Another Chapter is here!
Enjoy!
The spirit-body of the ancestral Cetra guided Aerith through the winding path of countless steps that sometimes twisted into themselves or inverted—or would it be more accurate to say that they unraveled to form a straight path at the spirit-body's whim. If this realm was a dream of the slumbering Ancients, then it was the one that held sway over it, the Elder of those that remained capable of reason and maintaining a solid form.
Not that the Elder told her that with words that could be heard by her ears, but by her heart. In such a state, there was no need for words since they were linked by their consciousness in anchoring this realm to the ziggurat, thus they had no need to speak to one another with words. The unnecessary skill was forgotten over the centuries, and the best they could do was make a strange sound.
Regardless, she did understand the Elder's unspoken words to some extent as it led Aerith deeper within, to a realm of darkness outlining a stone bridge. There, off to the side, stood what looked to be a well filled with a liquid that seemed alive in a sense.
Ripples were spreading across the surface even though there was no wind to skim the top. Light rose from the well in a violet column. Faint and honeyed whispers, like those to a mother calling for her child, beckoned her to come closer.
It drew her towards it in a similar manner that the Keystone had pulled her towards the altar, only this time it was the spirit-body of the Elder that stopped her from almost jumping into it. Snapped out of her brief daze, Aerith watched as the Elder then proceeded to give the well a scolding for 'trying to tempt her out of her decision' if she understood it right. The light dimmed and the voices quieted.
"… What is this?" she asked, standing at the edge of the well. To her surprise, it answered by a luminous glow that blinded her. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the past, a memory of the Ancients.
The Cetra were a nomadic people, consisting of many different groups traveling the world to nurture life on it with the Planet. In turn, the Planet gifted them with the knowledge to use magic in order to accomplish their tasks and ease their lives. Thus a symbiotic relationship was born between the Cetra and the Planet they lived on.
Then the land itself was on the verge of being stricken by a large stone from the sky, descending from above and crashing down. The Planet could tell such a thing would be a cataclysmic event, bearing enough of catastrophic force from the impact that it would gouge a wound so fierce that the Planet would not be able to heal itself. The damage would radiate outwards to eventually make all life unable to thrive.
Unable to let such an event come to pass, the Cetra looked for an answer as destruction loomed in the sky. Hope wavered as all the knowledge and power they possessed seemingly offered nothing. They were unable to avert such a disaster as it stood.
Fear, desperation, and regrets bubbled up in the face of unavoidable death. They committed sins, performed untold atrocities, and fell to their despair. These emotions tainted the souls of many that returned to the Planet, stagnating within the Lifestream.
Even the Planet itself lamented that not only would those that were born on it would perish, but also that it would cease to exist as well. It was natural after all. All living things desired to keep living for as long as they could, and the Planet itself was no exception.
But it could not foresee a way to prevent its own death, so it planned to accept it instead. It would create a being meant to gather all of the Lifestream into itself and then send it into the cosmos. Eventually it would give birth to another planet and start life anew there.
This being would become known as Omega, an embodiment of rebirth.
But the time it would take for all of the Lifestream to gather into itself would merely prolong the suffering of those left behind as the destruction spread out. It would be a miserable, painful existence that only served to further taint the Lifestream. Thus, would it not be more merciful to grant them a swift end?
Omega forged a harbinger, born of the negative emotions and taint of the Lifestream that polluted it already. It would be the one to bring an end to all life, destroying that which cannot be saved so the cycle of life could continue anew someday.
This being would become known as Chaos, an embodiment of death.
However, one person in particular did not lose hope. She was a Cetra thought to be loved by the Planet itself more than any other, living in a settlement far in the north. It was she who heard of the Planet's silent lament at having to start anew while still desiring to live, and it was she who proposed to the Planet that they continue to live together for as long as they could.
Her name was Minerva, and she presented the final card they had to play.
The Cetra possessed the ability to open veins to the Lifestream, which they utilized to make the land fertile and let life flourish even in barren wastelands given enough time. That which could make life flourish could also become a shield. Thus by using these pathways, they could manifest the Lifestream from within the Planet to become a shield against that which would herald its end.
Minerva beckoned the Planet to echo her voice as she called out to not only her brother and sisters, but to all the living beings on the Planet itself. She sat upon the water altar with her hands clasped together, and called for them to pray for a single thing: to fend off the threat that laid before them.
Their collective prayers brought forth a miracle as the Lifestream itself manifested. Countless streamlets of almost divine light rose from the Planet and gathered to intercept the meteor. A blinding brilliance swallowed the sky as the ultimate defense met with the ultimate destruction, and when it faded they found that their prayers had been answered.
The Lifestream returned from whence it came, back into the bosom of the Planet. But before it did, it gave birth to three crystallized manifestation of what transpired.
The first was a method of controlling Omega and Chaos, the manifestation of the Planet's acceptance of death and rebirth, capable of delaying it or hastening it: Protomateria.
The second was Meteor, the manifestation of the source of their despair, capable of bringing forth ultimate destruction: Black Materia.
The third was Holy, the manifestation of their prayers for salvation, capable of spurring the Planet into action once more to fend off threats: White Materia.
As for what happened to the one who led their prayers, Minerva… she vanished that day and was never seen again.
After that, the White Materia was enshrined within the sacred city, where Holy was meant to be used to commune with the Planet as Minerva did. The Protomateria was squirreled away as well to parts unknown, only a tablet left behind to mark its existence for the Cetra to come. The Black Materia itself was made into a place to house their legacy, the Temple of the Ancients.
The temple was the final resting place where appointed storytellers, wizened casters, and venerable members would make a pilgrimage when nearing the end of their life. A Keystone, one of many now lost to the ages of time, would grant them passage to this realm. Here, at the well, they would take the plunge within it and then give up their physical form, depositing their knowledge within it and joining the collective that anchored the realm and temple into place.
With that story told, the water's glow faded. The memory itself faded, and Aerith returned to her body, overlooking the well on her hands and knees. She turned to the spirit-body standing next to her.
"So this place is… a treasury?" she asked. "It's not meant to merely house the Black Materia, but the collective knowledge of our people. If the Black Materia was needed, then they would have to come here to see the risks involved and the means by which it could be countered?"
The Elder gestured to the well and spoke with unspoken words, relaying what the honeyed whispers from before were trying to say. It was a rather simple, if heavy request: they wanted her to take in all of the knowledge within the well, so that the souls anchored there could return to the Promised Land.
The collective was weary of their long existence, having denied themselves their final rest to preserve this place for the future generations. If Aerith was the last of the Cetra and the Black Materia was needed, then she would be the best vessel to carry on the memory and knowledge of her people that would be lost otherwise. And that knowledge would give her power, allowing her to use magic lost to the modern world.
Yet…all power had a price. The price of knowledge was the sacrifice of self. It wouldn't be a question of merely listening to the voice of the Planet, but carrying her people's wisdom inside of her. The young woman known as Aerith would be second to the knowledge of thousands who came before, and the uncertain future that she had dedicated to the Planet would become something she couldn't hope to escape.
Aerith only realized she forgot to breathe over the weight of what she was being asked when the well spoke up again. New consciousnesses had entered into their realm and the water's reflection became a mirror to reveal them. It was Cloud, Crimson, Tifa, and Nanaki.
They looked battle-weary, clothes rustled, torn, and dirtied. She figured that they must've fought against the Deepground agents stationed along the way to the temple's entrance. Yet the first thing they did was call out for her.
Conflicting feelings blossomed in her chest at that. She felt happy that they cared enough for her to come after her despite the risks. But she also felt ashamed that she was hesitating after all they had gone through to this point. Hadn't she resolved herself to do what she had to in the wake of all of their sacrifices for her mission to this point—all of their pain and suffering?
"Can you bring them here?" Aerith asked the spirit-body as she freed her ribbon from her hair and handed it to the Elder. "I'll take in the knowledge of the Ancients, but I'm worried they'll get lost or hurt further. I'll be able to concentrate if I know they'll be safe."
It nodded what passed for its head and took the ribbon before trotting off.
She watched it leave before turning back to the well and taking a deep breath. There was no more time for doubts. She could only hope that her memories remained whole before she entered into the well, sinking beneath the surface to be embraced by the collective within. Then she inhaled and thousands of voices and visions came rushing in.
[-oOo-]
Cloud didn't like the environment they found themselves in. It felt oppressive against him, almost hostile in fact. His enhanced senses were failing him here, reduced by the mist that seemed to push against him with every step. He didn't want to stay here any longer than possible, so he hoped that they could find Aerith as soon as possible.
That urge to leave only intensified as they stumbled across the corpse of what looked to be one of the Deepground troops along the maze of stairs, looking as though something had swarmed it and then torn it to pieces. The wounds were different from that of the ones they found at the top of the ziggurat, where a single slash of Sephiroth's sword managed to cut them down. It wasn't him, but he was around here somewhere—Cloud could feel it in his cells.
"How are you holding up?" Crimson asked, walking next to him with her weapon in her hand.
"I'm fine," he lied.
Her brows furrowed slightly but she didn't press him on it. Instead, she turned her attention to the Materia on her bangle, a Seal Materia. The unspoken message carried on well enough before she faced forward again. "I wonder how they fit this place inside of the temple."
"Magic, I think." At least that's what it felt like given how he hadn't been hindered by weather conditions before during their travels.
Crimson shrugged slightly. "Makes about as much sense as anything else we've seen." Her grasp on her weapon tightened as she noticed a silhouette further ahead and growing closer. "Heads-up."
Tension began to build as he held the large sword at his front, ready for whatever was coming after them. That tension melted away as a small creature appeared before them. It was hard to take it seriously, more so when it waved a ribbon in the air like a white flag.
"That's Aerith's," Tifa said as she approached, to which the creature bobbed its head and then handed it over. Then it gestured further ahead with a sort of 'follow me' motion using its cane. "I think it wants us to follow it."
They did so until they found the entrance to a dark chamber and bridge. The small creature came to a stop off to the side, where there was a dried well. Aerith was at the bottom of it, and she wasn't moving.
Cloud hopped down and then checked her pulse and breathing. She was stable, if unconscious and wet somehow. He scooped her up and then carried her back up to the top with the others, who looked worried as well. "She's just asleep, but fine."
"Then that leaves getting the Black Materia and getting out of here," Crimson said, looking between the two exits to the bridge. Then she faced the creature that brought them there. "I'm guessing its further inside?"
The little creature looked between them, eyeing Cloud suspiciously before turning to Aerith. "Nyum?"
The nonsensical word seemed to stir her awake, her eyes opening halfway before turning to it. "Take us… to it…"
It approached her and then laid a tiny hand covered by its sleeve on her head. "Nyum Nyum?"
"I… can hear them all." She tried to get back on her feet, only to stagger and then hold her head. "It's just… taking a moment to… adjust…"
"Easy now!" Tifa caught her before she could collapse entirely and then picked her up bridal-style. "I don't know what's happened, but you're not capable of walking right now. Maybe we should take a minute for you to 'adjust' as you put it."
"I can… rest later." Aerith's insistence was rather weak given that she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone free herself of Tifa's grasp. "We don't have a… lot of time left…"
"You rest. The purple thing can take us the rest of the way." She turned to it. "Right?"
It nodded and then made another gesture for them to follow it. "Nyum!"
Cloud took the lead in case anything else tried to attack them. He only belatedly realized then that the oppressive feeling from before had lessened greatly around them. And with its fading, he could feel a calling of sorts towards what was waiting further ahead.
It must be Sephiroth… He tightened the grasp on his sword and gritted his teeth as he pressed ahead.
[-oOo-]
The silver sword sang as it cleaved through the air, cutting through the monsters that were seemingly woven from the surrounding mist of the land. Carving a path through her assailants, Argento pressed ahead through the winding maze that had long since robbed her of the rest of her unit. The Ancient was nowhere to be found with her senses dampened. Then again, her worries about completing her mission were more or less pushed aside for the sake of her own survival the moment they lost radio contact with the outside world.
Argento couldn't count the number of nightmares made real that she'd slain, only for them to disperse upon death and more would take their place. It was becoming a battle of attrition more than anything at this point, and while she could survive nearly anything thrown at her, she had no desire to remain in this realm longer than she needed to. It was a beautiful place for certain, but so deadly and oppressive that she couldn't find comfort in it.
It was a tad ironic in the scope of things, considering that she had originally joined the Shinra army to travel the world to see the beauty of it. To her, combat and art were expressions of the same thing. The skills she honed on the battlefield were as valuable as the local beauty that could be taken in before the fighting started, immortalized in a painting before blood and destruction rained down.
Then she had gotten involved with Deepground, and all the beauty of the world faded with the loss of her eye—robbed by the Restrictor's blade. She'd never forgiven them for that. And now, after she had been underground so long that she had come to yearn for the forgotten sun and natural surroundings, she couldn't find any enjoyment in them.
A slight laugh slipped out at the cruel irony. Then, as abruptly as the attack on her had begun, it ended. A change had occurred, causing the mists to slowly thin and the oppressive feeling that had been weighing down on her, like countless eyes glaring at her for not belonging, vanished.
However, no sooner than she could make out her surroundings clearly did the muted sound of a sniper's shot reach her ears, after a bullet smashed into her suit. Her tempered flesh withstood the penetrating power, but the suit's system to circulate the mako within it was damaged. Now she was running on limited time, an hourglass that was flipped upside down with the bottom missing.
She turned towards the source of the gunshot. The sniper was there, chambering another shot. Her blade came up as he pulled the trigger, intercepting the next shot as she traced the line of fire in an instant.
Though I'd rather perish beneath the sun, this is still a better tomb than Deepground, she couldn't help but think as the bullet smashed against the broad-side of her blade. Watching as the sniper began to flee, her legs tensed for an explosion of movement to follow. If she was going to die, she may as well take out her killer in return…