Chapter Sixty:

Vincent had learned long ago to trust these strange knowings—for lack of a better word—that came to him. Sometimes they were detailed dreams and other times brief premonitions that happened in the moment. He'd known Cloud would find his sister and that Sephiroth would share her body. He knew she'd find the baby, whether alive or dead had been uncertain. He was glad it was the former.

Now it didn't take a strange premonition to know Caia was dying. Anyone could see that. Cloud would surely blame himself, again. He should quit doing that.

What Vincent didn't know was why he was outside babysitting a dying summon. The words had been out of his mouth before he'd realized he was speaking. But once they were out, he knew it was where he needed to be. He'd find out why soon enough.

He watched it—her?—with a clinical eye. She was a cat-like creature and could change her size at will. While he'd watched she'd gone from house-cat size, to the size of a bus and everything in between. Her body would blur, as though she was being summoned, then solidify abruptly, eliciting a yowl of pain from the convulsing creature.

He knelt and picked up the shattered pieces of materia. They were cool when materia should be warm. He'd never seen anything like it. She really must be dying.

He reached a hand toward the summon when she was at her smallest size. Perhaps she'd let him move her to the airship? But she rounded on him, snapping glistening fangs. He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Fine. We'll wait here."

And they did. And what an odd sight they made, him watching in stoic silence, while the feline-esque summon writhed and faded in and out of existence.

Abruptly the writhing stopped, the summon closing her eyes and breathing deep. Her chest rumbled in a purr as she shrank back down (she'd been car sized again) to the size of a large jungle cat. She stretched out, the purring-rumble continuing and the hairs on Vincent's neck stood up. Something was happening. The more he stared, the stranger she looked, until he realized she was changing shape before his eyes.

Vincent cocked his head. Oh. Things were about to get interesting. Very interesting.

He liked interesting.

Aerith had sent him back to the last place he'd been before dying. He hoped it would be near Caia, or even with her again, rendering the enchantment Aerith had taught him unnecessary. But he'd forgotten Hero had been the last one to touch him, snatching his soul from the air before it had vanished. He remembered Caia trying to summon her back, but it hadn't worked, and Hero had been in unspeakable pain when he died, leaving her alone.

She settled immediately when she sensed him, purring deep in her chest. Sharing space with her was not the same as with Caia. Hero had been there for most of his life, the two of them growing and coming of age together. Her thought process was simple and straightforward, childlike and animalistic.

He'd been a teenager when she'd first learned how to change size. As she'd grown stronger, she developed new abilities. New powers. Borrowing power and gifts from him, and he borrowed them from her. They grew together. Their development forever altered by the other's presence in their life.

In his twenties, she'd grown in a burst of power again. This time developing the ability to change aspects of her appearance. Adding poisoned spikes here, an extra tail there. Then gone the next day, when they no longer suited her.

Since Aeva had first given Caia the summon's materia, he sensed Hero was ready for yet another powerful burst of growth. She had spent so long dormant and lazy while with Aeva. She was his summon, through and through. Now he fanned the spark, sending Hero the template of where she should go with her new power. She leapt at the opportunity and the long, painful process began. He sent images of Caia dying and how he could save her to impress upon her the need for speed. It hurt more, but time was of the essence.

Organs moved, limbs changed. Bones cracked and regrew. Only minutes had passed, but it felt like hours as pain reshaped Hero's body into one with which he was intimately familiar. He felt the ground beneath him, the rumble of the airship above him, the breeze against his skin. The pain receded, Hero settling into his forearm to sleep off the change. He hoped he'd be able to summon her again someday, but there were more important things on his mind at the moment.

He took stock of his body with quick efficiency, before listening to his surroundings with trained ease. He wasn't alone. He pushed to his feet in a graceful movement and turned to face the ex-Turk—who looked neither surprised nor concerned about his sudden appearance.

Instead, Vincent held out a gloved hand, Hero's materia in several pieces. He had not drawn his weapon.

"Caia?" Sephiroth asked. His voice sounded as it always had.

Vincent gave a lazy nod toward the ship above them. "Dying," he said like most people would tell you the time. "You better hurry. Maybe find pants."

Sephiroth chanced a quick look down. Ah. You come into the world with nothing and that was apparently true of unusual births as well. Nothing he could do about it yet, so he kept his eyes on the potential threat.

"You aren't going to stop me?"

A raised eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

There were many good reasons, but Sephiroth wouldn't argue. He had only one goal. Save Caia.

Vincent held out the broken materia again and Sephiroth took it with a nod. Then he checked his power levels and breathed a sigh of relief. He had enough energy to teleport to the airship.

He appeared in Caia's room, alone, thankfully, and grabbed a pair of her sweat pants. She had several of his old T-shirts too, an attempt to make him feel more at home in her body. Damn he loved that woman.

He dressed quickly, pocketing one of the elixirs they'd brought, and glanced in the closet mirror. Everything was as he'd remembered, Hero's copying his likeness as she'd remembered it about a year before his death. Physically he wouldn't be much older than Aeva now.

He lifted his shirt to check the scar on his side. Still there. Removing it had been one of Jenova's improvements, but he'd liked that scar. Liked remembering he'd been human, even if only a little bit. He dropped the shirt and pulled his silver hair back into a low ponytail before leaving the room and heading towards sick bay.