Chapter Sixty-One: The Catalyst
When Tifa came back downstairs, she found Cloud with his head in his hands, obviously distressed. "What happened?" she asked, worriedly.
"Aerith came," he said simply.
Tifa wasn't as surprised as Cloud thought she should have been. "She's always watching over us. Why are you so worried?"
"I'm worried about what she said."
Tifa joined him at the table and listened silently as Cloud repeated his conversation with the flower girl.
"I'm sure there is a good reason for what she's doing," Tifa said when he had finished. All the same, she sounded a little unsure. "But you're going to Faramir, regardless of what you've heard?"
"I can't rest until this is settled. I don't think any of us can."
Tifa paused for a long time. "We'll go with you."
Cloud shook his head. "If this is as awful as it's said to be I don't want—"
"That's exactly why we'll go! All of us! Avalanche. As a team, just like before."
"You're speaking for others," Cloud reminded her. "Cid, Barret, and even—no, especially Yuffie—probably have better things to do."
"Better than to save Aralyn?" Tifa said, always the voice of reason. "I'm calling the others."
Cloud could have sworn he saw a streak of silver run past the door, but when he turned to investigate, it was gone.
Verian ran down the streets, his orders clear in his mind. In the last few days, it had almost been as if the fates were helping them to succeed. Things that might have been obstacles magically fell into place.
Vincent was searching for Aralyn and as such, would lead them right to Faramir. Yazoo had been pushed to the brink by Kadaj and with any luck, would act as the catalyst that they so desperately needed. Sephiroth was ignorant of the scheme. There was only one simple sentence he had to deliver to Avalanche to connect all the events.
With a few meager words, a convergence would be set into motion that would put the last pieces into place.
Vincent walked on, even though it was clearly past midnight. The moon was full, giving him enough light to navigate by. Even if it hadn't been, he wasn't going to let something as trivial as the dark slow him down.
He was now entering a forest, as he had heard something slip from Aralyn once that seemed to hint toward the place. Small, timid noises from the creatures of the night were the only other sounds beside his slow, steady footfalls.
He turned abruptly as a twig snapped, the sound echoing loudly in the still, tense air. His hand was at Cerberus, ready to draw at any more provocation. A bush at his right quivered, small and rapid footsteps accompanying the movement.
"Come out," Vincent commanded. "No tricks."
The leaves shimmered again and then a quiet, timid voice sounded. "Vincent? Is that you?"
Vincent dropped his gun, finding that he had lost all control of his body for the moment. He remained rigid. He knew that voice. "Aralyn?"
There was a small, sad laugh, and Vincent noted that the voice was slightly higher and younger. "Well, not exactly…"