Chapter Twelve: Rescue and Revival
Sephiroth continued toward Aralyn, stopping at her side. He gazed at her intently, but his face, as always, betrayed no hint as to what he was thinking or what he was planning to do. Loz looked at him in anticipation, clearly expecting him to finish her off. Kadaj looked noticeably unnerved by his master's arrival, and Yazoo, in sharp contrast, looked hopeful and relieved.
Aralyn was afraid to look at him, but even more afraid to look away. She found that her memories of him were flawed; she had forgotten to some degree how powerful he was and how haunting his dead, unfeeling emerald eyes were, especially as he stared down at her from his full height. She fought hard against the shivers that ran up and down her spine.
"Leave," Sephiroth commanded his remnants. The three men quickly obeyed, but before they had gone too far he spoke again. "Yazoo."
The remnant stopped in reply to his commander's voice.
"You know your place," Sephiroth continued. "Do not make me elaborate."
Yazoo scoffed quietly, pivoting and serenely following the others. He was going slower than the rest, no doubt meant to convey some sort of rebellion to Sephiroth. The general took no heed except for a brief flash of comprehension in his eyes.
The place was silent except for Aralyn's heavy breathing. Sephiroth raised his view, staring out at the horizon for an eternity before he knelt at her side. Silently, his face still blank, he reached for her arm, pulling up the nearly shredded sleeve and tracing one finger along the scar from her operation as a child, now so faded with time that it was invisible except for those who knew where to look. She shivered and tried to retract her arm, but he held fast.
She rolled her head to the opposite side and gave up, knowing that she stood no chance against him even when she was at full strength. She closed her eyes and drifted, shamefully aware that tears were trickling from her eyes. Sephiroth neither moved nor spoke, showing no sign that he even cared for her fate.
It was when she was just about to slip into her final sleep when Sephiroth finally reacted to her situation. He rolled her so that she lay on her back, then one hand connected with her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. Before she could realize what he was doing, he pressed his other hand firmly on where her broken ribs were.
Aralyn's eyes shot open, and she screamed, attempting to sit only to be held by Sephiroth's inhuman strength to the ground. He hummed in something akin to satisfaction as the desired effect took place; the pain had caused her to gasp in a deep breath.
"Are you going to breathe on your own?" Sephiroth asked. "Or must I continue?"
"Why not?" Aralyn asked. Her voice was weak, but was tinged with bitterness and sorrow. "This is what you wanted…isn't it?"
Sephiroth didn't reply, but pressed much harder on her ribs when her breathing slowed again.
"Stop it!" Aralyn cried, fighting against him in vain. "You've done enough! Just leave me!"
"You'll die," he stated dryly.
"So let me! I don't care."
Sephiroth sighed softly, as if he were dealing with a particularly troublesome child. "You lie. I know how you fear the darkness." He removed his hands from her shoulder, but brought them back again as a multicolored glint caught his eye.
"You still have it?" he asked. He seized the necklace in his hand and held fast to it. "It's a child's trinket, Aralyn. You really should grow up." With that, he yanked on the chain, and the necklace broke. There were two charms now; he noticed because one of them snapped in his hand.
Aralyn grabbed his hand before he could drop the necklace. "Maybe…I don't…want to."
He shook his head, his long silver hair shimmering in the moonlight. "Keep your precious memories, then." He dropped the broken necklace and the shard of the charm into her palm.
He withdrew his hand, which was now streaked with Aralyn's blood. He looked at it intently, his lips twitching as if the blood caused him some degree of pain. He then turned to her, seeming to analyze how deeply she was hurt for the first time.
Handling her carefully, he slid one hand under her neck and put the other under her knees. He lifted her slowly, adjusting her so that she was held close against his body. When he had pulled himself up to full height, he began to take her away. He didn't seem to notice that her blood was flowing freely, staining his clothes and hands in crimson. He didn't turn his gaze to her once throughout their journey, staring stubbornly ahead instead.
She tried to fight at first, but soon stopped due to fatigue. Though her face was set in an expression of anger, she couldn't deny that she was, at long length, where she had dreamed of being every day and night of the past years: in his arms.