Welcome back! I'm so excited to be here and writing for this series again 🌸 Life has been crazy since Halcyon Days ended, and the biggest news is that I'm getting married! I'll spare you the details, but it's all very exciting 💐

I consider this chapter something of a prologue, just to remind everyone (and myself, lol) of where we are in the story, and to hint at where we're going. I'm aiming for monthly updates, but life is crazy, so I'll do my best but make no promises.

Enjoy 🌷

The road from Midgar to Kalm was a long one. It was lonesome, dirty, and wound drunkenly through the parched wasteland, its gravel baked by the sun and shimmering with restless heat. In the first few days after Midgar, Cloud had squinted towards the distant horizon, his throat parched and eyes gritty with sand, and had wondered if this lonely, rugged road would stretch on forever.

Now, after two days of walking followed by a fortuitous hitchhike, Kalm rose up from the badlands like a fountain in the desert. Wildflowers soon replaced the dead brambles that lined the road, grassy meadows waved in the hot breeze, and the morning was filled with buzzing insects and birdsong. As Cloud deeply inhaled, he could taste something other than dust, smog, and vaporized mako. Fresh air, lightly perfumed by many flowers, filled his lungs.

"Not too bad, huh, Spikey?" A hoarse voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Cloud turned to see Zack grinning at him from across the rusty truck bed. The other man was still pale and weak from his stab wound, but because he had been primarily resting these past few days, he was recovering more quickly than expected. Even so, Cloud still felt the sharp sting of guilt when he noticed the bandages wrapped around Zack's torso. No matter what Aerith and Tifa had told him, there was no doubt in his mind that the stab wound was solely his fault.

It was made with his own hand, after all.

Cloud managed a wane smile and cast his gaze back to the rapidly-approaching town. "No, not bad at all."

"Think we can get some shopping in once we reach Kalm?" Aerith asked, clearly excited.

Barret loudly scoffed from the back of the truck bed. "With what money? In case you haven't noticed, we're dead broke! Unless you were planning on selling all that damn oatmeal we got?"

"You probably would not get much for it," Red interjected, ever the voice of wisdom. "Perhaps a few gil at the most."

"Well, we could get jobs," Tifa offered. She was sitting beside Cloud, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees and her brow furrowed in thought. "I'm sure Kalm has something. Maybe … Well, I could always bartend? It shouldn't be too difficult to learn the local specialties."

"Ooh! Ooh! And I can be a florist," Aerith added, her hand shooting up.

Zack huffed a weak laugh. "That sounds like a plan. And Cloud and I could be contractors," he added with a nod towards Cloud.

Aerith winced. Interestingly, so did Barret.

"Maybe you should rest," Cloud told him, not unkindly.

"And I think we've had enough of contract work, thank you very much," Aerith added. "Unless it's the non-violent kind, like … like digging irrigation ditches, or something."

"Or something," Cloud echoed. He down at his hands—at the fresh callouses and scars that marred them, at the dirt embedded beneath his nails that looked a little too much like dried blood. They had all had enough of violence recently. No one would say it, but they were all thinking it. Just yesterday Aerith made a comment about opening a flower shop once they settled in a new town, like it was something possible while on the run from Shinra, the Turks, Hojo and his scientists, and maybe even Sephiroth.

But if the same thoughts crossed Zack's, he gave no indication. He only laughed, dry and rasping, and told Aerith, "I was kidding!"

"Well, I'm not!"

"Guys," Cloud interjected, "let's just see what sort of jobs Kalm has when we get there. Kunsel—and Nobody," he belatedly added, recalling the ex-Turk Cissnei—"gave us enough gil for a week at the inn, right?"

Tifa nodded. "Right."

"And thank the gods for that." Barret grimaced as he looked across the wasteland. "I'm done sleeping on the ground!"

"I second that opinion," Red interjected, flicking his tail.

Cloud couldn't help but agree. As much as he enjoyed camping beneath an open sky, sleeping without a pillow or even a mat was starting to take its toll. "Then maybe we should stop by the inn first, get settled, and then figure out jobs?"

"But what about your potions?" Zack propped himself on his elbows, though it was clear the effort pained him. "How many do you have left? You can't run out. They're—They're important."

Cloud fought to keep his expression neutral. He had to take potions routinely for his mako poisoning—they helped keep the worst symptoms at bay, like the hallucinations and disorientation—but he didn't enjoy being so dependent on them. Besides, potions were notoriously expensive. He figured the money could be better spent on other things, such as rooms at the inn, food, supplies … literally anything else, really.

But Cloud also knew that Zack wouldn't approve of this line of thought, so he merely shrugged one shoulder and said, "I have enough."

Zack's eyes narrowed. "Cloud … "

"I have one more, okay? It's in the backpack."

"One? Just one left?" Zack paled, his eyes going wide. "I thought—We need to get you more. As soon as we get to town."

Cloud felt his cheeks heat. "We can look into it after we figure out the inn and the jobs."

Zack made a frustrated noise. "Cloud, you can't," he started, pushing himself upright, only to abruptly go bone-white and clutch his middle.

Cloud jerked forward, fear washing though him. He pushed too far, he should have just agreed, he owed Zack that much—but Aerith was faster. By the time Cloud shifted onto his knees, she was already guiding Zack back down into a more comfortable position, smiling effortlessly even as Zack glared at the blue sky above.

"I'm sure we'll be able to find some potions when we get there," Aerith eventually said, her tone soothing. As she spoke she glanced at Cloud, as if daring him to disagree.

Cloud didn't. "Yeah. Yeah, when we get there, I'll look for some. I promise."

"We can split up," Tifa offered, her gaze darting between Zack and Cloud. "Half of us can rent rooms, and the other half can go shopping and look for jobs."

"That works for me," Barret grunted, while Red made a similar agreement.

Zack's jaw worked as he stared up at the sky, until he finally sighed. "That sounds like a good idea," he said, and flashed Cloud a wane smile. "It would be fun to go sightseeing, too."

Cloud managed to return the gesture with an uneasy grin of his own, just as Aerith excitedly clapped her hands. "Then let's do it! And maybe we can go find ice cream!"

"I wouldn't mind ice cream," Tifa added.

Barret loudly scoffed. "If we can't afford rooms, we sure as hellcan't afford ice cream."

"Sure we can," Aerith immediately countered, and she began listing out the many ways why ice cream should be the priority. Then, when Red admitted he had never tried ice cream before, Tifa joined in Aerith's campaign. Cloud offered no opinion of his own, and instead he leaned back against the truck bed and listened to them, letting the sound of their voices lull him into an uneasy peace.

Like that, the road continued on.

Sickly light spilled across the counter as Kunsel studied himself in the small bathroom mirror. Normally he wouldn't care about something as benign as his appearance, especially when he typically wore a full-face helmet, but today was different—maybe even noteworthy. Due to President Shinra untimely passing, as well as the sudden disappearance of the head of Science and Research, Rufus Shinra had called for a press release scheduled for later that afternoon. All remaining SOLDIERs were being forced to attend. Not even volunteering for guard-duty could get Kunsel out of it, and worse, he wasn't even allowed to wear his helmet. The SOLDIERs' mako-infused irises had to be visible for the camera in order to 'boost public morale' or some other PR nonsense.

So here Kunsel was, standing in front of the mirror, trying and failing to salvage the dark bags beneath his eyes, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, and the dark stumble dusting his overly-pale skin. He ran his fingers along his jawbone, wincing. Had he always looked so … tired? So old? It was as if he had aged decades in just a few days.

But does it even matter? Kunsel reached for his uniform, sighing at his reflection. If they don't like it, they can stick me in the back.

He put on his uniform with apathetic efficiency, his mind wandering as he did so. These past few days, it was difficult to remember why he had decided to stay in Shinra instead of joining Zack and the others on the run. Sure, there were countless reasons why he had to stay—Zack needed a person inside to supply information, someone had to keep an eye on the Shinra scientists, and more importantly, a First-Class SOLDIER publicly defecting would spur a much larger manhunt and put the entire team at risk—but at the same time, Kunsel couldn't help but wish things were different. He missed the stars. Missed being around friends. He missed…well, he missed a lot, now that he thought about it. He couldn't even remember the last time he had sat around a campfire and laughed.

But that thought was depressing, so he quickly pushed it out of mind and began heading for the assembly hall. Others soon joined him, all young Second- and Third-Class SOLDIERs with bright eyes and loud personalities. None of them recognized Kunsel without his helmet—a small mercy, Kunsel privately thought—and he contented himself to listen to their excited banter. They all hoped Rufus would send them on more exotic missions, and they also wondered if their training regimes would be expedited due to the lack of First-Class SOLDIERs. Then one asked where did all of the First-Class SOLDIERs disappear to, anyway? And, now that they were looking, didn't their class look a bit thinned out, too?

Unease tangled in Kunsel's chest as he listened. He knew he shouldn't be surprised at their speculations; after all, it was an open secret that the First-Class SOLDIERs had been dwindling at a shocking rate. There were only a handful left, himself included. As for all the other ranks, the Shinra scientists had said that they were simply suffering from complications caused by mako poisoning, and they were not to be disturbed.

Kunsel had never heard such bullshit in his life … and that included when he was informed that Zack was MIA, presumed dead. He knew what was really happening: degradation. The truth had been tricky to uncover, but he had eventually learned that the first known case of degradation had been Genesis Rhapsodos, a former First-Class SOLDIER. He had been quickly followed by another former First-Class SOLDIER, Angeal Hewley. It was also theorized that only SOLDIER type Gs could suffer degradation, but Kunsel had his doubts—after all, not only the type Gs were disappearing, but that was also something he tried not to think about.

Eventually the assembly stage came into view, and Kunsel broke off from the younger SOLDIERs to stand alongside a few others in First-Class, all of whom had been recently promoted and looked excruciatingly proud of their darker uniforms. The lower-ranked SOLDIERs went silent as he strode away, and Kunsel had to suppress his chuckle at their shocked expressions as he stepped into position—which was, unfortunately, near the front.

"Hello, comrade."

Kunsel turned, and he came face-to-face with a beaming Roche Matthews. Roche was a fellow SOLDIER, an avid motorcycle enthusiast, and—in Kunsel's humble opinion—far too perky.

Grinning down at him, Roche continued, "I see you have forgotten your helmet today. I nearly didn't recognize you without it!"

Kunsel turned back to the growing crowd. "I was ordered not to wear it."

"Ah. By our young, enigmatic leader, I assume?"

"No, not Rufus." Reporters and news crews were beginning to fill the stadium seating, and their cameras winked in the dim lighting. "It was Tseng."

"The Turk?"

"That's the one."

Roche hummed as he adjusted his uniform collar, which looked freshly pressed. "Now that is an interesting bit of information. Do you suppose the Turks will resume sending orders to our small brigade then, or will Rufus assume full command?"

Kunsel suppressed his sigh. That was the big question, wasn't it? Who would take the mantle—the puppet, or the puppeteer? "Who knows?"

"Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter." Roche's near-permanent grin brightened. "Maybe Rufus will address it today."

"Maybe."

"And speaking of the Turks, does it look like they are down one member? I had always thought there were five of them, but I only see four."

Kunsel's heart clenched, and he turned to the direction Roche was facing. Sure enough, the Turks were beginning to take their positions in the far back, with Reno and Rude flanking one side of the stage and Tseng and Elena on the other. Their suits were clearly brand new, and all four Turks wore identical bored expressions—though Elena, the youngest of their crew, did appear a little wane beneath the assembly lighting.

Kunsel eventually looked away, settling his gaze back on the crowd. He hadn't heard from Nobody in days, not since she had messaged him saying that she was leaving Midgar … but she never told him where she was going or what she would be doing. It left him feeling uneasy, like he had missed a step going down the stairs. Sure, they didn't know each other that well, but he had thought they knew each other well enough to at least provide the occasional status update.

Guess not.

Roche continued, "Perhaps the fifth Turk is with our missing Head of Science and Development. Maybe on a secret mission?"

Kunsel arched an eyebrow. "You think Hojo is still alive?"

"I think it would take a great deal to kill him," Roche replied, his voice light, and Kunsel grunted in agreement. He couldn't imagine Hojo dead—but just a few days ago, he also couldn't have imagined that Zack would be asked to kill President Shinra by the Turks, so his imagination was clearly lacking.

Kunsel's gaze slanted towards the podium. "When does this start?" he asked, yet before the other man could answer his question, Rufus Shinra suddenly stepped across the stage as if summoned.

The room went quiet as Shinra's new leader took his place at the head of the podium. His gloved hands gripped its side as he looked across the room, now flush with reporters and glinting cameras. Silence reigned. Kunsel could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and could hear one of the younger SOLDIERs shuffle into belated attention behind him.

"Good people of Shinra," Rufus Shinra began. Dozens of cameras flashed as his low tenor filled the room, and Kunsel resisted the urge to squint against their staccato lights. "I know that this meeting was sudden, but thank you for being here today."

Rufus continued the pleasantries, mentioning that it has been a busy few days and that he had appreciated being given privacy while in mourning, but all Kunsel heard was that he had killed his father and would similarly cut down all who stood in his way, too.

As Rufus went on, speaking of how the company was successful only because of its workers, all Kunsel could think about was how Rufus had used the Turks to manipulate Zack and how he could do it again.

When Rufus then spoke of the company's recent achievements—expansion rose by fifty percent, customer satisfaction by forty percent, and crime lessened by thirty percent—Kunsel was reminded of how many of Shinra's remote reactors had blown, how many local populations had been destroyed, and how anyone in opposition to Shinra's expansion had been killed. He was reminded that Zack and Cloud had been captives of Hojo, that Aerith had grown up surrounded by white walls, and that Shinra had been paving the way for all of it. He had to fight to keep his disgust from his expression, to instead stare out over the crowd in bland neutrality.

"In one week's time," Rufus continued, his voice rising, "I will depart for Junon for our annual independence festival. Though that has typically been my father's duty, I am honored to be able to step into his shoes, and continue the traditions of our proud institution."

Scattered clapping filled the assembly hall, until Rufus raised a hand to silence it. He then moved on to the future of the company, and all the while he pointedly did not mention that the executive of their Science and Research Division had gone missing, that their executive of Public Safety was placed on probation, and he also did not mention the dwindling population of SOLDIERs. No, there was only good news to share—the company is doing well, profits are up, and a festival will be held to honor the late President Shinra.

Kunsel forced himself to relax even as rage simmered within him. All this speech was was propaganda, propaganda, and yet more propaganda. But mercifully, Rufus' speech eventually petered out. Applause roared, questions were cried out, and cameras flashed in the dark. In the hour that followed, Rufus answered all inquiries with practiced ease until the press release was finally—finally—adjured.

Kunsel let his shoulders slump the moment they were dismissed, feeling far more exhausted than he had when the meeting began. Yet as he began making his way off the stage, a hand suddenly pressed down on his shoulder, startling him.

"Now that that's over, what do you say to a race, eh?" Roche jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the garage elevators, ignoring Kunsel's glare. "The track is free today. I checked."

The last thing Kunsel wanted to do was do laps. "Can't today," he said. "Busy."

"Oh? With what?"

"Classified."

Roche frowned. "Even from me, a fellow SOLDIER?"

"It's a need-to-know basis, unfortunately." As in, no one needed to know, because he was going back to his room and sleep.

But Roche only nodded, serious and somber, and said, "Ah, I understand. This is about our Science and Development executive, is it not? Fear not, I won't ask any more questions. But if you need any assistance … "

His voice trailed off hopefully, and Kunsel dutifully replied, "I'll let you know."

"Wonderful! Then I will see you later, then." Roche clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder, firmer than before, and added, "Perhaps we can ride the track another day!"

"Maybe," Kunsel replied, and with that they parted ways.

Unease stirred in Kunsel's gut as he headed down the hall. As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Roche had a point—maybe he did need to look into Hojo's disappearance. The notion sat badly with him. Privately, he hoped that Hojo was dead and gone for good, but now that he thought about it, it was a bit suspicious for him to go missing the same time Zack and Cloud had left town. Maybe it was just coincidence, but …

"Shit," Kunsel hissed under his breath. He abruptly pivoted, now heading for Shinra's library rather than his room, and eventually he reached the library's computer lab. After choosing the most isolated computer, his fingers clicked against the keyboard as he overrode its basic security and began to pull up relevant footage. A dozen tapes of that night popped up, and Kunsel—with a heartfelt sigh—plugged in one of the nearby headsets and began watching the first.

He had hoped that looking for wayward personnel had ended with Zack, but it looked like fate had other plans.

Nobody lowered the binoculars as she squinted into the horizon. A dark line of robed figures meandered down the parched road out of Midgar, their shuffling gait and hunched shoulders shifting in a strange, unnatural synchrony. A shiver ran down her spine as she watched. The way the figures moved, the way they groaned with every step … it couldn't be healthy. A very vocal part of her wanted to round them all up and place them into the nearest hospital.

She had even advised Tseng as much, but he—to her surprise—had advised against it. In fact, he had asked her to follow them unnoticed, wherever they led. He had also told her that it was a matter of national security, and that more importantly, it was crucial to the longevity of the entire human race. But so far, all she saw was a crowd of very sick people chasing their own delusions. It was nonsensical. Silly. She couldn't help but question her own sanity in obeying Tseng's request as she followed them across the Midgar wastes, especially when she had been hoping to work alongside Kun—

Don't think about it. Wishing for what couldn't be didn't do her any good, so she forcibly pivoted her thoughts elsewhere.

The only thing that kept her from calling the entire operation off was the single word the robed figures occasionally mumbled: reunion. Nobody did not know what it meant, but she did know that it wasn't just a coincidence that they all mumbled that same word over and over. What did 'reunion' mean? What were they attempting to reunite with? She didn't know, and frankly, she had a bad feeling about the entire thing—a sense of dread she couldn't quite shake off.

Sighing, she forced her thoughts aside and brought the binoculars back up. A lone, empty truck had stopped beside the robed figures, spitting up dust and sand as it slowed down, and a few figures eventually climbed into its truck bed. A few—not all. When the truck left, a handful had stayed behind. The ones that remained did not seem to notice that some of their companions were missing, and only continued shuffling down the road as if the truck hadn't arrived at all.

Nobody lowered the binoculars once more, unsettled. She briefly wondered if she should report a kidnapping, but immediately thought better of it. Who would she report to—Shinra? The Turks? That was only asking for more trouble. No, it would be better for everyone if she just continued her investigation.

After all, if she wanted something done right … she had to do it herself.

Ahhh it's so nerve-wracking to post for this fic again, but I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

If you're interested in chapter previews and updates, feel free to my twitter or tumblr under the same username. I generally post all updates there first!

Thank you for reading! Until next time, I wish you all nothing but the best 🌷