Chapter Seven

Puppet's Strings

It had been difficult for Tifa to pull herself out of Cloud's arms that morning.

She still clung to the imaginary, lingering feelings of warmth from their embrace that night, Cloud's kisses still burned to her lips, his touch still emblazoned to her skin. She could still feel the heaviness of his arms wrapped around her waist and the heat of his chest firmly against her back, ensconcing her against him throughout the night. She realized now that she had slept better than she had in weeks, maybe even longer.

But the morning eventually came, the melodic sounds of the Gold Saucer's restless night bleeding into the slowly rising sunlight. When Tifa had opened her eyes that morning, Cloud was sitting up on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, leaning over his knees as he stared out of the window. He had turned instantly when she stirred, the anxious look on his face evaporating and replaced with concern and concentration as he watched her rise.

"Morning," she'd whispered quietly.

"Morning," had been his terse response. It had seemed uncharacteristically strained, especially after the night that they had shared in her bed, kissing and holding one another tight.

That had been hours ago, and their exchange as they got themselves ready for the day was still burned to Tifa's mind as she dug the toes of her boots into the fresh earth of the jungle outside of Northwood. She could hear the rotors of the Tiny Bronco still whirring behind her where Cid left it docked at the shore, the foreboding sound matching the heaviness that weighed on her. But she kept her focus on Cloud, watching him as he stood a few paces ahead of her, his hands clutched into fists as he determinedly marched forward through the understory.

Tifa blinked and pushed her way through the thick forest, sighing as she followed in lockstep with the others. The group stuck closely together, Cloud leading the pack and Aerith not far behind him, her arms extended as if reaching out to feel the very air they passed through. Her green eyes were full of wonder and the hidden depths of her thoughts, though Tifa couldn't mull too much over what those thoughts might be.

She was too deeply entangled in her own, caught between the whirlwind confusion of her feelings, the yawning gaps in her memories, and the re-emergence of what she'd remembered in the last few days. While Cloud's kisses and touches burned to her skin, the memory of his promise atop the water tower all those years still clung to her retinas. And she could still feel the burn of the flames of Nibelheim, could still see the blood leaking through the grates in the catwalk of the reactor as her father's body was drained of its life-force.

All of it was too overwhelming to think about, and watching as Cloud made his way towards the temple up ahead, Tifa could only sigh in resignation at the intrusiveness of her thoughts, her anxiety piling up high. Tifa was beginning to wonder if her closeness with Cloud last night had been a mistake, if she had been swept up by the ambient mood of the Gold Saucer last night and allowed herself a momentary lapse in judgment. Now that they had left the gilded amusement city behind, that mood had dissipated, replaced by the urgency and panic of stopping Sephiroth.

Cloud behaved as if the moment had never even happened.

Tifa tried to push that realization out of her mind, but his singular focus on moving through Northwood and getting to the Black Materia before Sephiroth did was unnerving. She tried to focus her thoughts on her own memories and on the battles they encountered as they trekked through the temple's corridors and mazes, but it was almost impossible to ignore the tight, angry twitch in Cloud's muscles every time he raised his sword above his head or the cold deadpanning of his voice whenever he spoke. But it was when they reached the inner sanctum of the Temple, encountering a gravely wounded Tseng, that Tifa began to realize that something was terribly, terribly wrong with Cloud.

"Are you finished?"

It was the flash of hurt across Aerith's green eyes that woke Tifa up to how bad things had become since the night before. His words, cross and unavailing, had been aimed at the young Cetra, cutting her off in the middle of a rousing speech at the center of the Temple's main corridor. The stone that surrounded them seemed to tremble in response to the harshness of his words.

"Let's just keep moving," Barret had suggested, gesturing ahead at the doorways that seemed to be pulling each of them in different directions, red pulses of magnetic energy following them around the room.

Tifa looked down at the wavelength that had settled on the center of her chest, pulling her toward a stone doorway at the end of the corridor. Affording a glance to Aerith, she watched as the young woman disappeared behind a doorway of her own, the others following suit around the room. Only Cloud remained, unmoved and unbothered, standing in the center of the room by the Keystone's pillar, his arms folded across his chest as he looked angrily and impatiently ahead.

Tifa swallowed, turning away from his brooding stare and back to the doorway in front of her. It seemed that they would be going nowhere until they did as the temple beckoned them to, and swallowing her panic and fear, she stepped forward, pushing through the doorway into a dark, candlelit altar room filled with pink mist.

The pit that has formed in her stomach twists when the mist thickens and chokes, leaving Tifa to spin around frightfully, waving her arms back and forth in an attempt to clear her line of sight. The yellow grip of panic tightened around her as her vision blurred, and she shook her head back and forth despairingly in an attempt to find her footing.

When she opened her eyes again, the scenery had changed, immaculately depicting a foggy night in the town center of Nibelheim. The sky was a deep turquoise, its stars muted but the moon spilling milky ink across its tapestry. The streets were deserted and the water tower seemed to loom overhead, urging Tifa voicelessly in its direction.

A bright peal of laughter caught her attention, and Tifa turned to find a younger version of herself standing a few feet ahead, waving at her urgently. She blinked, feeling her heart pound as their eyes met, two matching sets of deep carmine, one pair full of hope and wonder, the other floating with uncertainty.

The younger Tifa spun around, and Tifa watched the frills of her dress twirl around her legs. It was the dress she wore the night she had met Cloud on the water tower, Tifa knew now, and even though her recollection of that night had still been fuzzy, she knew that it had been one of the most special and important moments of her life.

It had been the moment she'd known she was truly in love, the moment that years of quiet admiration and pining going back to their earliest years together manifested into something that would never leave her heart. She had lost so many of those memories when she fell into the mako pool in Gongaga, but now, as she quietly followed her younger self toward the water tower, she felt the surge of feelings and memories that stretched back lifetimes return to her.

She had loved him far longer than she had ever known, Tifa realized, grabbing the metal rungs of the tower's ladder as she began to climb.

At the top of the water tower, young Tifa disappeared. Instead, left in her wake was a young boy with blond hair and bright blue eyes, sitting with his head bowed as he looked over the ledge of the water tower, swinging his legs back and forth in the cold. He was the same boy that Tifa had seen in her dreams, the same boy who haunted her mind every time she tried to close her eyes and get some sleep.

It was Cloud.

Like the younger version of herself, he looked so innocent and sweet, yet unlike Tifa's hopefulness and bright-eyed joy, young Cloud seemed lost and afraid. His hands trembled where he sat and his gaze was hollow, blue eyes empty and hurting. Tifa felt a cold shiver run along her spine when their eyes met, and she held on to the side of the water tower to keep from losing her step.

"Cloud?"

He glanced up at her, his eyes glassy and moist. Had he been crying? She bent down next to him, cautiously reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. Cloud flinched, whipping his head to the side, almost in shame.

"What's wrong?" she asked him tentatively. "Why are you sitting here all by yourself?"

"I'm waiting," Cloud answered.

"Waiting?" Tifa repeated curiously, cocking her head to one side. She watched as Cloud shook his head, a tear rolling from his eye. "Waiting for who?"

He looked squarely at her. "You," he replied, his voice small and shaking. "I'm waiting for you to come and find me."

Tifa's mouth fell open with surprise, and she started to respond, only to hear a scream in the distance as the world suddenly shifted around her. Cloud was gone in an instant, and the village surrounding her was suddenly burning, flames sent up in every direction and on every side. Tifa could feel the heat of them lick up against her skin, and panicking, She turned and made her way down the ladder again, following the trail of fire as it led to the reactor.

Standing amongst the flames was young Cloud again, his eyes vacant as he pointed at the reactor. Tifa watched in horror as her father ran in its direction to his death.

"No!" she cried in disbelief. "Don't go there!"

But there was no stopping him, no stopping Cloud when he turned and walked away, tears streaking down his cheeks as he disappeared behind a plume of smoke. Long-forgotten memories of that night returned, assailing Tifa with their whirlwind of misery and pain as she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sight of her father's dead body on the catwalk and the glimmer of Sephiroth's blade as he wrangled it out of her grip and held it high above her head. Clutching her hand to her chest, Tifa collapsed to her knees, heavy sobs spilling from her lips as she felt her body assaulted by the realization of what had happened that night.

And Cloud was gone… nowhere to be found that night.

"Tifa!"

Tifa looked up at the sound of the bright and high-pitched voice. She was no longer crouched among the flames and twisted metal of the catwalk of the Nibelheim reactor but was ensconced in the sunlight of the Temple's inner chamber again, a warm hand on her shoulder.

She blinked to meet the bright, welcoming eyes of Aerith staring down at her, a calming smile painted on her face. Tifa breathed out slowly as she realized she was no longer inside the nightmarish memory of Nibelhiem, but had returned to reality, those memories pinned to her and trailing behind her now like coattails.

"You're okay," Aerith promised her, offering her a hand to help her stand. Tifa got to her feet, watching with a dazed expression as the others all began to emerge from their own chambers, depleted and torn expressions etched across their faces. All of the others except for Cloud.

"Trials," Aerith explained. She was gripping Tifa's hand, gazing into her eyes. The intensity of the Cetra's stare was almost enough to force Tifa to look away. "You're okay now. But Cloud… he went on ahead."

Tifa let Aerith's words soak in. Trials. She wasn't sure what that meant, but the experience she had just gone through certainly felt like it was putting her through some sort of challenge. But more than that, she worried about Cloud. Turning towards the center doorway that led to the corridor of Effigies, Tifa gently pulled away from Aerith's arm.

"I have to find him," she whispered.

And she turned and made her way down the hallway, leaving the rest of the group behind.

Cloud stood in the center of the Corridor of Effigies, its stone walls pulsing with otherworldly energy. As he stepped along the narrow halls, statues and faceless effigies of the past looming overhead, a heaviness settled over him, a weight that pressed deep into the center of his chest.

Shadows flickered along the temple's narrow passageways, dancing to an unheard, sinister melody that he could hear echo from deep within the chamber's walls. Cloud moved forward, his footsteps echoing against the ancient stone. The air grew thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on him, remnant, familiar voices beckoning him nearer.

And then, without warning, he was no longer in the temple.

Smoke choked the air, stinging Cloud's eyes. Flames licked at the edges of his vision—Nibelheim, burning. Screams pierced the night, agonized and terrified. Among them, he heard voices he recognized.

Biggs. Wedge. Jessie.

His mother.

"You couldn't save us." Their accusations swirled around him, bitter ashes on their pale tongues. "Some hero you are."

Cloud whirled, searching for the source, but the smoke obscured everything. His mother's voice pierced the night among bright flames, ripping through space and time with its shrillness. The heat assaulted him from every direction, sweat pooling around his lips and dripping down his forehead.

Then, through the haze, he saw her. Tifa, kneeling beside the fallen bodies of their friends, tears streaking her soot-stained face.

He tried to call out to her, to go to her, but his body wouldn't obey. Paralyzed, he could only watch as she wept, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Puppet."

The word slithered through the smoke, cold and mocking. Sephiroth emerged from the flames, his silver hair untouched by the inferno. "Dance for me. Let your rage guide your every step."

Cloud's hand moved of its own accord, reaching for his sword. He fought against it, straining, but his fingers wrapped around the hilt nonetheless.

The scene dissolved, and he was back in the temple, cold sweat beading his brow. Anger surged through him, white-hot and searing. He welcomed it, embraced it, let it burn away the guilt and grief that threatened to consume him.

Sephiroth stood before him, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Your will is not your own," he said, his voice a silken purr. "You are mine to control."

Cloud snarled, lunging forward, his sword slicing through the air. Sephiroth dodged, effortlessly, and Cloud pursued, deeper into the temple's heart. The walls blurred, fading into insignificance as his focus narrowed to the man in front of him.

And as soon as he was there, he was gone.

"Cloud?"

Her voice broke through the fog in his mind, and only upon hearing it did Cloud realize just how disconnected from reality he had become. His breathing was shallow and labored, and his heart pounded, his forehead lined with sweat. His hand still gripping the hilt of his sword, he turned to find Tifa standing a few paces behind him, her eyes wide and worried as she gazed upon him, the others lined up behind him in the corridor.

Immediately, the immense guilt began to stockpile on him. Cloud knew that he was a failure and that he was only continuing to let her down.

"I'm not like him," he found himself muttering defensively. "I'll never be like him."

Aerith and the others appeared as if they wanted to say something, but none of them ventured forth. Only Tifa did, blinking and nodding slowly as she took a careful, tentative step closer to him.

"I know," she whispered, her voice so soft and smooth that Cloud could feel the way that it landed inside of his soul, easing him. If only he could spend all of his time listening to the gentleness of that voice. Maybe it would heal the rifts that had opened up inside of his spirit.

"It's okay," she reassured him.

Cloud nodded, but turning back to the corridor and the glowing lights up ahead, the urgency of the Black Materia pressed on his mind, and he shrugged his shoulder away from Tifa's light grip. Sneering, he made his way down the dimly lit hallway, Sephiroth's insistent, laughing voice still pulling him further and deeper into the Temple's sanctums.

It was not long before they reached the inner chamber, the ancient runes glowing with eerie light, the faded voices of the Cetra humming through the very walks themselves. Black space opened up all around them, endless voids of death surrounding them on every side. In the center, suspended in midair, hovered the materia above a blood-red platform.

Aerith had moved to the front of the group by now, the Temple responding to her presence and her Cetra blood. The antagonism that Cloud could feel emanating from within the entire structure seemed to only calm and abate in the face of Aerith's involvement, though it mattered little to him. At the present moment, all he could think about was getting his hands on that materia.

Cloud felt his body moving, pulled forward by invisible strings. Sephiroth's laughter echoed in his mind, triumphant and cruel.

His hand stretched out, fingertips brushing the materia's cool surface. Power thrummed through him, foreign and seductive.

And then, the entire temple began to tremble from within, as if an earthquake were erupting from the earth's very core.

Aerith's voice cut through the haze, reading the ancient inscriptions above the pillar. Cloud could hear the shuddering breaths and swears of the other members of the party then, the realization that his removal of the materia from the pillar had triggered the Temple's ancient, deadly defense mechanism.

"We have to get out of here," Aerith cried in panic. "The temple will crush all those who are within it once the materia has been removed!"

Barret swore loudly, gripping his gun-arm tightly as the walls around them began to crack. "Damn it, Cloud! This whole place is comin' down! We gotta move—now!"

Yuffie's voice was high-pitched with fear as she stumbled back, nearly tripping over a loose stone. "I don't want to die here! I'm too young and too pretty to be squashed like a bug in some ancient tomb!"

Cloud ignored their complaints, mesmerized by the blood-red glow of the materia in his palm. He could feel the shaking of the templed, dust falling into his eyes as the ceiling began to cave, but he did not care. The power and the purpose that suddenly surged through his veins was enough to keep him rooted in place, a grin spreading across his lips.

It was then that Nanaki bounded into view. He launched himself at Cloud, knocking him away from the materia. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fur.

Cloud struggled against Nanaki's grip, his eyes wild. "Let me go! I have to... I need to..."

"Snap out of it, lad!" Cait Sith pleaded from the sidelines. "Sephiroth's messin' with your head. We need to get out of here, now!"

The temple shuddered, ancient mechanisms groaning to life. Dust rained down from the ceiling as the floor began to shift beneath their feet.

Cait Sith ran for the pillar, holding up the mechanism to keep the ancient technology from triggering the Temple's complete collapse. Cloud stumbled, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting impulses. Sephiroth's whispers echoed in his thoughts, insidious and alluring.

Growling in anger, Cloud turned and followed the others as they began to make their way through the slowly collapsing temple and back outside to the jungle. As he ran Cloud caught a brief glimpse of Tifa, her face pale with fear, her eyes fixed on him. The concern etched in her expression cut through the fog clouding his mind, making something stir deep within him—a fleeting moment of clarity.

Tifa's voice was breathless, trembling as she stopped at his side, reaching for his shoulders and pulling him to meet eyes with her.

"Still with us?" she pleaded through the chaos. For a split second, he wanted to reach out, to tell her he was still here, but Sephiroth's whispers dragged him back, pulling him further into the darkness.

All he could do was nod, pulling away from her as the walls continued to cave in.

Cloud clenched his fists, fighting the urge to turn back to the Black Materia. His body felt sluggish, as though he was battling himself with every step, but he forced his legs to move, pushing forward.

Behind him, Barret yelled over the din of the collapsing temple, "C'mon, man, we ain't got time for this! Move it!"

With a final glance at Tifa, Cloud pressed on, following the group through the crumbling corridors, the weight of everything growing heavier with each step. Dust and debris fell from above, the temple groaning ominously as they ran, and for a moment, Cloud wondered if he would make it out at all—or if the temple would become his grave.

Outside, the world began to unravel as the Temple collapsed in on itself, the jungle all around them howling with the sounds of the world ending.

Cloud's heart pounded in time with the rumbling earth, but it wasn't fear that gripped him—it was something darker, something that gnawed at him from within.

He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning the scene before him. The others were ahead, still running, shouting at each other to keep moving, to get further from the collapsing temple. But for Cloud, time seemed to slow, his pulse quickening for a different reason.

A flash of pink caught his eye. Aerith stood at the temple's edge, the materia clutched in her hands. Her eyes met his, wide and fearful.

Behind her stood Sephiroth, arms aloft with laughter.

Something twisted inside him, dark and hungry. His sword arm twitched, fingers tightening around the hilt.

"Give it to me," he growled, his voice not his own.

Aerith backed away, shaking her head. "Cloud, please. Don't let him control you."

But Cloud was already moving, shrugging off Cait Sith's restraining hand. He lunged forward, his sword raised, a puppet dancing on invisible strings.

"Aerith…"

Tifa sat by the lake's edge, her knees drawn up to her chest. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the mist that clung to her skin.

Beside her, Cloud stared blankly at the water's surface. His eyes were hollow, devoid of the warmth and determination she knew so well.

In the distance, a makeshift grave marked the spot where they had laid Aerith to rest. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of grief crashing over Tifa, stealing her breath.

She reached out, tentatively, and placed her hand on Cloud's arm. He flinched at the contact, his muscles tensing beneath her touch.

"Cloud," she whispered.

But it was as if he didn't hear her. He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on some distant point. Tifa's heart ached, a physical pain that settled in her chest and refused to budge.

She wanted to scream, to shake him, to do something, anything, to bring him back to her. But she knew it wouldn't be that simple.

Sephiroth's hold on him was too strong, a twisted web of lies and manipulations that had burrowed deep into Cloud's psyche.

Tifa closed her eyes, memories of the Temple of the Ancients flashing behind her lids. The wild look in Cloud's eyes as he chased after Aerith, the way his sword had glinted in the dim light. Her mind floated to the ethereal blue glows of the Forgotten City when they had arrived, to the bright red stains of Aerith's blood as it pooled across the marble floor.

Tifa kept her hand on Cloud's arm, though he flinched again, his body stiff and unyielding under her touch. She bit her lip, willing herself not to pull away. Her heart ached with every second that passed, the weight of his silence pressing down on her. The Cloud she knew—the Cloud who had been so determined, so protective—seemed to have vanished into the emptiness that now filled his eyes.

She glanced back toward the makeshift grave, her breath hitching. The image of Aerith's lifeless body lying beneath the cold earth was burned into her mind, as was the look on Cloud's face when it had all happened. The wild, frenzied way he had charged at Aerith—the moment his sword had gleamed in the dim light of the Temple of the Ancients—it haunted her. He had been so far gone, so lost in Sephiroth's twisted influence, that she had barely recognized him. It had taken everything in her to pull him back from that edge, but even now, sitting beside him, she wasn't sure she had succeeded.

For now, though, all she could do was sit beside him, offering what little comfort she could as they both drowned in their grief. Her heart felt heavy as she remembered the Forgotten City. The eerie glow of its ethereal beauty had made it seem like they had stepped into another world—one untouched by violence. But then... Aerith's blood. Tifa's mind kept returning to that moment. Cloud standing over her, sword in hand, the manic desperation in his eyes. Aerith, with that peaceful smile, almost as if she had known what was coming. And then, Sephiroth's blade, flashing in the strange, otherworldly blue of the city, cutting through that serenity like a nightmare come to life.

But the worst part hadn't been the killing blow—it was what Cloud had said afterward.

"Aerith… wake up." Cloud's voice had been so calm, so unnervingly detached, as if he were witnessing something completely different from reality. He had knelt by Aerith's body, his hands trembling, cradling her head as if he believed he could wake her, as if she were just sleeping. But she had been bleeding, crimson seeping out from beneath her, pooling across the smooth marble floor in stark contrast to the cold glow of the city.

Tifa had stood there, frozen, watching Cloud's delusion unfold. She had wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to force him to see the truth—that Aerith was gone, that no amount of pleading or holding her would bring her back. But she hadn't. She had been paralyzed by the weight of it all—by her own helplessness—and now, that moment haunted her. The image of Aerith's blood, Cloud's empty insistence that she was fine, and the look on his face when he finally realized the truth... it played on a loop in her mind, over and over.

Cloud was breaking—that much was clear. And Tifa could see inside the open spaces and gaps in his psyche, wide pools left open for her to swim through. But as she sat beside him now, she realized it wasn't just him. The cracks in her own mind were widening, the fractures of her memories from Nibelheim and the promise they had shared.

Who was he, really? Was he even the same boy she had grown up with? The boy who had stood by her, awkward but determined, in front of the water tower, vowing to protect her?

That question clawed at her, gnawing away at her sense of certainty. In those moments where Cloud seemed so lost, so far removed from everything they had been through together, she wondered if she had ever truly known him. The memories she clung to—were they real? Or were they something else, some twisted version of reality that Sephiroth had manipulated inside his mind?

And what about her own memories? The fog of her amnesia still lingered, casting doubt over everything she thought she remembered. The promise at the water tower... she had held on to it for so long, but now, even that memory felt like it was slipping away, corroded by doubt. What if her memories were wrong? What if Cloud wasn't the person she believed him to be?

Tifa's gaze drifted back to Cloud, sitting beside her, his shoulders hunched, his eyes distant. He was still here, but in a way, he wasn't. He was lost somewhere deep inside himself, tangled in a web of lies and memories that neither of them could fully understand. Sephiroth's hold on him was terrifying, and Tifa wasn't sure how much longer she could keep fighting it—for both of them.

Her throat tightened as she withdrew her hand from his arm, feeling the cold rush in where her fingers had rested. It wasn't enough. Whatever she did, it never seemed to be enough to pull him back. The guilt twisted in her chest, mixing with the confusion of her own fragmented memories.

Was this Cloud even real? The thought struck her like a dagger. The boy from Nibelheim, the one she had grown up with... had he ever truly existed? Or was he just another illusion, another piece of Sephiroth's cruel game? The idea terrified her—that the boy she had cherished, the one she had believed in, might never have been real at all.

Cloud got to his feet, leaving Tifa behind as he followed the others. It was only when she remained sitting there alone for long moments that he turned to her, softly beckoning her to follow. For a moment, there was a gentleness in his eyes that seemed like the Cloud she had grown to know over those last few days since she'd awoke in Gongaga, her mind wiped clean of the slate of memories that they once shared. Since that day, she'd been slowly pulling the pieces together again.

But now, glancing out at the calm stillness of the lake and knowing that Aerith was buried deep within its watery tombs, Tifa knew that everything had fallen apart again.

She rose to her feet, wiping the tears from her cheeks, her heart heavy as she looked up at Cloud one last time before they would leave the Forgotten City behind. She didn't have the answers, not now, and she wasn't sure she ever would. But the question burned in her mind with every passing moment.

Who was he, really?

As she boarded the Tiny Bronco, the roar of the engines filling the air, the question echoed in her mind, louder than ever. She watched Cloud from across the cabin, his figure slumped and unmoving. The distance between them had never felt greater. The wind whipped her hair around her face, but she barely noticed, her attention fixed solely on Cloud. The distance between them felt like an impassable chasm, a gulf that had opened up the moment Sephiroth had taken control.

Tifa's heart constricted, a physical ache that made it hard to breathe. She wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him that everything would be okay. But she knew it would be a lie.

Nothing would ever be okay again. Not after what had happened.

And as they lifted into the sky, leaving the Forgotten City behind, Tifa's heart ached with a growing certainty that the Cloud she once knew might be gone for good.