There are few places on board the Highwind where Vincent can find relative safety. Its too crowded, too tightly packed. It's – awful. Everything roars and steams and shudders with the wind, voices echoing across metal ramparts, all around people and things and noise –

He's shaky. Vincent clutches the cape tighter around himself and ducks into a corner, avoiding a few crewman coming down the hall. He doesn't relax until they're gone. Then he runs into the hall, moving quickly and silently, ducking into the first door he finds.

It's… quiet. A miracle. A large open space, perhaps meant for gatherings and relaxation. No one's here now. A deep sigh escapes him, shoulders lowering. It's been… a long few days.

The trip to Cosmo Canyon from Rocket Town would take at least a week, they were told. That was three days ago. It's been three days of hiding and hovering in the darkness, trying to keep an eye on Cloud. Now, he's just trying to function properly. This is… awful. He almost misses being trapped in a dark room for thirty years.

Almost.

With a huff, the man slumps against the wall, a rare moment of peace. It's been quite the ordeal. Hands shaking, Vincent lets his weight fall completely against the wall as he slides to the bottom.

He's been… avoiding it. Now it's hitting him all at once. Hojo, a shade from the past, slinking back into his life. That awful moment when the doors on the transportation carrying him to Shinra had opened and the man had been right there, right within reach, and completely safe, out of Vincent's grasp. Wrath colors his eyes red just thinking about it.

And everything else… Sephiroth, Cloud, their friends, the danger. He wants to take these children and run far, far from Shinra, - and of course, for some, it's too late. Black guilt chokes him, hovering over him like a storm cloud, as he thinks of Lucrecia's son. Shivers wrack his body as he curls into himself.

The door opens.

For a moment he doesn't react – footsteps approach, and he glances at familiar dirty brown boots.

"… Vincent?"

If it were anyone else, he would have hid immediately. Anyone else would never have known he was there. But it's Cloud, who approaches slowly, and takes a seat near to Vincent on the ground.

His voice is soft, concerned. "You okay?"

The brunette can't help but laugh. "Define okay."

Cloud sputters a little. "Careful, my sense of humor is rubbing off on you."

At that, the man finally lifts his head. Cloud sits beside him, knees drawn to his chest, a small smile on his face and concern written in his brow. Vincent doesn't know what to say. He should be the one comforting and helping, Cloud's so young and been through so much lately –

"I should ask that of you."

Of course, the boy shrugs and waves him off. "I'm fine. Really." His head falls back against the wall. "I just… missed you, I guess." Vincent blinks. Cloud chuckles at his look. "We haven't had a lot of time to ourselves, lately."

Now that he thinks of it, it's true. For years, Vincent and Cloud had hours of time to themselves, on their own in the mansion. But since Midgar, they've been separated, and stuck with larger crowds, constantly on the move from one thing to the next. He'd barely noticed. So preoccupied with…

Laughter. The flash of light on spectacles. That awful sanitized smell. Her son, so distant, so pained, so clearly broken. His fault.

"… I'm sorry." In being bogged down and bothered by sins of the past, he's caused another sin. "I did not mean to withdraw."

"No, I'm not blaming you," Cloud shakes his head. "Stuff just happens. I just wanted to hang while we had the chance if that's – okay?"

Vincent doesn't have to say a word. He meets Cloud's eyes – of course it's okay. The young man smiles in return and Vincent feels the clouds over his heart disappating somewhat. The pain and guilt is still there, but pushed back, to be dealt with another time.

"Vincent…" The blonde starts slowly. The brunette sits up a little. "What happened… at the reactor?" Cloud is looking at him, blue eyes dim and tired, rather than brilliantly glowing like usual. "What was there?"

He hesitates. "A monster." Turning away, his eyes narrow. "Monstrosities, more of Hojo's doing."

"Did it have to do with Sephiroth?"

Vincent nods, slowly.

"Could it…" Sighing, Cloud scratches his head. "Hurt him?"

Quirking a brow, Vincent turns his gaze back. "Did something happen?"

"No, I just – was wondering," Like he can't see through the nerves on the boy. He's watched Cloud grow up, from a shy awkward teen to a brave headstrong young man, who still doesn't know how to lie. At least, not well enough to fool a Turk. "What was there?"

He scowls. "Let the past lie." It's too close to the surface, to everything that hurts now, for him to dwell upon.

The doors to the room slide open again – Vincent freezes. Leaps to his feet fast enough that most would never see him. But before he can vanish into the rafters, Cloud moves, and just when Vincent is about to take flight, he feels his cloak tug hard on his neck.

"Hnnk," He grunts, surprised and grimacing as he grabs for his collar. He spins – Cloud's boot is on his cloak. The boy is smiling innocently, as if he has no idea what he's done, and it's too late now – Sephiroth is in the room.

Tensing, Vincent freezes again, no longer able to escape and completely unsure of what to do. This man… this poor child wants too much from him, wants what Vincent cannot give (What he fears to give), and it hurts to see the pain and disappointment on his face.

"Cloud. Mr. Valentine." Sephiroth is poised, demure, perhaps not even noticing Vincent's partial escape and Cloud's interference. Or, ignoring it. Nothing shows on his face. Now, this is one who knows how to lie.

"Hi." Cloud smiles.

"… hello." Vincent hides as best he can behind collar and hair.

Sephiroth glances from one to the other, perhaps noticing finally the strange tense air. He fidgets. Then, glancing at Vincent, clears his throat. Shifts from one foot to another. He's… nervous.

"I realized that while Cloud has informed me of your skill and abilities, I have not truly seen them for myself." He begins. "I… hoped that perhaps we could spar."

Vincent blinks. For a minute, he stands in stunned shock. He'd expected a lot of things from Sephiroth, a lot of questions and demands, but not… this.

"Sounds great," Cloud grins. "Vincent could stand to left off some steam, I think."

The boy is right, as loathe as Vincent is to admit it. He scowls in such a way at Cloud that the boy knows he's been forgiven, and in reply the blonde smiles sheepishly. His heart, what's left of it, is warm and soft and all too fond of this boy. He cannot deny him.

For that matter, Vincent thinks, looking to the silverette, he does not think he could deny this one either. Not of much.

"Very well," He manages. "Let us spar."

Cloud about beams in glee, chuckling and rubbing his palms together.

"We're here!"

Tifa sits up, surprised. "Really?"

"Well," The Captain shrugs. "Not Cosmo Canyon but the other one. Nibelheim. Your boy asked me to stop here first." He turns, and she sees he's chewing on a stick in his mouth. "You stayin' here?"

Frowning, the girl is slow to shrug. "I dunno." She'd tagged along on a whim, eager for action, happy to help her friend. But this is all getting a little too big. Out of her league. What has Cloud gotten himself into?

… but can she really just walk away and let him deal with it?

"We'll see," She says finally, moving towards the nearest window. At least, for now, she can enjoy the view. And she does, until voices carrying down the hall peak her interest.

"Zack, you need not do this,"

"Come on!" Said brunette enters first, grinning with his arms thrown wide. "Does it really take both of Shinra's best to take down a handful of runaway rebels? Come on, Seph," The man winks, hand on his hip. "You know I've got this."

The other seems to be inclined to agree but reluctant to show it. "I – suppose it is a bit overkill."

"You still haven't found your answers." Zack points at him. "We're right here. It would be a wasted opportunity. Let Cid drop you off, we'll head off the insurgents at Cosmo. We have to come back by here anyway!"

"Well, we don't have to," One of Cid's nearby airmen comments offhand. "It is one route to Midgar, but it's not actually the most direct or fuel efficient –"

The man is interrupted when Cid removes the stick from his mouth and flicks it at him. "Ow!"

"Shaddup."

"Come on," Zack insists tiredly. "When's the last time you did something for yourself? Shinra's controlled your whole life up till now. It doesn't have to be that way forever."

That seems to do it. The mans' eyes darken, and narrow thoughtfully. Finally he sighs, and gives a nod, to which Zack cheers.

"You win," he smiles lightly at his friend. "You may continue on with the Highwind. I will … stay, and investigate Nibelheim." The other man, still grinning, wraps an arm around Sephiroth's shoulder, pulling him into a friendly embrace. Tifa watches, suddenly nervous, and unsure of the reason why.

She just… has a bad feeling. And very suddenly wishes that the man standing in front of her, shyly smiling and putting up with his best friend's antics, was going anywhere but her hometown.

The group diverges; the ship flies off into the horizon, vanishing from sight, leaving behind Cloud, Tifa, and Sephiroth.

"You did not have to join me."

Cloud shrugs, turning to him. "Sure I did." He smiles. "Be rude to leave you stranded after I started this mess."

"Besides," Tifa interjects. "Given the time… we should be home." She levels Cloud with a pointed look.

He blinks. "Uhh…" She raises an eyebrow. "Oh!" Startled, the man blinks, before nodding in agreement. "Right."

"Is there something I should know?"

They both turn to Sephiroth. "Sorry," Cloud chuckles. "It's a local thing. We have a memorial every year around this time. My mom will want me around."

"And my Dad will definitely want me around," Tifa sighs heavily. "Maybe I should've stayed on the plane."

"Nobody would've blamed you."

They get walking, moving towards Cloud's house, with the blonde in the lead.

"Do you not get along with your family, Tifa?"

The woman looks up, surprised to see the silver haired man's eyes on her. "Uh…" She shrugs. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love him. But my dad can be – controlling. Especially since my mom died."

Sephiroth nods, as if he's understood. Cloud's heart aches knowing that it's probably just a façade – he doesn't understand any of this. Poor guy.

They come to the Strife house, the door opens, and Mrs. Strife stands, cane in hand, holding the door.

"Didn't expect you back so soon," She steps aside. Glancing past them as they walk in, the woman's gaze narrowed. "We missin' some folks?"

"We split up for a while, they'll be back."

She hums. "You… meet that fella I told you about?"

"Hmm? Cloud, in the middle of slipping off his coat, takes a moment to remember. "Right, the pilot. Yeah, we found him. He's gonna head to Midgar with us once a few other things are done.

"I see."

Cloud strips the jacket off, brushing snow off himself where it slipped through. It's damn cold. He thinks about drawing a bath, though he'll offer it to Sephiroth first of course, it's only polite –

He realizes suddenly that he's cold because the front door is still open. His mother stands there, leaning on the edge of the door, gaze downturned, lost in thought.

Cloud steps forward. "Ma? You okay?"

She shakes it off. "Fine," She says with a tight smile, shutting the door. "I'm just fine."

That night finds Cloud and Sephiroth alone, in his bedroom.

It is the stuff his childhood fantasies are made of. Of course, in the fantasies, they weren't sitting crouched on the floor in his crummy old beanbag chairs, pouring over complicated documents and secret company paperwork.

"Are you getting anything out of this?" Cloud asks with a sigh. "Cause I think I just read the same paragraph over and over and I don't remember if it was made up of words or just gibberish."

For a moment, the other doesn't respond. He's tense, head bowed, reading diligently and seeming to have few of the problems Cloud is. He looks ridiculous with his large frame and legs twisted into shape in the room, trying to fit in Cloud's chair, and between the floor and the short table. Every time the man moves his knee bumps the wood and jostles their work.

"Reunion." Sephiroth says finally. There's a thoughtful crease in his forehead. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Hours of annoying small talk with distant relatives." Sephiroth blinks at that, and eventually, Cloud gives in and shrugs. "No idea."

"It is mentioned throughout these papers. But they are incomplete. Rather like notes written in a hurry during work, rather than full reports."

"So, reports are missing." Cloud thinks suddenly of the library in the Mansion basement – the one that Vincent burnt to the ground. He mentions this to Sephiroth.

The man's face flares scarlet. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"He said…" Cloud, a bit flustered, tries to remember. "He said Hojo was lying. Manipulating the work or something. He was afraid you'd find it and believe what he was saying."

That mollifies him somewhat; but the man still looks confused, almost distraught. "Why could he not tell me this himself?"

"He's not good at talking about anything, let alone the past, Hojo, you, -"

Sephiroth sighs. "Perhaps more worrisome… what lies was Hojo attempting to get me to believe?"

Cloud tenses at the thought. "I don't know. Maybe… your parenthood?" Sephiroth's sharp eyes meet his. "I always thought it was weird that you had no official birth certificate, that Hojo didn't parade the fact that you were his kid to the world. Wouldn't he show off? But he doesn't. Maybe those "lies" in the reports were attempts to convince you that he is your dad."

"If that's the case…" The man frowns. "Then why not attempt to convince me from a young age? He has always denied it. Why change now?"

Hmm. Frowning, Cloud's shoulders droop. "I'm outta ideas."

Sephiroth sighs, tossing the paper aside. "Stabs in the dark are all we have." Leaning back, he sinks into the beanbag chair, silver hair splayed across it entirely. He barely fits, long limbs poking out everywhere, and its an endearing sight that Cloud can barely keep a straight face about. "Vincent has all the cards and won't show his hand."

Eventually, Cloud manages to find his voice, without laughing. "He'll show it. We just have to convince him." He leans forward. "You know it took me years to learn anything about him? He's a closed off person. It'll take time, but he'll tell you the truth."

Sighing, Sephiroth lifts a hand and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure I have time." He leans forward again. "What do you know about the reactor?"

"Nibelheim's reactor?" Cloud shrugs, leaning back and stretching his arms overhead. "It's nothing special."

"Is there nothing to make it stand out among the others?"

Cloud sees what he's trying to get at – trying to understand why the reactor had caused such a strong reaction in him, why he'd been driven to bloodlust and forcibly entered the building. Wracking his brain, Cloud stares into the ceiling, thinking… thinking…

Snapping back up, the man slaps his hands on his knees. "The memorial." Sephiroth blinks at him. "It's the only thing I can think of. The Reactor's a standard Shinra build, we barely even use it – out here, its too unreliable, we stick with fire and windmills, waterwheels, that kind of thing. Rustic."

"Quaint." Sephiroth teases. Cloud takes a moment to feel the swell in his heart that Sephiroth feels comfortable teasing with him, before gently kicking the table at him.

"Five years ago, there was this weird accident."

Sephiroth's gaze narrows. "Define weird."

"You saw how unmanned it was when we were there." Cloud says. "It wasn't always like that. Even though we didn't use it, it was an important investment, and the Mayor wanted it in top shape. There were about… forty, fifty people manning it? Then one day they all just disappeared. Vanished. Shinra came out and investigated, and a bunch of scientists types stayed for a few months, but nothing came of it. They're all presumed dead."

"Do you know who from Shinra was here?"

Cloud shrugs. "I have no clue. I wouldn't have recognized Hojo back then." He hadn't even met Vincent at the time.

With a tight frown, Sephiroth glares a hole into the tabletop. Then, quite suddenly, he stands.

"I need a moment to myself." He says, without meeting Cloud's eyes. Then he storms from the room, making barely a sound.

Shinra Mansion is painfully quiet.

Sephiroth is constantly aware of noise. Everything sound, every pin drop, sparks on his radar and grabs his attention. He can hear everything so strongly, so attuned with the world and his senses, that it's overwhelming. Suffocating. Even in his own apartment he can hear the people two floors up arguing and the guy three floors down and to the right snoring in bed.

But the mansion, a few miles from town, and completely abandoned, is… silent.

Sure, there was some noise. Rats scurrying and in a hurry. The monsters all but vanished at his presence. If they're still around they're hiding – smart choice. It's dank and dark and smells of mold and moist wood, creaks with every step he takes.

Yet, it's peaceful. In a way that most places in the world just aren't for Sephiroth.

Of course that's probably just the "abandoned" aspect, and also the fact that they're in the country, anyway. Sephiroth rarely leaves the city. Maybe that's something he should change.

Shaking his head, he moves on from his distracted thoughts, and heads for the basement.

They'd combed it once already. Then, after that unfortunate incident, Sephiroth had gone back once more. There were a few documents he took, but that was mostly it. Seeing the lab, the coffin, the rooms for himself… well, Cloud had told him. It was simply physical proof of the fact.

Sighing, Sephiroth slows to a halt, running a hand over his brow. What is he trying to accomplish?

He wants to know the truth. Wants to know what Hojo's goals are, what his aims are in reference to Sephiroth. More than that, he wants… wants to know who he is. Where he came from. And this place just crushes him, thinking that this was his home, the birthplace of his soul, where his mother and father met and fell in love, and were torn apart.

His fists clench at his sides. Sephiroth sighs and moves on.

He wanders, for want of anything to do. Cloud and Tifa are at the memorial with Cloud's mother, and the rest of the town. He has no place there. He'd offered, thinking it would be rude for a Shinra official in the area not to attend such a gathering, but Cloud had fervently informed him that the town would prefer otherwise.

"Oh, they'll say to your face that it was mighty polite of you," Cloud snorts. "But they hate outsiders. They'd rather you dropped dead."

So, he stayed away.

He thinks of the missions coming towards them, of the work to be done. Of what awaits in Midgar. Of… Vincent. Their spar the other day was informative, fascinating to say the least, but Sephiroth cannot claim its brought them any closer. He'd thought perhaps the man would relax, let down his barriers, and in doing so warm up more to Sephiroth's presence.

For a time it had worked. But once the fight drew to a close, the smirk and the cheerful gleam in Vincent's eyes vanished. He did too soon after.

Slowly, Sephiroth slumps into a dust laden chair in the laboratory. Loathe as he is to linger… he has nowhere else to be. Staring, he examines the equipment, the machinery, the table with leather straps. Vincent… was probably kept here. His heart pounds and burns like fire.

Whether or not Vincent actually wants him, or cares for him, Sephiroth cannot stop the yearning in his heart for the man. This last connection to his past, his family, his own identity. Free of Shinra and Hojo and their demands. Vincent, like Sephiroth, was ensared by them once – but broke free. Now he's on his own, fighting them, freeing himself from them.

Sephiroth would like to think he's doing the same, but Vincent acted on his own. Spoke up when he believed it was right, stood against Shinra's policies, even back then. And now, he's fighting them tooth and nail despite the dangerous risk to himself. Sephiroth couldn't have done that. If he'd never known the man… if Cloud had never come into his life and all these events start to unfold, Sephiroth would have continued on, the loyal SOLDIER.

He's not brave enough to break free.

Hanging his head, Sephiroth runs a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. The smell of blood and rust is getting to him. Time, perhaps, to head back, or at least wander around elsewhere in the building. This place… shouldn't be, anymore. Sephiroth stands, and begins to move, -

SHISH.

Blinking, Sephiroth glances down. He'd kicked something. Confused, he kneels, examining the trail on the floor where the dust was cleared. Some box on the floor, halfway hidden by equipment of some sort. He leans further, digging his arm under to remove it.

It is a box. A large one, but flat, perhaps a foot long and a foot wide, and a few inches tall. Turning it this way and that the man stares, confused. It's completely out of place. He frowns and starts rubbing at it, trying to clean the grime and dirt off.

… ducks? His gaze narrows. Yes, they're bathroom accessories. "Rubber ducks". He's heard Zack mention them before. But what in the world…?

He takes a seat where he is, cleaning off the box, until he can see it is covered in light blue paper with little yellow ducks. He flips it around again, stunned. How the hell did this end up in Hojo's lab?

Wait… there's something on the front. Gently the man pries off ancient tape and removes a small greeting card, no larger than three inches. The tiny envelope is almost grey from age, but Sephiroth can still read the name on the front, eyes going wide.

To: Sephiroth. From: Uncle Vincent.

Uncle. Uncle? But his brain stalls further when it occurs to him finally what this is – a present. To him. Who its from and why barely matters, because this is a present to him.

Sephiroth can count on one hand the number of times in his life he's received presents. Half of them came from Zack.

The man sets the thing down for a moment, as if needed space away from it. He's breathing hard, chest aching, hands practically trembling as he sets it back down. Dust poofs out from beneath, dirtying the air. His vision wavers with tears.

… Vincent bought him a gift?

The thing is ancient. This has to be from before he was born, before Vincent was captured, back when he was a Turk and Sephiroth's mother a scientist. The man bought him a present… before he even existed.

Hojo never gave him anything.

Large, trembling hands take gentle hold of the box. He lifts it. Examines it again. Trying to imagine what a grown man thirty years ago might have bought an unborn child. Then, furtively, nervously, one large finger tears a tiny rip in the side. A little more, a little more. Almost loathe to remove the cover, he only rips one end, delicately sliding the box out the hole in the side.

It's… big. A big box, taped shut. He tears the tape off, sets the box on the ground, and slides the lid off the top.

On the top layer is a card, resting on sheets of paper. Addressed to his mother. Sephiroth hesitates, unsure of whether or not to open it, and eventually settles for tucking it into his jacket. Then, he moves the paper. What he sees he barely recognizes. Things from commercials and other people's lives. A baby rattle. A miniscule set of children's clothes, a little sailor suit he can't imagine any incarnation of himself wearing. A round circle with moons and spaceships hanging from it – a mobile. And lastly, a small box, like a jewelry box, old and antique even before Vincent wrapped it. Sephiroth's shaky hands cradle it, this small thing, examining the ornate siding, the finely painted image of chocobos and grass and flowers on the front. Then, he opens it.

There's a click, and the sound of a little wheel turning, as music begins to play. A little chime melody. Something soft and sweet.

There's no benefit to these items. They are not useful. There is no intellectual value, no power to be attained, no advantage to have. They're… toys.

Sephiroth was never allowed to have toys.

He's crying. The man realizes with a jolt that he's crying. Enormous frame huddling over the tiny thing, shoulders shaking. No one had given him toys. The scientists and aides that had so much as treated him like a human being, smiling and talking to him, had vanished. His room growing up had been a small prison with a bed and a bathroom with one wall completely see through so he could be observed at all times. No toys – studies, weapons, skills testing, endurance training, but no toys.

Vincent … bought him toys.

When Cloud was 12, he scraped his knee pretty bad in a brawl in the town square.

It was one of the usual; completely outnumbered, unable to keep his mouth shut, ending with him on the floor throwing his arms over his head to protect himself. He'd tried running away, and hence the scraped knee.

The pain and thunder drumming in his ears kept him from hearing it, but that day, Cloud had a savoir.

"Git, you!" An older man, stumbling towards them, using a cane much like Cloud's mother would one day. "Go on now! Git!"

The boys got, and eventually Cloud was left curled up on the ground, hissing and clutching his leg.

"Lemme see, kiddo." The man, despite the obvious pain the movement caused, knelt down to Cloud's level. Shaky hands with prominent veins gently examined his knee, told him he'd be alright but should get patched up. Cloud had nodded and thanked him profusely as he stood, only for the man to slowly stand and beckon Cloud to his house.

"Come on," He wouldn't take no for an answer, walking ahead to his front porch. Cloud just stood there, watching. After a minute, the man turned. "You nervous? Alright. You wait here."

He left; and Cloud, so used to following adult's orders, stayed. A few minutes later, the man returned, and knelt again in the snow and dirt, and bandaged Cloud's knee for him. They'd never met before. Cloud didn't even know his name until later, when his mother informed him that it was Mr. Ralph Deforest who'd helped him.

Ralph Deforest was an elderly communications expert, who worked in the Reactor. He'd technically been retired, but given the size of the town and lack of skilled workers, had taken to looking over the Reactor every so often. And his was one of the names on the memorial in the center of town.

Cloud could read it, even from where he stood so far away. Ralph Deforest. The old man kind enough to take pity on a scrawny boy and patch him up in the middle of a cold Nibelheim street.

"Where's Sephiroth?"

Cloud leans in to whisper into Tifa's ear. "The mansion. Wanted to poke around." She nods, hesitantly.

"Sure that was a good idea?"

He blinks, surprised at her comment. "Whaddya mean?"

"I dunno," Shrugging, the girl blushes. "He just… makes me nervous for some reason. Something's – off. I don't like it."

Cloud doesn't like it, either. Could Tifa feel whatever it was causing problems in Sephiroth's mind? Or did she just have that keen an instinct for danger? I wouldn't put it past her.

"Don't worry about it." He insists, squeezing her hand. "He'll be out of town by the end of the week."

The thought is… sobering. And Cloud's not sure how he feels about it.

"What about your mom?" The woman whispers. Cloud blinks, confused. "She's not here. She not feeling well?"

"No," Cloud shakes his head. "She was fine. Left before I did to come down here." Eyes narrowed, he glances around the gathered crowd, ignoring the few glaring sets of eyes mad at them for talking. She's not here. Frowning, he starts stepping away. "I'm gonna go find her."

"Want help?"

"No, it's fine, stay."

He breaks off from the crowd, wrapping his arms around himself, and starts to walk off. Only, he slows to a halt. Eyes narrow. Is that his mother, the figure in the distance, stumbling through the snow? … no… that's not her silhouette. And… there's another, beside them. And another. And… how many people were late to the memorial?

"Tifa…" He speaks loudly, prompting more glares and a "shush", all of which fades away when the others turn and see what he's seeing. One… and another… and another… shapes coming from the shadows, people appearing from nowhere. Where did they all come from?

"Excuse me?" A hand hovers at his shoulder, close to his blade. He steps forward. "Excuse me, sir?"

At this distance he can see them better – a tall, cloaked figure, stumbling through the dark. Speaking, but at such a whisper that even Cloud's struggling with it.

"I can't hear you – are you okay?" Hesitatingly a little, he steps forward, hand extended.

Then, he hears them clearly, for the first time.

"Reunion."