Chapter 2: The Flower Girl

The Sector 8 skyline flickered in the distance, hazy with the smoke of the recent reactor explosion. The streets were alive with chaos. Sirens wailed, fires crackled in the wreckage, and Shinra troops scrambled to contain the panic. Cloud Strife stood apart from it all, his figure bathed in the eerie green glow of the reactor's dying Mako energy.

His chest rose and fell steadily, but his mind was elsewhere. The moment they had emerged from the reactor, a searing pain had sliced through his head—a stabbing migraine that made him stagger.

"Cloud, you good?" Barret had asked, his voice gruff with concern.

"I'm fine," Cloud had replied automatically, shaking off the sensation. He wasn't fine, though. His mind felt fractured, as if it were a cracked mirror reflecting too many images at once.

The group had split up soon after, each taking a different route to avoid Shinra patrols. Now, Cloud found himself alone, navigating Sector 8's winding alleys as the city trembled with unrest.

The headache struck again, sharper this time, and Cloud stumbled, clutching his forehead. The world around him seemed to blur, and then it happened—

The flames.

They rose around him, engulfing the streets. Not the controlled flames of reactor destruction, but an inferno of unnatural intensity. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with ash. Cloud's vision swam as he looked up and saw him.

Sephiroth.

The figure stood at the center of the fire, his silver hair glinting like molten steel, his eyes glowing an unearthly green. He was as calm as the chaos was violent, his long sword resting casually at his side.

"Why do you cling to this life?" Sephiroth's voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, yet dripping with disdain.

Cloud staggered backward, his heart pounding. "You're not real," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're not here."

Sephiroth tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Is that what you tell yourself? That I'm just a phantom? You've always been so weak, Cloud."

The words cut deeper than they should have, and Cloud instinctively gripped the hilt of his Buster Sword. "I'm not weak!" he snarled, stepping forward.

Sephiroth's smirk widened. "Then prove it. Fight me, if you dare."

Cloud raised his sword, but before he could move, the world around him shattered like glass. The flames disappeared, replaced by the cold, dark reality of Sector 8.

He stumbled again, disoriented, his breath ragged. For a moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread, as if the fire hadn't just been a hallucination but a warning.

"Hey! You alright?"

The voice pulled him back to the present. He blinked and turned toward it, his vision clearing to reveal a young woman standing a few feet away.

She wore a simple pink dress and a red jacket, her hands clasped in front of her as she regarded him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. A basket of flowers hung from her arm, the delicate blooms seeming out of place amidst the chaos.

Cloud straightened, his hand still on his sword. "I'm fine," he said curtly, though his voice lacked conviction.

The woman smiled softly, undeterred by his tone. "You looked like you were in pain. Are you sure?"

Cloud hesitated, the ghost of Sephiroth's voice still lingering in his mind. "I said I'm fine."

"Alright," she said gently, as if sensing that pushing further would be pointless. She shifted the basket on her arm and took a small step closer. "You should be careful. Things aren't exactly safe around here."

Cloud glanced at the burning wreckage behind him. "No kidding."

The woman chuckled lightly. "I guess that was obvious." She looked around, her gaze settling on the distant flames of the reactor. "That explosion… it wasn't an accident, was it?"

Cloud stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Call it a feeling. You're not with Shinra, are you?"

He didn't answer, which was answer enough.

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Then she smiled again, but there was something sad in her eyes. "You're a fighter, aren't you? Someone who's seen more than their fair share of battles."

Cloud shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "What about you? You're out here selling flowers in the middle of all this. That's not exactly normal."

Her smile brightened, the sadness fading. "The flowers don't stop blooming just because the city's falling apart. Someone has to take care of them." She held out a single yellow flower, its petals delicate and vibrant even amidst the destruction. "Here. For you."

Cloud blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"It's a gift," she said simply. "For luck. You look like someone who could use a little."

He hesitated, then reached out and took the flower. It felt oddly warm in his hand, as if it were more than just a flower.

"Thanks," he muttered, unsure of what else to say.

"You're welcome." She glanced over her shoulder as the sound of approaching footsteps reached them. "Looks like Shinra's on their way. You should get going."

Cloud followed her gaze, his instincts kicking in. "What about you?"

She smiled again, her calmness almost unnerving. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Before he could argue, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving him standing there with the flower in his hand.

The footsteps grew louder, and Cloud quickly pocketed the flower before slipping into an alleyway. He didn't look back, but he couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting had been more than coincidence.

As he moved deeper into Sector 8, the city's chaos seemed to blur together—the fires, the shouting, the distant hum of Shinra's patrols. But Cloud's mind was elsewhere.

The visions of Sephiroth haunted him, his voice echoing in his head. "You've always been so weak, Cloud."

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Sephiroth since the Nibelheim incident, but it was the most vivid. The flames, the heat, the sheer malice in Sephiroth's eyes—it had felt real. Too real.

And then there was the woman. The flower girl. She had been so calm, so unshaken by everything around her. Her presence had been like a balm to his frayed nerves, yet it had also unsettled him.

Who was she? And why did he feel like she already knew him?

Cloud shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He had a mission to complete. AVALANCHE would regroup soon, and they'd need him sharp. Whatever these visions and strange encounters meant, they'd have to wait.

But as he moved through the alleys, clutching the hilt of his sword, the weight of the yellow flower in his pocket and the lingering ghost of Sephiroth's laughter told him that nothing would ever be the same.