there is nothing I can do to help him. Eventually, as if having been made abruptly aware of my presence, Sephiroth falls silent and glances over his shoulder at me. Be patient, Genesis. I have not forsaken you.
His form flickers with the effort of remaining corporeal even in my imagination as he staggers away from me, taking up his sword again as he goes. I will my legs to move and follow, reaching out for him automatically, but shadows engulf him and everything else. Before I can even wonder what my mission has become, irresistible sleep overcomes me once more.
The third time I hear him, his voice speaks no words—just a scream of pain and rage.
I can tell it has been longer since our last meeting than between the first two, perhaps by years, but I again have no concept of what I have missed. Annoyed with my limited understanding of the world I once knew so well, I begin to find it strange that I had once craved this ignorance of the goings-on around me.
Sephiroth! I call out into the darkness, but there is no response.
I repeat his name after a long pause, wondering what will become of me if the man who controls my consciousness dissolves. Will I exist in the shadows for eternity? Or will I die unfulfilled? It occurs to me that I do not know if Sephiroth has made me immortal, or simply kept me alive. I don't know what has become of my body, or whether I even have one anymore.
No, I realize; it is not only for my own sake that I am concerned. (It is strange how selfishness is easier to embrace than the concept of caring once more for someone on whom I had turned my back long ago.) I fear for his safety because I once counted him among my friends, and I find that it no longer matters to me how he has changed. Sephiroth is still Sephiroth, broken or intact, and I am bound not only by vow but by friendship to serve him.
I open my eyes, expecting another dreamlike scene with the Lifestream driving away the shadows, but only darkness greets me. I close my eyes again, waiting for a long and uneasy time before a young woman's voice unexpectedly soothes my worries, and I finally slip back into dreamless unconsciousness.
I still can't remember what she said to comfort me.
Genesis, says Sephiroth's voice, and I feel my body stir for the first time in what must be years, though my soul remains locked blindly in my subconscious. The primary emotion in my heart is sleepy joy, relief at his dangerous presence. Your time is imminent, and your mission has changed.
What was that scream? As soon as I ask, something tells me that I am referring to an incident long since passed and no longer relevant. It doesn't matter; I still want to know what could cause him to cry out in such anguish.
Another of my strategies failed, says Sephiroth, somewhat impatiently. I can no longer rely on clones or remnants or Geostigma. You are my last hope. He sounds grudging, unwilling to say he is dependent on anyone, and I can feel myself smile at the task with which he sees fit to trust me.
This is my summons, then, the day I can start reshaping Sephiroth through subservience. What are my orders, then?
You are to track down and eliminate each of the people that have been responsible for my defeat in the past, says Sephiroth, sounding distinctly pleased with the way I phrased my question. He was never this power-hungry before, but I throw the thought away as soon as it crosses my mind. And when all of them have dissolved into their precious Lifestream, you will help me build a new future for the world.
I frown, and my muscles obey, though I still cannot open my eyes. Why did you not ask me to do so immediately? I brace myself for a violent admonition, but though Sephiroth is silent for a while, his presence is not angry, merely contemplative. That gives me the strength to continue. I could have helped you.
Because one of them could not be killed, says Sephiroth, surprising me with his forthright placidity. He seems oddly at ease, stable, almost the way I remember him. But Chaos has returned to the Planet, and now, all Cloud's companions are mortal.
I don't understand, nor do I know who Cloud is, but I have no time to ask. A shock wave, blissfully physical, interrupts our communication, rippling the substance surrounding my body, and my eyes finally flutter open. A watery orb around me shimmers suddenly with light and heat, bursting open with surprising force and dropping me to the ground.
I rise quickly, my senses taking in the cavern, the real world, at long last. Moonlight, dark and blue and silver, the colors of Sephiroth. His voice is faint, but still audible, as my eyes slide curiously to a half-familiar body lying on the rocks. That is one of the men who brought you to Deepground. He is the enemy of our enemies, and he shares Jenova's cells through yours. Take him, and use him well.
Approaching the fallen one, I step through the shallow puddles of water, swaying a little as my body recalls what it is like to move in a non-imaginary space, and feel a smile tug at my lips. My mind whirls with memories, dreams, my calling, the hopes of redemption for both myself and a beloved (if broken) friend. Stooping next to the man, I pick him up cautiously, my muscles aching to be used once more.
He does not stir at my touch, though I can feel his weak pulse beneath my gloved fingers. I stare up at the moon, a high wind spurring the clouds past it. Where shall I go? I ask Sephiroth, but I receive no answer, either because he believes the question beneath him or—a more disquieting notion—because I cannot hear his voice anymore. There is no time to dwell on the matter; I have been given my new duty, and I must fulfill it to atone for endless sins.
"It is not yet time for slumber," I murmur to the man I carry, my voice hoarse from disuse, but he does not react. Weiss, isn't it? The one who once told me he shared my genes, that my fate was to be his brother and to bring down those in charge of Deepground. He has no idea the extent of our true duties: not only to bring down merely those who rule some pitiful power company, or even those with whose elimination we have been charged, but to reshape an entire Planet.
I smile at nothing and no one. "We still have much work to do… my brother."