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8. Freedom and Memories

They had made it out. Zack could still barely believe it. After years cooped up in that place, they were free – and it turned out they had never actually left Nibelheim. The bastards had stored them under the burned out town, beneath Shinra Mansion. All that time and they hadn't even travelled a mile.

Cloud moaned softly. Zack raised his eyes, but seeing on his own back was an impossible feat without turning his head, and he couldn't turn his head without slicing Cloud to ribbons.

Should've left behind¸ was Alpha's opinion. Too heavy.

Zack's mind still flinched at the touch of someone else's thoughts. He wondered whether he would ever get used to that. He owed the wolf more than he could ever repay, but sharing his mind and body with another spirit? How was he supposed to react to that prospect?

The point was moot. If Shinra recaptured them, all bets were off. For now, all that mattered was putting distance between them and Nibelheim. Zack moved at a steady, loping pace. It should have felt strange, but his wolf body felt almost natural. Each muscle he stretched was his own, as wholly as his human arms and legs had been – and hopefully would be again when he changed back.

Alpha promised. Zack is Zack.

The Buster Sword point scraped the ground. Zack raised his head, neck straining. Angeal would never forgive him if he broke it so ignominiously. The Buster Sword was a weapon for fighting monsters and vampires. If it was ever damaged, it would be in battle, not being lugged across the countryside by a wolf-man and his comatose sidekick.

Should've left, Alpha insisted.

Academically, Zack knew that would have been the sensible thing. He had wasted precious minutes jawing the thing out of the cabinet Hojo's goons had locked it inside, and it was making his muscles ache now. Even so, once he found it, he could more easily have given up breathing before leaving the sword behind.

"Your stance is too loose!"

Angeal leaped in, pivoted on his leading foot and brought his staff down at an angle that would have cracked Zack's skull if he hadn't blocked it in time. The clunk of wood against wood echoed around the gym and the strength of the blow sent a painful quiver running up his arms to his shoulders. Angeal was putting only a fraction of his strength into the attack and it still felt like trying to stop a train with your bare hands.

"Yow!"

Angeal moved in again, swinging the staff down in a second, similar attack. Zack brought his own staff around in a fast arc, moving closer rather than away, as was probably wise. He parried the blow, but kept going, inside Angeal's defences. His strike had carried his hands around to protect him as he stepped in close for an elbow strike.

Zack yelped again as Angeal hooked the end of his staff between his ankles and flipped him over. The crash mat sent up a billow of dust. Zack blinked, the round end of the wood pressed against his throat.

"Better," Angeal said. He set the staff down at his side, like a Sherpa preparing to go into the mountains, and offered his other hand to help Zack up. "You took a real risk there at the end."

"For all the good it did me," Zack griped, accepting the hand. He was soaked in sweat, while Angeal wasn't even out of breath. The difference in their age and experience was a factor, but he felt like a complete novice even after six months' instruction.

"We learn from our defeats more than our victories," Angeal intoned.

"Am I supposed to write that down?"

He smiled. It took years off his face. "I'll let it slide this time." He wasn't actually all that old – Zack pegged him at somewhere from mid to late twenties – but he had that look everyone got when they had seen too much. Zack recognised it well. He saw it when he washed his face and looked in the mirror every morning.

He still marvelled that he was here at all. Listening to gossip amongst the other cadets had told him Angeal was one of the Elite, a cluster of men whose exploits were rapidly passing into legend. He wasn't as well known as Sephiroth, but was just as authoritative and his name carried as much weight within Shinra.

Zack had learned all this after Angeal elected to become his mentor and enrolled him into the pre-SOLDIER programme, skipping him ahead of cadets who had already done a year's training. They worked tirelessly to make up the difference, and Zack's skills had come on in leaps and bounds, but nothing explained just why Angeal had chosen him out of all potential students. He had never been a mentor before. In fact, it was unusual for anyone in SOLDIER to take on students unless they were specifically assigned to cadet training. When he asked Angeal about it, however, his answers were less than satisfying.

"You showed great promise in how you acquitted yourself in Gongaga."

It still hurt to hear and remember his hometown. "I nearly died, went crazy and now a bunch of my memory is missing. How is that acquitting myself with great promise?"

"Nobody sees their own potential the way an experienced eye sees it."

"Not more sayings!"

Angeal liked his sayings. He was full of them. Most were good advice, but after a while they got pretty tedious when all you really wanted was a straight answer. By and by, though, Zack realised he wasn't going to get one. Angeal was wise, strong, kind and stern as the situation required, but he was also stubborn as a field of mules.

"Just accept that there is something in you that I felt deserved my attention. You've proved yourself an adept student, so the chance I took on you was worth it."

Zack glowed with every compliment. He would be sixteen soon – the age most boys were when they became cadets – but thanks to his work with Angeal he hadn't fallen prey to typical teenage gawkiness. In fact, he was more graceful than even those year-old cadets looking to for spots on the pre-SOLDIER programme. Ever since he joined Shinra, Zack had become infinitely comfortable in his own skin. He had overheard one of the ranking officers talk about his skills, but it was Angeal's praise he sought.

Well, and Sephiroth's. Zack would never be able to settle up the debt he owed the Silver General. Sephiroth had saved his life and orchestrated the means by which he had been saved from his own self-destruction afterwards. As the photogenic face of SOLDIER, and Shinra in general, Sephiroth didn't spend much time here. When he was around he made time to look in on Zack and Angeal, garnering even more whispers of favouritism and resentment from the other cadets. Zack had few friends amongst them, but he didn't care. Sephiroth was Sephiroth, and he not only knew Zack's name, but spoke to him like an equal.

"I think I pulled every muscle in my body," Zack complained. He arched his back, hearing several vertebrae make cricking noises.

"It proves you've been working hard."

"When can we move onto swords?"

"When you can beat me with a staff."

Zack grumbled. Angeal's sword was almost more legendary than he was. It was totally unique, with a blade wider than Zack's whole head and longer than he was tall. He couldn't understand how anyone could possibly lift it, but Angeal carted it around like it was made from tissue paper.

The gym door opened. A familiar figure walked in, but stopped when it spotted them on the crash mats. Angeal raised his hand in greeting. The figure didn't reply, but turned and left again. The door slammed, sounding extra loud in the empty space.

"He still doesn't like me much, does he?" Zack murmured.

"Nonsense," said Angeal. "He's always been ill-tempered."

"You used to spend a lot of time with him, didn't you?"

For a moment Angeal didn't answer. "We used to spend a lot of time together, yes," he said eventually. "We were together before we joined Shinra. You might even say we were like brothers."

"Really?" Zack felt extra bad at coming between them. He had monopolised Angeal's time for six whole months. No wonder Genesis, the third Elite SOLDIER, was pissed off.

As if sensing these thoughts, Angeal turned to look at him. "Do not blame yourself. Genesis and I have been growing apart for some time. We have certain … ideological differences."

"What?"

"We just think differently about our place in the world and what we should be doing in it."

Zack frowned. "I don't understand."

"Neither does he." Angeal sighed and swung his staff up to balance on his shoulder like a bindle-stick. All he was missing was the spotted handkerchief on the end. "C'mon, Puppy. You're beginning to stink."

"Why do you call me that?" Zack whined. If he was going to have a nickname, it could at least be a tough-sounding one. Puppy made him sound like some small fluffy helpless thing that women cooed over. Not that he would have minded women cooing over him, but he would rather they hung off his pecs and told him how strong he was than remarked on his fluffiness.

Angeal smiled again. "I heard it said once and it stuck. I think it suits you."

Zack harrumphed and headed for the showers.

To Be Continued …

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